I'm Your Huckleberry by Val Kilmer

Author:Val Kilmer
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2020-04-21T00:00:00+00:00

Where were we?

The Doors

French poet Arthur Rimbaud died in 1891 at age thirty-seven. American poet Jim Morrison died in 1971 at age twenty-seven. The term enfant terrible applies to them both. They were rebels who abused drink and drugs; they grew their hair long and scandalized society; they were consumed with the power and potential of artistic expression.

Rimbaud wrote of the “fertility of the mind and the vastness of the world.” Morrison wrote, “I can become gigantic and reach the farthest things. I can change the course of nature. I can place myself anywhere in space or time.”

I read Rimbaud in a book but got to play Morrison in a movie. I always connected the two. That’s why when I was cast in the movie, I primarily saw myself playing a poet. My esteemed director, Oliver Stone, wrote his very first screenplay for a solid year in his New York studio apartment the moment he returned from Vietnam, a purple heart in his pocket. And who did he write that film for? Jim Morrison. Imagine how Oliver felt watching Apocalypse Now for the first time, hearing Coppola’s brilliant choice of Morrison’s brilliant tune, “The End.” All about death. Probably Jim’s favorite subject.

I loved making The Doors and working for Oliver. The truth is that I had the fight of my life ahead of me. But not for the reasons you think. Again, I worked on Hamlet for ten years before I felt I was ready. In the case of The Doors, I used every element inside me to embody this character. Unlike so many instances where I used indifference to excite a casting director’s interest, this time I worked my ass off. I had no choice. Because I had a calling. I could not not play Morrison.

Initially Oliver pretended I wasn’t quite right for the role, or perhaps he wasn’t quite sure himself. He would dangle the carrot and almost torture me. He loved getting under people’s skin. It was a favorite technique of his to generate or capture something real from an actor, not their prepared role, which often, it has to be said, isn’t very spontaneous. I had auditioned for him before, and when I really wowed him, he would lean in and quietly say, “You know, Tom Cruise really really wants to play this part.” Or Bono. Or Nic Cage. I would tease him right back: “Have fun with that.” But I’d offer ideas and excitement along the way. For example, for the part of Jim I felt the actor had to sing the songs live, to have a cathartic experience that the players onstage evoke, not in advance of the audience, but with them in a moment of unique empathy. The role of the actor is to quell alienation, to recognize that in a way, we are all one.

Jim was a rare baritone-tenor, so I trained to sing in that range. I rented a studio, worked on the songs for months, and made a basement tape.

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