A film that embodies the famous and influential rock group of the 1960s and lead singer and composer, Jim Morrison. The film covers the full story of this team and the lead singer from his days as a UCLA film student in Los Angeles, to his sudden death in Paris, France at the age of 27 in 1971 as the film details full details.
Val Kilmer does, however, pull off a remarkable impression of the troubled vocalist, although he's more convincing on stage than he is in his drunken, drug-fuelled reveries.
The movie is weighed down by its enchantment with the mythology, as opposed to the reality, of Morrison's life -- a mythology that needs to be explored, not simply reproduced on the wide screen.
The whole movie is white hot, lapped in honeyed golds, evilly blue and black or drenched in those swoony, fiery reds. The Doors blasts your ears and scorches your eyes.
The flaw in the film is its unrelenting tone of bombast. It never gives you a break. You ache for a moment of quietude, an escape from the lizard king's cranium.
For a while, the obviousness and flat-out vulgarity are sort of entertaining, and it might be possible to enjoy the movie as a camp classic if you could ignore the mean-spiritedness that keeps breaking through.
