The Doors (1991) - movie review from 2025

Every woman is beautiful, ready to shed any clothes they might be wearing in an instant and dance and drink and screw as though there's nothing else to do. I wish I lived in this world, hell I wish Jim Morrison wished he'd lived in that world because I doubt anyone on planet Earth actually has. This world appears to be another planet. Stone World, a planet which only exists in filmmaker Oliver Stone's mind. 

Looking back at The Doors (1991) last night was quite eye opening. I remember first watching it as a teenage Doors fan and even then thinking it was kind of hokey, but my god watching it now is a laugh riot. 

Val Kilmer does a job not many others could, an assimilation of The Lizard King himself. He is totally watchable throughout even at the beginning where he appears to be plastered in bronzer and wearing an obvious wig. Later either the wig rigger has been replaced or they are natural beautiful locks flowing from the Kilmer cranium. 

At the beginning we see Jim at various spots around LA, collecting future lyrics, as a child in the desert seeing Indians scattered on Dawn's Highway bleeding, all grown up playing the Peeping Tom on 'Love Street', going for a moonlight drive etc. It's all very literal interpretations of the lyrics we all know and love. Well I say ALL, the Doors have been a love or hate band. I love them, but in this movie drummer John Densmore seems to hate them judging by his eye roll count, or at least he hates Jim. Was Jim really as much as an annoying douchebag as this film makes out? He can hardly appear on screen without acting like a total prick, whether its setting fire to the closet while his airhead girlfriend played by Meg Ryan hides inside, LAUGHING at said girlfriend when eleveator doors open to reveal Jim's other girlfriend playing his pink oboe, getting absolutely wasted the night before 'a big concert tomorrow', or stopping the band mid song to rant about something, causing yet another eye roll from the drummer. 

Oh and at many points through the film the 'Indians' from the highway of Jim's childhood pop up visible presumably only to Mr. Morrison. What they want we can only guess as they are usually just accompanied by muttering. 

The film dutifully tears through the timeline of the band with passing nods to whichever album is currently out, The Doors, The Soft Parade, LA Woman before Jim randomly announces he is off to Paris effectively ending the band, but not before passing out at a children's party whilst downing his 50th bottle of whisky of the week. 

The end is played out very quickly with Jim ending up in the bath bathed in both tepid water and an orange glow that was no doubt absent from the real scene. Pere-Lachaise cemetery in Paris provides the end setting and the music's over. Or will be as soon as the credits have rolled. 

This film is crass, unrealistic, wig heavy, generally bizarre and Cripsin Glover's portrayal of Andy Warhol may stick with you for some time. 

I can't recommend it highly enough. 

Available now on streaming, DVD, Blu Ray, VHS and through the spirtual plane courtesy of some long gone native Americans.