Was Val Kilmer a dashing leading man or a quirky character actor?
After occupying his 1980s with a series of pretty-boy and lightweight comedic roles, he seemed like an unexpected choice to play Jim Morrison in “The Doors.” But his Juilliard training and New York theater background should have been the tip-off that this young actor had the heft to evoke a dissolute, doomed yet utterly magnetic rock star.
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Or anyone, really. His malleable features — sometimes chiseled, sometimes doughy — and method skills allowed him to inhabit an arrogant fighter pilot, an ailing gunslinger and a superhero, and for nearly 20 years the buzz was that his first Oscar nomination was just around the next corner.
It never happened, and Kilmer died Tuesday at 65. But here are the memorable roles that kept critics and fans excited to see what he would do next. — Amy Argetsinger
Kilmer commits to the bit in what “Weird Al” Yankovic has called “the funniest movie ever made,” a mash-up spoof of spy films, Elvis films, “The Blue Lagoon,” “The Great Escape” and others by the makers of “Airplane!” There are many memorable moments (an underwater saloon brawl, a horse singing “A Hard Day’s Night”), and Kilmer holds it all together as a heartthrob who brings rock and roll to East Germany and gets caught up in the resistance. He plays the straight man amid the chaos with a twinkle in his eye, always all too eager to shake his hips in ludicrous dance numbers that ridicule (but also confirm?) the hoary notion that music can unite the world. — Zachary Pincus-Roth
Watching “Top Gun” as a child, I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was about these men that was so compelling. They were often shirtless. They liked to have terse conversations with their faces very close together and say things like “you’re dangerous” and chomp their teeth at one another. They enjoyed playing volleyball. Now I know the word for what courses through every scene: pure, unbridled testosterone, and the chiseled, glistening, grinning Val Kilmer as “Iceman” Kazansky epitomizes it. Kilmer also brings a decency to the character that makes the masculinity of “Top Gun” look rather sweet compared to the current manosphere. Save us from Andrew Tate, and bring us back Iceman. — Jenny Rogers
Consider the scene in “Willow” in which Kilmer’s boastful, bare-chested Madmartigan cuts his way out of a tent, cuts his way through three villains, then promptly (just as soon as his co-star Warwick Davis marvels, “You are great!”) falls on his backside. This Ron Howard-directed, George Lucas-conceived romp wasn’t the most original specimen among the 1980s’ crop of goofy swords-and-sorcerer flicks, but it did have heart, in no small part thanks to Kilmer’s screwup of a swashbuckler. In “Willow,” he’s the kind of hero we see a lot of in the movies these days (looking at you, MCU): Looks like a god; is skeptical of the proceedings; is ultimately a big, earnest softy. He’d go on to be a so-so Batman. He would’ve made a killer Thor. — Jonathan Fischer
This is everything a bad Oliver Stone movie should be. Clunky dialogue. Obsessive hero worship. Questionable presentation of history. But Kilmer is brilliant. He sings the songs, he reminds us that YOU CANNOT PETITION THE LORD WITH PRAYER and then he shares a goblet of blood and gets it on with Mimi Rogers (Tom Cruise’s ex wife!), all while pouting his way up the charts. And then Kilmer, the method actor extraordinaire, grows a paunch and a beard as his Jim Morrison disappears to Paris, where a drug overdose can be portrayed as some kind of mystical process. — Geoff Edgers
Kilmer gives a scenery-chewing performance as a hard-drinking gambler, sharpshooter and dentist dying of tuberculosis who is also Wyatt Earp’s loyal friend. Take your pick among many quotable lines in this western, including “Isn’t that a daisy?” and “I’m your huckleberry.” His wit, charm and knowledge of Latin stand in contrast to the crude frontier types, masking a more dangerous side as displayed in his taunts with rival Johnny Ringo (Michael Biehn). While the quips provide a bit of relief among the violence, Kilmer also brings a hint of sadness and self-awareness to the role. (“Nonsense, I have not yet begun to defile myself.”) Ultimately, his friendship with Wyatt (Kurt Russell) is at the heart of the film, from the inevitable showdown with Ringo to those final deathbed scenes where words fail them. — Brian Gross
Robert DeNiro might play the main criminal mastermind of Michael Mann’s 1995 thriller, but it’s Kilmer, as the second-in-command, who pulls off the greatest heist: He steals the movie in a single scene. Knowing the LAPD is after him, Kilmer’s character cautiously approaches the home he shares with his wife (Ashley Judd), who signals from the balcony that the cops are waiting inside. He immediately drops his wide smile, his eyes betraying the sinking devastation of accepting that he must abandon his wife and child in exchange for his freedom. Kilmer’s is a subtle performance, but remarkably effective. His body stiffens as he gets back into the car, resigned to a life of solitude. — Sonia Rao
After the departure of Michael Keaton from the franchise, Kilmer brings more attention to the duality within the title character, delivering the famous line, “I’m both Bruce Wayne and Batman. Not because I have to be, now, because I choose to be.” Kilmer also delivers a more relaxed performance (as seen in his attempts to comfort Robin after the deaths of his parents), and more lighthearted moments, but also maintains an authoritative presence, especially as he tries to steer Robin away from the dark path that Batman now walks. — Omari Daniels
