The Life and Death of Val Kilmer: An Actor's Allegory

Val Kilmer, the renowned actor known for films like Batman Forever, The Doors, and Heat, has passed away at the age of 65 after a long battle with cancer. His daughter stated that the cause of death was pneumonia.

In 2022, Kilmer made a brief return in Top Gun: Maverick, but due to throat cancer, he was no longer able to speak normally. His autobiographical documentary Val offers perhaps the best window into the life of this former "Batman." The film was selected for the 2021 Cannes Film Festival.

How should we define whether an actor’s career is a success or a failure?

From a conventional perspective, success is measured by paycheck and fame. By these standards, Kilmer—who enjoyed a period of stardom in the 1990s—was undoubtedly successful: he commanded multimillion-dollar salaries per film, portrayed Batman, and his face shared movie posters with Al Pacino and Robert De Niro in Heat. In terms of fame and fortune, he had made it.

However, if we take into account the expectations people once held for him, Kilmer’s career seems rather unremarkable. At his peak, his rugged good looks could rival Brad Pitt’s, and his main competitors for roles in the 90s were often Keanu Reeves and Johnny Depp.

Those actors, once compared to Kilmer, not only reached dazzling heights but sustained their brilliance well into the 21st century. In contrast, Kilmer’s career entered a steep decline at the dawn of the new millennium. Apart from Alexander and Kiss Kiss Bang Bang, he spent much of his later years appearing in direct-to-DVD, low-tier productions.

Even in terms of distinctiveness as an actor, Kilmer fell short compared to others. Actors like Steve Buscemi, James Spader, and Christopher Walken were never mainstream megastars nor led major blockbusters like Kilmer did, yet they left unmistakable personal imprints on every role they played, carving out unique spaces in both film and television.

Kilmer, on the other hand, is harder to define in a few words. As a serious actor, his looks were almost too prominent; as a heartthrob, his aura was too eccentric—yet not in the striking way of Depp or Walken. As an action star, he lacked the raw force; and as a pure acting talent, he never received an Oscar nomination. His two most iconic roles—Tom Cruise’s wingman "Iceman" in Top Gun and Jim Morrison in The Doors—both existed in the shadows of greater figures.

Perhaps, if nothing had changed, Kilmer would have quietly faded from mainstream attention like many others who were chewed up and spit out by Hollywood's star-making machine: forgotten, given occasional token tributes, but denied meaningful new roles.

It wasn’t until 2017, when Kilmer appeared at a Heat anniversary event, that people began to take renewed notice. Once overweight, he now appeared gaunt, struggled to speak clearly, and fought to keep saliva from spilling out of his mouth. Shortly thereafter, Kilmer publicly admitted what he had concealed for years: he had been battling throat cancer and was now in recovery.

Audiences still harbor a soft spot for fallen heroes. Kilmer's visibility surged again: he made appearances at comic conventions and special screenings, signing autographs for fans; he joined the cast of the Top Gun sequel, and his autobiographical documentary Val, which he produced, premiered at Cannes.

Yet in Val, Kilmer’s image remains blurry. He's shown as a sensitive soul, a committed actor, a loving father—all true, but not unique to him alone. On the more sensitive issues in his career and life, Kilmer shies away from confrontation or deep reflection. Thus, Val becomes a sanitized, official memorial. Without sharper edges or darker revelations, how can a subject truly be remembered?

One remarkable element in Val is Kilmer’s compulsive habit of documenting his life. From childhood, he and his brother Wesley used a video camera to make short films, with Val as the star and Wesley as the director and sidekick. His love for cinema was nurtured in these games.

But tragedy struck when Val was 18: Wesley, only 15, drowned during an epileptic seizure in the bathtub. The entire Kilmer family was devastated. Val said he lost his best companion and confidant.

For over forty years, Val continued to record his life, sometimes filming himself, sometimes enlisting friends. From early audition tapes to wrap parties, his wedding, family life with his wife and two kids, even his personal struggles with acting—everything was captured through his lens.

Yet these recordings also reveal Kilmer’s tendencies. He loved clowning for the camera, turning life itself into a continuation of performance, but he rarely showed deep self-awareness about the events unfolding around him. The documentary's surface-level treatment and structural looseness perhaps stem from this lack of introspection.

For example, Kilmer makes no comment on his notorious on-set behavior. Directors who fell out with him include Richard Stanley and John Frankenheimer (both on The Island of Dr. Moreau), and Joel Schumacher (Batman Forever). Words like “childish,” “neurotic,” “irrational,” and “rude” have been used to describe him. Media reports suggest that during these productions, he frequently arrived late, intentionally flubbed lines, argued pointlessly with directors, and showed little respect to crew members (reportedly once extinguishing a cigarette on a cameraman’s face).

In his personal life too, Kilmer leaves much unsaid. His romances with Darryl Hannah and Cindy Crawford are unmentioned. His initial refusal to undergo traditional cancer treatments, influenced by his steadfast adherence to Christian Science, is only lightly touched upon.

Among the most moving moments captured in the film is Kilmer’s reflection on his post-fame life: “Here I am, flying around the country, selling my past self to make a living. For many, that would be the ultimate low point. But ultimately, I felt gratitude, not humiliation, in meeting my fans.”

Still, there’s undeniable bitterness. After signing hundreds of Top Gun and Batman posters at a comic con, Kilmer, physically exhausted, had to be wheeled out under a blanket. Such small, quiet indignities became the norm in his later years.

As an actor, Kilmer never etched an indelible brand onto his career. As a documentary, Val never finds a strong, commanding voice. This mirrors Kilmer’s own fate: after his tracheotomy, he could no longer speak naturally. Even before that, his voice didn’t quite belong to him—it belonged to Jim Morrison, to "Iceman," to Doc Holliday in Tombstone, to the Mark Twain he loved to portray.

His powerful drive to create and express often collided with the experience of voicelessness, finding utterance only when inhabiting other souls. This is both the source of an actor’s strength and the essence of their tragedy.

In this light, Kilmer’s life becomes a near-perfect parable about the actor’s predicament.