His desire to be accepted as a poet was familiar, but I wasn’t aware of his interest in film. Something else that made revisiting the myth worthwhile, at least for me, was the insight into Morrison’s other artistic pursuits.
It is perhaps this naivety that endears Jim as a character, allowing the reader to forgive some, if not all, of his more obnoxious behaviour. But it is conceivable that Jim Morrison never intended to become a rock star, much less a cultural icon. It’s a tough sell at first, and even Hopkins tinges the observations with doubt. What does emerge is an intriguing image of an accidental icon. They’re more colours in the palette than the full-blown portrait. But they don’t take centre stage in the way I thought they would. Of course, it was the 60s and it is Jim Morrison, so those things are here. I also assumed hedonism and misogyny, so you could forgive my apprehension. Thanks to the myth and the movie, I expected a lot of mysticism and psychedelic shenanigans. They maintain a page-turning sense of urgency without dwelling too much on their subject's impending demise. Hopkins and Sugerman have done a great job creating a compelling narrative out of Morrison's ill-fated trajectory. It had contributions from Doors insider Danny Sugerman, giving it an aura of authenticity. It had a name taken from one of my favourite Doors songs, Five to One. There were a few factors that tilted me toward No One Here Gets Out Alive. I even learned to play a few of the songs.
I'd read Ray Manzarek's excellent autobiography. I'd seen his potted history in Ollie Stone's contentious film. And, like Jimi and Janis, his untimely departure begs speculation about what might have been.īut did I need to know more about Mr Mojo Risin’? From his intriguing lyrical choices to his legendary alcohol and chemical intake, he occupies a place of deep fascination in the collective psyche. Jim Morrison is the kind of iconic and mythical character that draws the curiosity.
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