Val Review: Batman Beyond

In the closing credits for "Val" — a heartbreaking, fiercely creative documentary telling the hard-luck story of a Hollywood star whose life has taken some tough turns — there is a quick shot of Val Kilmer butt naked, standing in a babbling stream with nothing but a video camera on his shoulder. It's a good symbol for the movie itself, which has the onetime "Batman" megastar baring everything, choosing to pursue a life of art over a career of artifice.

The shot is one of many presented over an odd little song about the joys of being a cinematographer — and Kilmer is that in this film, along with producer and of course, subject. If it has been a minute since you've given Val Kilmer much thought, you can be forgiven — his last widely-seen film arrived more than a decade ago, and since 2015 he has been undergoing treatment for throat cancer, including a procedure on his trachea that has significantly altered his ability to speak, and in the time since he has been below the radar, if not altogether (quite literally) out of the picture.

But the saving grace for Kilmer at the moment (and film fans in general) is that he recalls being the first among his friends to have a video camera. We watch him visit a storage facility, where he has stored thousands of hours of film, and this decades-long love affair with the lens has yielded a treasure trove of personal moments and priceless behind-the-scenes footage (much of which is people asking Kilmer to put his camera down) featuring some of the most famous films of the '80s and '90s.

There's plenty of footage of Kilmer's youth as well, because as it turns out, Kilmer wasn't always the most artistically minded member of his family. That designation went to his younger brother Wesley, an aspiring filmmaker who shot breezy backyard remakes of "Jaws" and "Batman" movies with his siblings (who were inspired after visiting the set of Adam West's "Batman" series as children). Wesley, who had epilepsy, drowned in the family jacuzzi at the age of 15 — a tragedy that still haunts Val, now north of 60.

Since the star can barely speak — in order to do so, he needs to hold a finger over the tube surgically inserted into his neck to aid breathing — his son Jack narrates the film as Val Kilmer, a sweet touch that is also effective because the two sound alike. Kilmer has clearly had some difficulties in life and made decisions he'd like to take back — he honestly recounts them throughout the documentary — but one thing he did right was forge a bond with Jack that is enviable for any parent. The two seem like friends, co-conspirators, and co-survivors with a delightfully irreverent outlook on life that has galvanized them as Jack has become the caregiver.

Under most circumstances, "Val" could be a tough watch. But in his final leading man years, Kilmer discovered the role he considers to be his greatest, a one-man show of Mark Twain under heavy prosthetics. He still thinks of Twain as a kindred spirit (they both lost key people in their lives when they were young), and was on the verge of taking the Twain act bigger when one day, he lost his voice and began coughing up blood. In the time since, Kilmer has embraced making art at home, hosting a studio that gives young artists a place to display, and sharing newfound bonds with his son, as well as his daughter Mercedes.

But of course, his memories are also the collective memories of the filmgoers who spent decades watching him. So when a cleverly edited montage shows how effectively Kilmer replicated Jim Morrison's every last stage mannerism, it's one final opportunity to marvel at the performance. Unseen footage from the set of the Michael Mann classic "Heat" is like manna from heaven. When Kilmer tells us that he insisted the makers of "Tombstone" fill Doc Holliday's deathbed with ice cubes so the actor could properly convey the level of discomfort his character was feeling at the end of the film, it's one last chance to marvel at his dedication to a craft that too often left him disappointed.

"One of the things they buy for all that money," he confesses into the camera at a contemplative low point, "is your life for a period of time."

Kilmer clearly feels some level of shame these days, as he goes around to conventions selling memories of when he was a young, handsome leading man; at one point, he seems to apologize for it. But at this stage in his life, you can tell how much it means to have a line of people come over, shake his hand, and say how much they love "Thunderheart." He's playful with the fans, he steals their caps and poses for selfies, and contrasted with old footage of him looking alone, lost and miserable on the set of a film like "The Ghost and the Darkness," it seems like he has finally found his peace.

"I've tried to see the world as one piece of life," Kilmer says, looking to the future with a spiritual belief there is more to come.

Selfishly, as a film fan, it would have been nice to see more from movies like 2002's "The Salton Sea," 2003's "Wonderland," 2004's "Spartan" and 2005's "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang," an excellent late-career run with solid Kilmer performances that paired him with the likes of Shane Black, David Mamet, Carrie Fisher, Robert Downey Jr. and Vincent D'Onofrio, similarly eccentric but frequently brilliant artists who seem likely to have been more sympathetic to Kilmer's struggle. Almost everything after 1997's "The Saint" is lumped into one big montage of Kilmer's later works, tossed off as though they aren't worth mentioning.

But of course, ultimately a person's story is his own to tell, and with the help of directors Ting Poo and Leo Scott, "Val" tells an impossibly, impressively honest one. Will Val Kilmer ever be a movie star again? In his own words, he has already "lived a magical life," and this ultimately uplifting film depicts an artist who has finally transcended the need to be anybody's wingman.