For some time now, I have belonged to a secret society known as the League of Rueful Val Kilmer Enthusiasts. It consists of men of a certain age who adore Tombstone and Heat, and who also have a soft spot for The Doors and The Ghost and the Darkness. And, of course, Top Gun. What unites the members of the league is our affection for the actor himself, mingled with regret that Kilmer did not become the intergalactically famous star we wanted him to be. We also resent the fact that he did not make more movies like Heat while he was young and athletic enough to pull it off.
Because now it is too late. Kilmer has reached the point in his career where he is performing in a one-man show called Citizen Twain,