In a movie
defined by empty spaces where flesh-and-blood characters should
be-Robert Duvall's lifeguard-turned-gonzo-warrior Lt. Colonel
Kilgore is the one substantial presence that keeps Apocalypse
Now from floating away on its own ambivalent impulses. Duvall
is on-screen for only 25 minutes in the first hour of the
film, but much of what follows would not cohere without surf-nut
Kilgore first leading his men into an odyssey of destruction
as they search for the perfect wave. It's during this epically
savage battle sequence that Duvall burns Kilgore into our
memories, having Wagner pour forth from speakers on the attack
helicopters as his boys rain death from above, and afterward
spouting classic madman dialogue: "I love the smell of
napalm in the morning--it smells like... victory!" But
the subtleties that give Kilgore life as a character come
through in smaller moments: Duvall's excited grin when he
sees how the surf is breaking; the rational authority of his
terse command cutting through the chaos: "I want my wounded
out of there and in the hospital in 15 minutes. I want my
men out."

When avowed right-wing writer John Milius scripted the original
Apocalypse in 1969, his "Colonel Kharnage" was a
gung-ho cartoon of the American soldier as killer, ready to
murder a fellow soldier who steals his surfboard. Coppola's
rewrite softened Kharnage into the more realistic Kilgore,
but it took hard work and intelligence on Duvall's part to
avoid the black-or-white traps that lefty Coppola and righty
Milius set up for the character. Duvall adds a cruclal layer
of humanity to Kilgore that makes him intriguing to hawks
and doves alike, and articulates one of the tragedies of Vietnam:
In a war with no agenda, the men who fought had to create
their own. While Kilgore may indeed be crazy, Duvall makes
him a madman you'd follow in spite of yourself. Asked about
the wisdom of attacking an enemy stronghold simply because
surfing conditions are primo, Kilgore shoots back: "Charlie
don't surf!" This credo lacks all but the most twisted
kind of logic, but Duvall's delivery makes it the final word
on the subject.

Duvall's decision to play Kilgore as the ultimate father-figure--Colonel
Dad-- is what saves his character from caricature, and he
works the comically twisted edge into the man with ease. "Don't
you worry," he tells a cowering soldier with a reassuring
smile after ordering in a napalm strike, "we'll have
this place cleaned up and ready in a jiffy, son!"
Duvall's Kilgore believes that frying human beings with jellied
gasoline is just being efficient; the gleam in his cold blue
eyes isn't madness, but satisfaction at a job well done. Duvall's
last moments on screen are probably the movie's finest: Crouched
on his haunches, Kilgore takes Willard into his confidence
with a smile and a nod, and imparts his final wisdom: "Some
day this war's gonna end..." The line, delivered not
with irony, but wistfulness and satisfaction, sets Willard
and the rest of us up for the journey toward Kurtz. The pattern
of delusion that Duvall's sanguine tone makes infectious will
prove to be the seed of "the horror, the horror."
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