You heard it here first: the film Apocalypse Now is one giant allegory for alcoholism. Picture it: Col. Kurtz (Marlon Brando) is the disease gone amok. It’s literally gone upriver and set itself up as a god.
At least, I know my alcoholism can identify. I don’t want a big house or a private jet. What I want is an isolated island where the locals revere me. And if that’s too much, then just the island, that’s fine too, thanks.
Step Three: made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God, as we understood Him.
And sure, that all sounds great. I get to play dress up and put on crazy man make-up and act the big shot and have everyone chant and dance feverishly around a bonfire built in my honor. But that makes up what, one, two hours a day? Then what happens? I’m still left with myself. Turns out I spend the rest of my time sweating in a corner, rubbing my shaved head and babbling nonsense to nobody.
It’s the egomaniac with the inferiority complex taken to its logical conclusion.
And it’s all the more tragic because Kurtz realizes that he’s gone insane. He occasionally catches glimpses of what he’s truly become, and by the time Martin Sheen reaches him, he welcomes his own assassination, the pain has become so overwhelming.
I don’t want to get to that point.
Today: I’m not on an island. Quit acting like it.