“I’ll open doors to strange and exotic countries.” That’s the first line in Ray Manzarek’s 1965 student film Induction, and one of several moments from his UCLA movies that retrospectively became omens and portents of Ray’s near future—his film school classmate Jim Morrison turns up in Induction, too. Though Induction and 1964’s Evergreen predate the Doors, both of Manzarek’s extant student films contain such seemingly premonitory details. (In Evergreen, it’s footage of the Whisky a Go Go and the Venice Beach apartment where Ray and Jim lived during the band’s early years.)
Both movies feature Dorothy Fujikawa, who was married to Manzarek from 1967 until the end of his life, and who was instrumental in the formation of the Doors. “There would be no Doors if it wasn’t for Dorothy Fujikawa,” Manzarek said. “She was the one who supported Jim and me as we put the band together.” Fujikawa’s character in Evergreen is reading Brecht, whose “Alabama Song” Morrison sang on the first Doors album. Her co-star, Hank Olguin (stage name Henry Crismonde), let the Doors use his house for their first rehearsal. (“Hank was the only guy I knew who had a piano,” Manzarek writes.)
Compared to Ray’s 1985 video for “L.A. Woman”—not his greatest achievement—these films are, as they say, actually pretty good. Both were released as bonus features on the Doors’ Collection DVD (originally a laserdisc), from which Morrison’s student films are conspicuously absent. In his memoir Light My Fire: My Life with the Doors, Manzarek explains at some length why his UCLA films survived but the Lizard King’s did not:
The best of all the student films were screened twice a year for the public at what was called the “Royce Hall Screenings.” The faculty would select a dozen or so films to be composite-printed and projected up onto the big screen of Royce Hall. Dignitaries were invited. Critics were invited. And the carved, Spanish-style doors were flung open to the public as if to say, “See, we’re not insane here. We can do good work.” And, oh, how the faculty would strut. Because Royce Hall was the prestigious auditorium on the entire west side of Los Angeles. Symphonies were performed there, great jazz artists and intense folksingers of the time performed there. I saw the Modern Jazz Quartet play there. The great Odetta sang there. The Los Angeles Philharmonic Orchestra performed there. I walked in one afternoon on a rehearsal of Stravinsky’s Rite of Spring and it was absolutely overwhelming, standing at the foot of the stage—Zubin Mehta was the conductor—and I’m watching the L.A. Philharmonic power their way through the Rite of Spring... in Royce Hall. Thrilling.
Well, lo and behold, a few months later a Ray Manzarek student film, Induction (and the year before that Evergreen), was to be shown at the Royce Hall Screening. It was certainly an honor for me. I was very pleased with those films. They worked. And I was very proud of my cameramen, John DeBella and Christopher (Kit) Gray, and my actors, Dorothy Fujikawa, Hank Olguin, and Kathy Zeller.
Jim’s movie, unfortunately, didn’t make it into Royce Hall. He was panned by the teachers and panned by many of the students. What a bunch of dolts! They just didn’t get it. However, they did appear to take great delight in raking Jim over the coals. Jim always rubbed a lot of them the wrong way—those people were called squares—hell, he’s still doing that. And they’re still squares.
“Nonlinear, Mr. Morrison.” “Doesn’t make any sense.” “You’ve violated basic rules of screen direction on the shot with the darts, Morrison.” “Male chauvinist! Why’s the girl in her underwear?” “What are you, a stoner or something?” “Fascist!” “This isn’t the way we make movies in America, Morrison. This is like a Communist would think.”
So his film didn’t make it into the screenings…nor did it make it through the projector. He had trouble making splices. Jim’s forte was not splicing two pieces of film together with the tiny little tape and the tiny little 16mm splicer you had to use. But it was an extremely poetic movie.
It doesn’t exist anymore. It was tossed out with three hundred or so other student movies at the end of the semester. The only films that were saved were the ones that had the negative cut and a composite made for the big show in Royce. The other films were like term papers—seen once and tossed. Just too many to save. So Jim’s is gone. Into the dumpster and into the ether.
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