The Horror...The Horror: The Controversial and Troubled Story of Apocalypse Now

     On April 30th, 1975, the CBS evening news aired footage shot in Saigon, South Vietnam. The images depicted Vietnamese, and a handful of American, civilians and soldiers fleeing for their lives as Communist forces began their final assault upon the city. While American involvement in Vietnam had slowed dramatically since 1973, to many watching at home, this final defeat proved the ultimate humiliation to a country that had previously thought itself invincible. Less than four years later, Francis Ford Coppola released a film that threatened to re-open wounds that had barely begun to heal. The Vietnam War affected Americans of all walks of life -- transgressing race and party-lines, hawk and dove, alike, and changed the face American culture, popular and otherwise. In fewer ways did art replicate life than in the case of Apocalypse Now (1979), whose troubled production was every bit the quagmire as the conflict in which its set. Dogged by everything from casting difficulties, tropical storms, and even armed insurgencies, Coppola would also learn that, much like the men who served in the War, itself, he would receive very little support from the homefront. “My film was not about Vietnam,” Coppola remarked during the film’s Cannes screening, “it was Vietnam” (Bahr).

Filmmaker John Milius is said to have drafted the first script for Apocalypse Now, in the Summer of 1969 -- an allegorical adaptation of Joseph Conrad’s Hearts of Darkness, which, at the time he titled Psychedelic Soldier (Cowie 120). Previous attempts at adapting the 19th-Century novella for film had met with failure, with Orson Welles abandoning the project entirely, in favor of Citizen Kane (1941). Millius, however, took this reputation as a challenge: “That's the best thing to tell a young writing student,” Milius claimed, “say, ‘No one could possibly write this’” (Bahr). Despite his ambitions, Milius did not wish for his reach to over-extend his grasp, and instead opted to approach George Lucas to direct. At the time, Lucas had envisioned a Cinéma Vérité approach, yearning to shoot the film in Vietnam, amidst the chaos of the war, itself. Such a dangerous proposition only succeeded in deterring anyone from financing the film. Lucas then left the project, moving on to direct American Graffiti (1973).

Milius, however, would find another member of his Movie Brats to fill the void. Francis Ford Coppola had cemented his reputation in Hollywood after the overwhelming success of The Godfather Part I (1972) and Part II (1974), and agreed to partner United Artists' offer to finance the film with funding from his own American Zoetrope production company. This arrangement was made on the grounds that the film star Marlon Brando, Gene Hackman, and Steve McQueen. However, making good on his promise would prove difficult for Coppola to deliver (Cowie 121). Casting difficulties would plague pre-production as, not only Steve McQueen, but Jack Nicholson, Robert Redford, and Al Pacino all turned down the role of Captain Willard. Harvey Keitel was eventually hired for the role, but was fired after only a few days when Coppola grew weary of his portrayal of the character. Eventually, the role was granted to Martin Sheen, who, at the time, was in the midst of a severe addiction to alcohol (Edwards). Gene Hackman, similarly, would turn down the role of Kilgore -- instead to be filled by Robert Duvall, and Marlon Brando would prove to be unhelpful, if not outright obstructive. Despite being one of the film’s primary characters, he stipulated he would not participate in any pre-production meetings (Bahr).

Filming began in the Spring of 1976, originally slated for a 14-week shoot. Opting to forsake the authenticity of shooting on location in Vietnam and Cambodia, Coppola moved production to the Philippines, given their government’s willingness to provide the set with much-needed set pieces and vehicles, including American-made Huey helicopters. Yet when the Filipino military was forced to engage with an armed communist uprising within its own borders, many of the vehicles and extras would be rescinded at a moment’s notice, as the helicopters would literally dust-off from set to go and engage the insurgents (Bahr). Given the still-sensitive nature of the film’s subject matter, Coppola’s request for assistance from the Pentagon, which was common in films depicting realistic combat, was declined, objecting to the film’s negative portrayal of the war in Vietnam. “The military itself has always been the final judge of whether assistance would benefit the Armed Forces and create an accurate picture of the Service being portrayed” (Suid).

The production would continue to suffer delays, as typhoons tore through vital setpieces. With all of this downtime, Coppola began to lose what little control he held over his cast and crew. Drugs and alcohol ran abundant and Martin Sheen suffered a near-fatal heart attack (Sellers). When Marlon Brando finally did arrive on set, he had done so, morbidly overweight, and woefully unprepared for his role. Brando was said to have hijacked production with his insistence of only being filmed in favorable conditions, and refusal to even so much as look at a script. Coppola, too, began to grow unhinged at the production delays and pressure from the financiers to finish in a timely manner. By the time production wrapped, the film was grossly over budget, and overdue. “In the end, we were there a year and a quarter shooting what we'd hoped to do within six months” (Chiu). Beyond that, the film had taken a personal toll on everyone involved, and even caused the accidental death of two crew members.  The stress became so overwhelming that Coppola, himself, suffered an epileptic seizure and even became suicidal. Coppola vented his anxieties in a conversation with his wife: “This is a $20-million dollar disaster! Why won’t anyone believe me? I’m thinking of shooting myself!” (Bahr).

    Coppola’s troubles would only continue during post-production. With over 16 months and 1.5 million feet of film to show for it, Apocalypse Now was an unintelligible mess. Coppola hoped that much of the film’s plot issues could be resolved by providing narration via ADR, and enlisted the assistance of war correspondent Michael Herr, whose journal Dispatches, on his experience in the Vietnam war, had begun to get people comfortable talking about the war (Cowie 127). All the same, the film suffered through delay after delay, as Coppola struggled to piece the film into coherence. What was originally scheduled to be released in December 1977, it was instead pushed back to Easter of the following year, and then Christmas, 1978 (Bock). 

    Uncertain of what to make of his film, Coppola announced he would premiere a “work-in-progress” print at the 1979 Cannes film festival. Despite being unfinished, the film was a massive success and received tumultuous applause.  However, all the same, the film’s budget had exploded to a surprisingly tame $31 million dollars, yet United Artists felt uncertain that public and media speculation about the already infamous production might deter audiences. To mitigate these concerns UA considered charging the (then outrageous) cost of admission of five dollars per ticket (Landry).

    Apocalypse Now finally premiered to the American public in August, 1979.  First in New York, Toronto, and Hollywood, before opening worldwide, four weeks later. Ironically, the most controversial debate that had plagued the development of the film, whether America was ready for a film about Vietnam, was already moot. In delaying the release of Apocalypse Now, another film had been the first mainstream release to tackle the subject matter. Michael Cimino’s The Deer Hunter (1978) had premiered the year before, and had managed to win five Academy Awards, breaking through the glass-ceiling that Coppola had been aiming for, and possibly shouldering the responsibility of testing the public’s reception. This did not make Apocalypse Now’s release any less complicated, however, given the rather infamous (and public) production history. Upon release, public and critical reception was largely mixed. “Even if Coppola isn’t haunted by the spectre of financial fiascos like Cleopatra [(1963)] there’s no assured future for Apocalypse.” wrote Variety in its review. “It’s a complex, demanding, highly intelligent piece of work, coming into a marketplace that does not always embrace those qualities” (Pollock). Some accounts were even more tactless.  The New York Times called the film “neither a tone poem nor an opera. It's an adventure yarn with delusions of grandeur, a movie that ends—in the all-too-familiar words [T.S. Elliot]—not with a bang, but a whimper” (Canby). Roger Ebert, conversely, sang the film’s praises:  Apocalypse Now is a good and important film -- a masterpiece, I believe. Years and years from now, when Coppola's budget and his problems have long been forgotten, "Apocalypse" will still stand, I think, as a grand and grave and insanely inspired gesture of filmmaking” (Ebert). 

    Despite mixed critical reviews and an uncertain, fickle public, Apocalypse Now performed well at the box office. The initial earnings, accruing from domestic rentals and overseas revenue had earned UA and Zoetrope over $140 million dollars in box-office earnings (Cowie 132). In the years following its release many reviewers walked back their initial reviews, and the film has since become one of the most famous and infamous films of the 20th Century, securing a place on the AFI Top 100 list at a respectable #30 (AFI). Yet, while Coppola’s risks did pay off, financially, in the end, Apocalypse Now irrevocably damaged many relationships. Francis Ford Coppola and Marlon Brando refused to work with one another, ever again, with Brando wanting nothing to do with Apocalypse Now. Even Coppola and John Milius’ partnership would end, as Milius recalled Coppola’s habits as a director as “fascistic,” labelling him the “Bay-Area Mussolini” (Lewis 52.) Much like the war in Vietnam, the production of Apocalypse Now touched the lives of everyone involved. I felt like I had fought in the war,” Dennis Hopper said, of his experiences with the film.  “We all did” (Sellers).