A Val Kilmer Potluck

In September 2021, I got an email invite to something both quirky and heartwarming: Val’s Potluck Movie Night, followed by a Top Gun Celebration Watch Party featuring cast members, celebrity guests, and even GRAMMY-winning musicians. Part fundraiser, part nostalgia trip, and all-around good vibes, the event supported two powerful causes — TwainMania, Val Kilmer’s foundation, and the USO, which helps military service members stay connected to home.

The invitation promised more than just a virtual screening. It was a chance to hang out (digitally) with other fans, enjoy a potluck-in-spirit, and relive the Top Gun magic… with Val himself.

Then came the part that made him laugh.

But I’ll get to that in a moment.

Because before Val Kilmer chuckled at something I said in the chat — yes, really — I was just soaking in the scene: the digital potluck, the movie rewatch, the buzz of fans typing fast and fond in real time. Top Gun wasn’t just a movie to most of us there. It was a time capsule, a soundtrack, a swagger — and apparently, still a conversation starter decades later.

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The Top Gun Anthem

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A post shared by Luciana Lambert (@lucianalambert__)

It played early in the stream — just a few iconic notes, and suddenly we were all back in that world. Leather jackets. Dog tags. Ocean wind. That unmistakable mix of danger and cool. The Top Gun Anthem didn’t just set the tone for the night — it anchored us in something shared, something cinematic and real at the same time.

I posted the moment on Instagram, not as a farewell, but as a way to remember what Val helped create — the feeling, the memory, the myth.

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When I Was 13, I Chose Iceman

Top Gun came out in 1986. I was 13 — the kind of age when movies don’t just entertain you, they imprint on you. Everyone I knew was in love with Tom Cruise, and to be fair, Maverick had the moves. But I fell for Val Kilmer.

There was something about Iceman — the confidence, the calm, the way he barely had to say anything to steal a scene. While others were rewinding the volleyball montage for Maverick, I was rewinding for Val.

That movie kicked off what became my quiet teenage mission: to watch every Val Kilmer film I could get my hands on. My favorites? Top Secret!, where he sings, dances, and delivers some of the silliest, sharpest comedy I’d ever seen. Real Genius, where he plays a mischievous science prodigy with effortless charm. And later, The Saint — a sleek, underrated spy thriller that hit different in a world still shaped by the presence of the USSR and all the geopolitical tension it carried.

He wasn’t just another actor to me. He was the one who made stillness magnetic. The one who didn’t have to try to be cool — because he already was.

And apparently, I wasn’t the only one.

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Waiting for Val Kilmer: All of His Girlfriends

As the event unfolded, there was this lingering question in the air: Is Val actually going to show up in the chat? It had been promoted as his event — his potluck, his movie night — but an hour in, fans were still refreshing and hoping. No one really knew for sure. Would he type something? Appear on camera? Just wave?

In the meantime, the tributes were rolling in. It felt like a warm living room full of his people. Mare Winningham, the actress he once dated, showed up with an acoustic guitar and sang a tender song that made everyone pause. Berlin went live from a bar in Orange County, performing Take My Breath Away like no time had passed. The host — that actor friend of his with the unforgettable name (was it Pumpernickel? Pumperton?) — kept the energy light, tossing out behind-the-scenes stories and keeping the chat flowing. Even Jack Kilmer, Val’s son, made a brief appearance.

Somewhere in that mix of music, nostalgia, and old friends popping in, I typed into the chat: “Hey Val, all your girlfriends are here.”

Coincidence or not… a few minutes later, he joined.

And hey, Brad Koeppenick, we all know your name. I am sure you remember the “Pumpernickel” joke, from a different moment in time. If you know, you know.

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When Val Entered The Chat

And just like that… he was there. Not in a grand entrance sort of way — just a simple username with a ⭐ next to it: Val Kilmer.

The chat exploded. Everyone was typing faster. The energy shifted.

I had just dropped a line about high school boys copying Iceman’s haircut — “3 boys in my high school got Iceman’s haircut, one got the bleach down as well 😄” — and seconds later, there it was: Val Kilmer: “haha”

A laugh. A simple “haha.” But from Val. At my comment.

Then a little later, after more talk of hair: Val Kilmer: “all about the hair”

Was he confirming it? Playing along? Just vibing? Doesn’t matter. I screenshotted it immediately, of course. I mean — who wouldn’t?

In a night full of celebrity tributes, emotional performances, and nostalgic callbacks, that tiny chat exchange — light, funny, fleeting — became the moment I’ll never forget.

A Stage in Common

At 13, I was performing in school plays in Brazil — full of nerves and spark, with no idea where it would all lead. Back then, Val Kilmer was a movie star to me. I didn’t know he was classically trained, or that he came from Juilliard, or that the stillness I found so magnetic had its roots in real technique.

Years later, I would go on to study acting myself — at ACT – Atelier de Criação Teatral, and at the Faculdade de Artes do Paraná in Curitiba. My foundation was Stanislavsky and Suzuki. And while we came from different corners of the world, I could feel something familiar in his work — the precision, the physical and emotional commitment, the kind of presence that doesn’t come from ego, but from training and truth.

We didn’t walk the same path, but we stepped onto the same kind of stage. I eventually became an indie actress in the U.S., with a couple of film festival awards under my belt — frequently revisiting Val’s movies for inspiration and nostalgia.

I also may or may not have hoped that one day I’d meet Val Kilmer and become his next great love story — just like all the “girlfriends” of my generation watching Top Gun that evening.

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Val Kilmer’s Fans Finding Each Other

After the release of VAL, the documentary that cracked open his private world and showed the artist behind the icon, something shifted. There was a sudden wave of attention — not the tabloid kind, but something more tender. More curious. People weren’t just remembering Val Kilmer; they were discovering him, maybe for the first time, or seeing him differently than they had before.

Podcasts, forums, tribute pages — they started popping up everywhere. Fans were analyzing scenes, sharing personal stories, and swapping screenshots like souvenirs. I even got invited to join a couple of the podcast conversations (Sorry, I couldn’t make it).

Still, it was clear something real was happening. People were finding each other — drawn together by the same performances we’d loved in different ways, in different decades.

Somewhere in those conversations, I started picking up on something I hadn’t realized before: Val’s own favorite performance may not have been Jim Morrison in The Doors, as many assumed, but Doc Holliday in Tombstone. The precision, the humor, the heartbreak — it was all there, and fans were quoting lines like scripture. It made sense. That role didn’t just showcase his talent; it showed his timing, his intelligence, and the quiet layers he could carry in a single glance.

Heat: The Most Memorable

I cannot end this piece without talking about Heat. Heat was unforgettable — and not just for the action. Val’s character felt dangerous, sharp, and somehow always a little ahead of the chaos – despite the unfortunate hair extensions.

I later found out he didn’t use a stunt double for the famous shootout scene, and that the whole sequence was filmed in a single take. No retakes, just precision. That level of commitment, physical control, and presence? That was Val.

Rumor has it that the scene has become a legitimate reference in law enforcement and military training — but for fans, it did something else. It showed a different kind of intensity. Heat brought in a whole new crowd, and suddenly, Val Kilmer fans weren’t just 80s kids or film students anymore. The fan base widened, and he earned it .

Still, as much as Chris Shiherlis held his ground, he never quite inherited Iceman’s crown — or his haircut.

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Conclusion

I didn’t plan on making Val Kilmer laugh that night. But he read my comment — the one about the Iceman haircut — and he laughed. In a sea of chat messages, that tiny exchange somehow happened, and I’ve carried it with me ever since. (Speaking of seas, if you haven’t watched The Salton Sea, you should. It’s one of his most haunting roles.)

Of course, it wasn’t really about the haircut. It was about presence. Timing. That rare ability Val had to command attention with a glance, a breath, or a single well-placed word. He once joked that when he played Iceman, he was getting his hair cut “three times a week.”

Whether he was strutting as Iceman, slurring as Doc Holliday, or reloading mid-chaos in Heat, Val had a way of making every moment stick — on screen, and apparently, in a livestream chat.

Val Kilmer will always be remembered. Not just for the roles, but for the way he made people feel — seen, inspired, and in my case… a little giddy with a single “haha.”

Love, L. (If you know, you know)

—

Guest post written by Miami actress Luciana Lambert.

We at Teacup of Wisdom hope you enjoyed this little tribute to the unforgettable Val Kilmer.

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