Sleazy, silly, typically lowbrow documentary from typically lowbrow documentary filmmaker Nick Broomfield probes Kurt Cobain's suicide (murder?) and widow Courtney Love's subsequent rise to rock/Hollywood stardom. Never less than fascinating, but similar to flipping through a National Enquirer. The ink stays on your fingers and afterward all you can think about is washing it off. Broomfield is a scuzzy English tabloid documentarian obsessed with white-trash America. His best trait is his aggressive interview technique, and the way his films seem to descend on a spiral. As he neglects to get the "truth" from his interview subjects he returns to them again and again, his questions and manner growing more and more relentless. It's fun to watch but also annoying and unnerving. Like watching someone slowly drill a hole through metal. I hope I'm never subjected to his process.
Culturally and geographically, this film is like looking at a graveyard. The grunge scene (Seattle in particular) seems to have died along with Cobain. What a thriving mecca it once was. The brief concert clips of Seattle bands post-Nirvana are just depressing. At one point the lead singer in some Nirvana wannabe group attacks a fan with his microphone and screams obsceneties at him and it comes off as pathetic and listless. What a boring, dried-up scene Seattle has become. And who are these losers Broomfield trots out in front of his camera. Someone named "Ami" who says she had the same dealer as Cobain and Love and calls Love a harpy. Maybe she is but who cares. Who in the world IS this Ami and why are we listening to her. She could be lying about knowing them. Later, there's someone else (they don't even say her name) who says she worked for Cobain and Love as a nanny for a month. The woman looks so wasted on drugs if Cobain and Love were dumb enough to hire her as a nanny they deserved to be slandered in a documentary.
The absurdity reaches its nadir with the introduction of "El Duce", and truly a sadder specimen you will not likely see outside of a mental hospital or jail. I flat out refuse to believe anyone would offer this guy 50 grand to snuff anyone because he looks like he could hardly make it to the mailbox. The only really reliable people are Love's father (who's just plain odd), Cobain's former friend and the guy who supplied him with the shotgun (he's so doped up he can't follow Broomfield's questions) and Cobain's aunt (who's the only sane person in the entire film).
Amazingly, the one who ends up looking good is Love. This was during one of her "together" periods so she looks great in the few clips we see of her. Certainly better than anyone else in the movie. And a lot more coherent (with the exception of her scary voice-mail threats).
A sad movie, finally. Doubtful that Love killed him. Too much speculation. A straight documentary on Cobain would have been much more interesting. The few clips we get of him are the best things in the film
Culturally and geographically, this film is like looking at a graveyard. The grunge scene (Seattle in particular) seems to have died along with Cobain. What a thriving mecca it once was. The brief concert clips of Seattle bands post-Nirvana are just depressing. At one point the lead singer in some Nirvana wannabe group attacks a fan with his microphone and screams obsceneties at him and it comes off as pathetic and listless. What a boring, dried-up scene Seattle has become. And who are these losers Broomfield trots out in front of his camera. Someone named "Ami" who says she had the same dealer as Cobain and Love and calls Love a harpy. Maybe she is but who cares. Who in the world IS this Ami and why are we listening to her. She could be lying about knowing them. Later, there's someone else (they don't even say her name) who says she worked for Cobain and Love as a nanny for a month. The woman looks so wasted on drugs if Cobain and Love were dumb enough to hire her as a nanny they deserved to be slandered in a documentary.
The absurdity reaches its nadir with the introduction of "El Duce", and truly a sadder specimen you will not likely see outside of a mental hospital or jail. I flat out refuse to believe anyone would offer this guy 50 grand to snuff anyone because he looks like he could hardly make it to the mailbox. The only really reliable people are Love's father (who's just plain odd), Cobain's former friend and the guy who supplied him with the shotgun (he's so doped up he can't follow Broomfield's questions) and Cobain's aunt (who's the only sane person in the entire film).
Amazingly, the one who ends up looking good is Love. This was during one of her "together" periods so she looks great in the few clips we see of her. Certainly better than anyone else in the movie. And a lot more coherent (with the exception of her scary voice-mail threats).
A sad movie, finally. Doubtful that Love killed him. Too much speculation. A straight documentary on Cobain would have been much more interesting. The few clips we get of him are the best things in the film