– the first half of this doc (covering Cobain’s frenetic childhood and rise to pop culture ubiquity) is more engaging and interesting than the latter, though the back end helps humanize the Kurt who descended into tragedy (not to mention his widow Courtney Love, an immensely likable figure throughout Heck, even when discussing drug use during her pregnancy [and she was right, her kid turned out fine])
– the Scanner Darkly style animated segments, while very richly detailed and atmospheric, ultimately feel too clean (read: too Hollywood) for the rest of the film’s aesthetic (read: notebook scrawled punk rock anarchy)
– there are no revelations here concerning Kurt’s personality or approach to life; it all just reinforces how difficult the world can be for ultra altruistic and/or ultra idealistic figures, especially when they have major aspirations
– I’m enormously satisfied this prestige work includes that hilarious circa ’91 footage of Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic videotaping himself in the rest room of an airplane, joking about “this bird [goin’] down”
– it was cool at the end when they credited every person who ever passed through Nirvana equally
– the worst thing you can say about Montage Of Heck is that it gets a little repetitive and ends abruptly—of course, this simply mirrors Kurt’s final years, so maybe this entire exercise is perfectly honest and unflinching
– as sad a figure as Kurt Cobain seems this documentary does a great job proving he could be just as funny and light-hearted as anyone else; in fact, his wit seemed so quick I could easily see him holding his own on “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” next to Greg Proops and Ryan Stiles; I for one would have lovingly embraced Kurt Cobain, Improv Comic
– it’s inevitable another doc on Kurt or Nirvana will be produced someday, but after Heck it shouldn’t be (Obama can secure his legacy by making this an executive order or constitutional amendment or whatever process this country uses to legislate movies about grunge)
In Utero also debuted today in the ’93 season. I’m certainly not the first schlub to note that Nirvana’s final album is as angry, dense, and grotesque as it is amusing, touching, and melodic, and I’ll never forget bringing it home on cassette for the first time to experience it all in one jaw-dropping listen. Rather than debate “the greatest” Nirvana album, let’s just agree that In Utero is great unto itself, an exciting journey charting Nirvana’s attempt at musical purification, the emotional and real Empire to Nevermind’s blow-out Star Wars. Thank you Kurt, thank you Krist, thank you Dave.
I’m pretty sure I saw former Nirvana bassist Krist Novoselic getting off the G train at the Metropolitan stop in Brooklyn last night. He was dressed in business casual attire, carrying a brief case/satchel, and listening to something on an iPhone. He was also black and a woman.
No, I’m kidding. It really looked like him. I almost said something, but I was afraid I’d miss the train. What if it had turned out not to be Krist Novoselic? How do you explain to your friends you’re late to their pizza party because you thought you saw some old-ass grunge dude but it just turned out to be some regular business guy? I’d never live that down.
Believe it or not, this is the closest brush with fame I’ve had in New York since I moved here nine months ago. It’s a little weird, too, because I’ve been working on a piece about Nirvana for a couple of days now and I just mentioned Krist’s name in a review I wrote of that new Flipper DVD.
Is God trying to tell me something? Am I supposed to communicate something to Krist Novoselic on behalf of Our Supreme Being? Have I just been drinking too much Malta lately? I don’t know. I should probably seek medical attention, but I don’t think there’s any kind of treatment yet for Restless Novoselic Syndrome (RNS).
For now, I’m going to say that was Krist Novoselic exiting the G train last night, only because then I can officially and correctly state that 66.6% of Nirvana has come withing striking distance of JG2. Some of you old timers may recall my epic touching of Dave Grohl’s knee in the year 2000. I should recount that wild episode in an entirely separate blog entry at a later date. It was a real humdinger.