Irish Film Review: The Price of Desire

Orla-Brady-Alanis-Morisette-The-Price-of-Desire-by-Julian-Lennon


DIR/WRI: Mary McGuckian • PRO: Mary McGuckian, Jean-Jacques Neira, Hubert Toint • DOP: Stefan von Bjorn • ED: John O’Connor, Robert O’Connor, Kant Pan • MUS: Brian Byrne • DES: Emma Pucci • CAST: Orla Brady, Alanis Morissette, Vincent Perez, Francesco Scianna

Mary McGuckian has described her biopic of Irish modernist furniture designer and architect Eileen Gray as an art film in both content and style. The film seeks to make amends for forgotten history, Gray being somewhat sidelined in history by the much more well known Le Corbusier, and reinstate her as the pioneer of modernist design that she was.

The film opens with an elderly, frail Gray being shown pictures of E-1027, the house she designed and lived in in the south of France with her former lover, architect and critic Jean Badovici. The authorship of the modernist villa was for a time misattributed to Le Corbusier, a misconception caused in part by Gray’s slowness to accredit it to herself, and also Le Corbusier’s painting of murals on the walls of the villa in Gray’s absence, which infuriated her. Much of the film examines the strained relationship between the two designers, who, despite their disagreements, maintained a respect for each other as artists.

Perhaps in keeping with how history has remembered them, the film gives more of a voice to Le Corbusier, who narrates his version of events with playful use of voice over and direct address. The film gives the impression of a merging of the two’s memories, being recollections of both a now elderly Gray and a hermit-like Le Corbusier, perhaps wishing to atone for his past actions. The regular use of elliptical montage, propelled by a near constant lilting score, suggests that these are flashes of remembrance; the conception and then construction of E-1027 is swept along in moments, as is the jarring intrusion of World War II, when the house is looted by German soldiers.

The film’s recreation of the style and feel of the era is faultless, the costume and production design being particularly well executed. The film is visually stunning, but it is a subject matter that would demand carefully constructed visuals.

Gray herself casts an intriguing and enigmatic figure, vividly rendered by Brady. The film focuses more on her artistic peak than her early or later years, giving the impression of someone whose work life and personal life were closely intertwined. At times the narrative tends towards the more intellectual than emotional, though this is in keeping with the modernist mind-set that the film documents.

As a tribute to an artist and the pursuit of art, the film is an artistic achievement in its own right, elevated by the strength of its cinematography, design, music and cast. It is fitting that the work of Eileen Gray should be reintroduced and revisited in so rich a fashion.

Cathy Butler

109 minutes

The Price of Desire is released 27th May 2016

The Price of Desire – Official Website

 

 

 

Share

The Canal – Review of Irish Film at Jameson Dublin International Film Festival 2015

06-The-Canal-WEB 

Ruairí Moore stretches his legs along The Canal, Ivan Kavanagh’s latest nightmare, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

So much of what constitutes classic horror is bound up in style and aesthetic – with each successive slasher flick where the order and extent of grotesquery is generally ranked by ethnicity or attractiveness, the gateway to the true shock and awe that horror is capable of providing creaks a little further shut. With The Canal, Ivan Kavanagh plants a foot in the jamb and barrels the door wide open.

A loving father and husband, David (Rupert Evans) is surprised to learn that his new family home was once the scene of a series of horrific murders. Initially dismissive, the mild-mannered film archivist soon begins to question his sanity when the brutal images begin to insinuate themselves among the various aspects of his personal life.

Nothing ground-breaking, but then it is not the plot that will see audiences stuck to their seats. Kavanagh’s love of cinema is immediately evident; the hum of film-reel and the snap-hiss of the projection light are the first images to startle, and it’s a device the director returns to time and time again.

Where much modern horror subsists on jump-scares, The Canal opts for a much more humdrum brand of dread, where the everyday is an invasive force. Sound design is key here, the growl of coat-zippers and the sudden slamming of doors adding a more ominous dimension the haunted-house scenario.

Neither is Kavanagh afraid to let silence and space stretch, favouring largely static cinematography but for the odd tight zoom – the end result is a gathering sense of genuine dread that is a welcome tonic to the flimsy and fleeting hysteria that is the foundation of so much of the genre.

There is much and more that could be said of the cast, but suffice to say that newcomers Kelly Byrne and Calum Heath can’t help but steal the show, particularly in the funny and all-too-brief respites from the unrelenting force that is the rest of the film.

Raw, visceral and atmospheric, The Canal is one of the best horror films to grace Irish screens in far too long a time, and possibly the best these shores have ever produced. For those unmoved by patriotic sycophancies, a decent core workout is promised at the very least.

 

The Canal screened on Saturday, 28th March 2015 at The Light House Cinema as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

Check out our reviews of the Irish films that screened at this year’s Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

Share

Glassland – Review of Irish Film at Jameson Dublin International Film Festival 2015

grassland

 

Anthony Assad delves into Gerard Barrett’s Glassland, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

 

John (Jack Reynor) lives a life of monotony driving a taxi, often pulling late night shifts just to keep afloat while playing parent to his alcoholic mother Jean (Toni Collette). When John attempts to sober her up and encourage a reconnection with her younger son Kit (Harry Nagle) all hell breaks loose as John’s off-the-meter pick up jobs take a dark and desperate turn to fund his thankless efforts.

Gerard Barrett’s previous feature Pilgrim Hill was a monumental film from the then debutant writer/director, working from a truly miniscule budget that managed to capture the hearts and minds of audiences nationwide, even skimming the pond to achieve resonance across UK, US and Chinese theatres in 2013. Going on to garner the Rising Star Award at the IFTAs meant that expectations were inevitably sky high in the run-up to that all important second feature and I’m happy to say the Dublin premiere of Glassland at this year’s Jameson Dublin International Film Festival proved that his is a star still on a safe and steady rise.

Swapping the rural for the urban may seem like quite a risqué tonal shift but just like the former environs of Pilgrim Hill, Dublin in Glassland is similarly populated by the lost and lonely-hearted with tense familial relations and tethered responsibilities once again the resounding themes. All of these rest upon John’s shoulders who’s caught up in the same vicious circle day after day, he wonders when his mother will come home knowing full well that when she does he’ll have to pick up the pieces. His nights prove just as loathsome with wheels spinning running circles around the city streets picking up strangers and sex workers for a living that quite simply isn’t living. Reynor carries the role with an air of disembodiment, channelling a husk of young man weighed down by the duties an absent father and self-destructive mother have forced upon him. During a habitual visit to A&E, however, the doctors’ reveal that Jean is effectively drinking herself to death and an intervention is at hand, which she’ll prove to fight tooth and nail against.

As such, Toni Collette delivers a ferocious performance as Jean, a granite-faced ghost of a woman walking among the living, haunting her son and would be saviour for prolonging a life she feels has long since past, hers to end however and whenever she so wishes. And yet, there’s a soft core, evoked by an impromptu party scene fuelled by cheap wine and music administered by John to loosen tongues and heartstrings so to get to the bottom of what she’s been running from before going cold turkey. The means to this end is an expertly poised scene as mother and son dance in each other’s arms to Soft Cell’s ‘Tainted Love’ before a clever jump cut leads us towards a harrowing confession that really pushes the prowess of the proceedings, especially Reynor and Collette’s quietly chaotic heart to heart, a world away from the dish throwing teeth baring savagery of prior scenes and yet all the more powerful.

The rest from the wicked is shared among scenes with John and Shane (Will Poulter), his go-to friend whose antics provide some welcome, if not sometimes, guiltily enjoyed comic relief (the video-store dust-up comes to mind). It’s not just a pit stop from the drama however as Barrett creates an interesting duality between the two to highlight the life John has been deprived of. Shane is jobless, living at home off his all too accommodating mother and plotting a hell-raising break away from Dublin, in-between the important stuff like playing video games and avoiding movie rental fees for his own obnoxious amusement. He also found time to father a young child from a one-night stand, obviously not ideal scenarios but these follies of youth are rites of passage, mistakes John can never afford to make (and learn from) when forced instead to look after a stranger in his own home who breaks his heart everyday. Accordingly Reynor downplays the gaiety of their activities, more a silent observer, seeking to revert to his friend’s carefree mind-set but constantly aware and distracted by the myriad of responsibilities all around him.

John’s only fault is that his heart is too big, he alone attends his brother Kit’s eighteenth birthday party struggling to explain why their mother isn’t present and why Kit can’t live with them when in truth it’s because Jean never accepted and blames her life’s downfall because of his down syndrome. Again John is playing the parent and the older brother, the latter letting loose when he joyrides at his brother’s request, and in tow, around an empty car park. When he’s forced to reprimand his mother and drag her to a rehab clinic John’s pushed beyond his limits and loses it, as much for her sake as his, in a stand-out scene that reverberates throughout the rest of the movie and long after the credits roll.

She needs 24-hour surveillance for at least a month to sober-up in a controlled environment where she can push through the withdrawal but even a favour from former addict and councillor Jim (Michael Smiley) is an expense John can only afford if he ups his dark dealings with an illegal trafficker. He’s given an address to pick ‘something’ up for delivery and the resulting scene proves how far into hell and back again he’s willing to venture for his family. He enters the desolate house on the outskirts of town tip-toeing from darkness into light with the camera creeping along behind him like Peter Pan’s shadow, mocking what little innocence he has left in a heart-stopping scene paced to perfection.

There’s heaps of drama (some of it heavy-handed), but the moments of silence coupled with long locked-off compositions of seemingly natural light illuminating unnatural events will either pull you to the edge of your seat or out of the narrative. Yes, the pace may upset some, but it’s a journey that avoids the pitfalls of its genre (gratuitous sex and violence) to reach a destination fuelled by an earnest and unflinching eye.

Deservedly the film went on to win Best Film at the Galway Film Fleadh complimenting Reynor’s nod at Sundance for his outstanding performance and recently picked up the Best Irish Film award at JDIFF and the Michael Dwyer Discovery for cinematographer Piers McGrail’s inimitable contribution. This really is Irish cinema at its best, a truly transcendent and palpable experience shedding glorious light on an issue all too relevant from a bold and emphatic director at the top of his game.

Glassland screened on Friday, 27th March 2015 at the Light House Cinema as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

Share

The Great Wall – Review of Irish Film at Jameson Dublin International Film Festival 2015

31

Darragh McCabe moves across Tadhg O’ Sullivan’s documentary The Great Wall, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

The Great Wall, Tadhg O’ Sullivan’s second documentary feature, is a series of vignettes depicting the literal and metaphorical walls that enclose Europe. The concrete-and-steel wall that’s rising around the Spanish Moroccan city of Melillia, for decades a chink in Europe’s armour, serves as a point of departure; from there the film examines other, less literal barricades, as well as their victims, from the City of London, to protesters in Greece during last year’s unrest, to a roadside camp in Bulgaria. There’s music, but no narration proper – the Franz Kafka short story, ‘The Building of the Great Wall Of China,’ read by Dr. Nicola Creighton, acts as aural counterpoint to the imagery. (Kafka’s story describes the building of the Great Wall as a sort of symbolic exercise undertaken for the purposes of self-definition.) The initial strangeness of this cinematic territory is eventually made familiar as certain conventions – the dynamic pairing of music to editing, the length and virtuosity of some of the shots – orient us. We’re in a land claimed by Chris Marker and previously visited by directors from Agnès Varda to Godfrey Reggio.

Without exposition or interviews, the film doesn’t form an explicit argument. O’Sullivan’s images can only be rhetorically effective if we’re already having the discussion he’s weighing in on, and he assumes that we are. But when the twin tyrannies of argument and narrative are overthrown, we go to great lengths to re-establish one or both and make safe again the broad avenues of explanation and exposition. For example, the music offers a sort of story; the progression from klezmer fiddle, the music of a people with a storied past of exile (and of Kafka’s own heritage), to Bach, to droning synths, might be a comment on the dangers of an approaching European monoculture. There are a few instances of written text; graffiti on the wall of a ruin just outside Melilla that serves as a way-station for African refugees – “think positive” “I will never stop my journey until I reach my home” – struggles uselessly against the bureaucratic injunctions on the wall of a border control office in Bulgaria. Looser signifiers abound, too. Footage of Greek riot police, lined up with shields raised, speaks the language of the headlines, and the camera swoops around the City’s cathedrals of capitalism in a stylistic parody of corporate advertising.

There’s a disconnect here. The Great Wall often looks like a work of anthropology. It obviously took a lot of time and effort for O’Sullivan and his cinematographer Feargal Ward to infiltrate some of these environments and to earn the trust of their subjects. Yet the footage is often so loaded, even disturbing, that to fail to comment could be seen as a cop-out. This is an old argument, one that it mightn’t even be worth having anymore, which is why I’m hedging my language. At the screening’s Q&A, one man asked O’Sullivan whether he thought he might have overestimated the parallels between Kafka’s text and the cumulative meaning of some the film’s more affecting imagery. Does modern Europe, he asked, really understand and identify with barbed wire, concrete and red tape, the way Kafka’s engineers understand and identify with their structure?

O’Sullivan’s answer was a qualified yes. Qualified because the questioner, in one sense, was pointing at the issue I’ve mentioned – that the narration, one of the techniques that transform what could have been a piece of reportage into an art film, might also manage to generalise out of existence whatever political statements the film is attempting to make. O’Sullivan bristled at this suggestion, insisting that we are culpable in the building of these walls around us. We’re terrified that a pistol shot from outside might crack the biodome that’s keeping us alive. Bare life absolutely isn’t just a feature of the faraway east or south; it’s evident in the arid lots that border our golf courses. There are some sequences, particularly those shot in Melilla and Bulgaria, where this is heartrendingly obvious.

The Great Wall engages with debates around documentary cinema’s form and political efficacy that have been around for decades. It’s a profound and chilling piece of filmmaking, but in order to take the film on its own terms you must accept a degree of culpability that will not be comfortable for most, and that may even be counter-productive. A cri-de-coeur in place of an accurate diagnosis, then, or a poem when what’s required is an independent report. Is it enough to simply pay attention to an unfolding atrocity? It might be. Another German-speaking writer, Berolt Brecht, closed his poem ‘Bad Time For Poetry’ with the following stanza:

Inside me contend
Delight at the apple tree in blossom
And horror at the house-painter’s speeches.
But only the second
Drives me to my desk.

 

The Great Wall screened on Monday, 23rd March 2015 at the IFI as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

Share

Yximalloo – Review of Irish Film at Jameson Dublin International Film Festival 2015

maxresdefault

Stephen Elliott pricked up his ears to Tadhg O’Sullivan and Feargal Ward’s documentary Yximalloo, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

 

Yximalloo, an Irish documentary filmed over the course of a year, follows Nao Ishimaru, a Japanese experimental musician and performance artist who has made a career out of abstract avant-garde music since the 1970s and has been living in Ireland for the past 10 years. He muses that similar artists reside in greater cultural spaces such as New York or Paris but this isn’t the case for Nao who lives with his ill, long-term partner, Ger, in a Dublin suburb.

Although the documentary opens with a civil marriage ceremony between Nao and Ger, there is no doubt that Nao is unhappy with his relationship and his life in Ireland. Struggling to find work, he jets to Tokyo to take up a job but consequently becomes homesick for Dublin. Despite his eccentricities and green leggings, we eventually see that Nao is like everyone else – trying to find his way in the world. The film is testament that no matter what age you are, you can still be searching for answers.

Yximalloo is crammed with beautiful shots including a stunning transition shot from Dublin to Tokyo. We are also treated to a selection of Nao’s greatest hits throughout the film. The experimental soundtrack unfortunately creates unease by juxtaposing the visual of Nao’s present domestic life such as cooking chicken and cutting shrubs in the garden.

O’Sullivan and Ward sought to create a cinematic piece in a documentary style. This is pure cinéma vérité – there are no interruptions or probing questions from the filmmakers. We are simply the spectator watching on as Nao silently carries on with his life. You’d be forgiven for thinking Nao and Ger have no idea there is a camera watching them but that said, Nao acts up in front of the camera on a few occasions by breaking into spontaneous dance.

Nao is an endearing character stuck between two places he calls home. He is lost and unsure of where to be. While there is no conclusive narrative to this film, Yximalloo provides an interesting insight to the life of a truly individual artist.

 

Yximalloo screened on Saturday, 28th March 2015 at the Light House Cinema as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

Share

Tana Bana – Review of Irish Film at Jameson Dublin International Film Festival 2015

2400-9871c7003ac2001f6c506d8ebd6aa64be573f02b_large

Gemma Creagh weaves her way into Pat Murphy’s Tana Bana, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

‘Banarsi fabric is the life of a wedding. The chandari silk is handloom work…. there’s gold thread called zari in some of it, so its proper Banarsi sari. A wedding is not complete without Banarsi sari,’ states a wedding guest in Lucknow, India in a piece to camera.

Pat Murphy’s Tana Bana (The Warp and the Weft) is as vibrantly rich as the fabrics produced by her subject matter. The sold-out Lighthouse screening was introduced to a receptive audience by Murphy, alongside JDIFF’s director, Grainne Humphreys.

The film opens slowly, with measured shots and lingering pans introducing the world of the Moslem silk weavers in Uttar Pradesh. Over the past thousand years, Varanasi, an ancient city on the Ganges, has seen conflict between the Moslem population (the creators and weavers) and Hindus (the traders and merchants). Early on, we witness one weaver selling his wares to a haggling merchant, which, as the film unfolds, is revealed to be a metaphor for his struggling industry.

Subtly, and with as little interference as possible, Murphy examines each facet of production, from designers, dyers, spinners, weavers to the silver-tongued salesman. She focuses not only on the labour – it takes one month to make each hand woven sari – but on how political and economic shifts have affected the business. While many of the weavers are facing poverty, elsewhere their work is being sold for a small fortune. This issue is heightened by the onset of computerisation, embodied by the loud ominous clacking of the power loom. Using an automated machine means one man can work four looms at the same time, lowering the market value of hand-woven goods substantially.

The heart of the film, however, is rooted in community. Ahmed Tahir, a designer (nakshaband) describes this best when he says: ‘For us it is like this, if we can receive income from any profession, we must use it to take care of our children and our family. Their needs are my duty. For us, work is a form of prayer.’ Murphy emphasises the closeness and involvement of families in the weaving process, as well as the changing role of women and education. At one point the discussion amongst schoolgirls turn to weddings; they unanimously laugh at the idea of a ‘love marriage’ – as, of course, it’s doomed for failure.

Tana Bana is an immersive and significant piece of filmmaking. It documents the human side of a failing industry that, without preservation, could be lost forever.

 

Tana Bana screened on Friday, 27th March 2015 at the Light House Cinema as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

Share

Ten Years in the Sun – Review of Irish Film at Jameson Dublin International Film Festival 2015

CA2QyJKXEAANb0W

Cathy Butler gets her sunscreen out for Rouzbeh Rashidi’s Ten Years in the Sun, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

 

Rouzbeh Rashidi’s Ten Years in the Sun, which had its premiere at this year’s Jameson Dublin International Film Festival, describes itself as an experimental film. While it is a bit of a catch-all term, it does signal to any potential audiences that this may be a film with a non-linear narrative, and an intent to challenge and provoke a response from the audience in various ways and to varying levels.

 

This is true of Ten Years in the Sun, which defies the usual summarisation that a film review might prompt. Its opening sequence bombards the viewer with flashing lights and a wall of sound, making for a visual experience that borders on the physically unpleasant. This sets the bar for the rest of the film, which is composed of images of varying tone and content; there is a vaguely film noir-esque feel to the scenes of two men discussing villains named Scorpio and Boris, who grow increasingly confused as their conversation continues; the various inserts of outer space imagery add a sci-fi slant; additionally, multiple sequences featuring naked or partially clothed women veer somewhat oddly into the realm of pornography.

 

This varying tone is clarified by the director’s comments in the subsequent Q and A that the subject of his work tends to be film itself, and a comment on the nature of cinema. This sampling of common tropes of cinema, and their combination in an abstract form with an often disconcerting or distorted audio track, delivers to the audience an assault on the senses that differs wildly from the more traditional forms of storytelling employed in filmmaking.

 

There is fine framing and composition throughout, and great use of a variety of different locations and lighting set-ups. There are moments of humour as well as moments of foreboding, providing for quite a wide scope of evocative visuals.

 

Again, it would be simplistic and also inaccurate to say that Ten Years in the Sun is an ‘enjoyable’ film. It is a film that demands much from its audience, and challenges the viewer to draw its own conclusions as regards any resulting message. It is a multi-sensory experience, having effects both physical and psychological, which is a powerful effect for any visual medium to have.

 

Ten Years in the Sun screened on Friday, 27th March 2015 at the Light House Cinema as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

 

119235226

 

 

Share

Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck

Kurt-Cobain

Katie Kelly finds nirvana in Brett Morgan’s documentary Kurt Cobain: Montage of Heck, which screened as part of the Jameson Dublin International Film Festival.

 

There has been a plethora of documentaries relating Kurt Cobain over the past twenty years. Unlike Nick Broomfield’s Kurt and Courtney, or Michael Azzerad’s Been a Son, Montgae of Heck is 100% authorised by Cobain’s now nineteen-year-old daughter, Frances. This is personal, and 100% agenda-less. There is no finger pointing, no blame; just pure, unadulterated Kurt Cobain from start to finish.

The documentary features interviews with various family members. Kurt’s mother’s [Wendy] honesty is admirable. She delivers a frank and sincere account of Kurt’s childhood. Growing up in Aberdeen in Washington, Kurt’s childhood went from almost idyllic to relatively fragmented and chaotic in a short space of time. Mostly unseen home videos of the blonde, blue-eyed toddler Kurt accompany his mother’s sentimental musings.

A real surprise was Donald Cobain, Kurt’s father who is notoriously un-emotional. Cobain himself famously sang about him in Serve the Servants, “I tried hard to have a father, Instead I had a dad.”

Donald Cobain also talks about Kurt’s childhood and adolescence. He is joined by his wife, and Kurt’s stepmother, Jenny Cobain. In a rare glimpse of emotion Donald becomes upset. He allows his wife to answer more of the difficult questions, obviously unable to maintain composure. Cobain is clearly unaccustomed to the cameras, and, unlike Wendy, struggles with his answers. His interview makes this documentary stand out from the crowd. Raw and unbridled, there is no doubt that this man was just as devastated by his son’s demise as anyone else, despite all the negative publicity.

Hisko Hustling’s animation brings adolescent Kurt alive to the sound of old audio recordings and diary excerpts. The sometimes disturbing sequences perfectly capture what it was like to experience the total isolation of being one of the weird ones in this relatively backwards town. Not only does the animation invigorate, but it literally brings to life some of Cobain’s many drawings and artwork from his journals. It is as if he was drawing live, on screen – a truly unique touch.

The inclusion of live, behind-the-scenes footage of the band on tour is an excellent balancing act with the interviews. Here, Nirvana are Nirvana. We have goofy Dave Grohl, sarcastic Novoselic, and a contemplative Kurt Cobain, launching themselves at drum kits, laughing, and behaving the way a young band on tour do. Kurt at the beginning of Nirvana and Kurt by the end seem like two different people. In such a short time, the toll of life on the road, coupled with drugs, the stress of being famous had broken the star.

Like Donald Cobain, bass player Novoselic remains quite sombre and contemplative throughout his interviews. He appears to find it quite difficult to talk openly about his former band-mate. Clearly some wounds never heal, and this is in stark contrast to the Novoselic on tour in 1990. Perhaps there may be a certain sense of guilt, or just outright despair. The same can be said of Tracy Marander, Cobain’s first serious girlfriend. She has been dubbed the ‘Godmother of Nirvana’. When Kurt lived with her, she provided for him and allowed him to practice music, make art and not go out to work. It was during this time that Kurt wrote many of the songs on their debut album Bleach.

Marander vehemently denies any knowledge of Cobain’s drug use when they were together. She has appeared in various other documentaries about the singer, and has remained entirely positive about him, even his major downfalls.

No Kurt documentary would be complete without Courtney Love’s crass and overbearing opinion. As usual it’s the Courtney way or the highway. Her answers to questions seem fairly contrived and long-winded, sometimes straying from the point. But the inclusion of many home videos of her, Kurt and Frances as a baby are probably the best thing about this documentary.

These never-before-seen crude home videos show what life was like at home with the Cobains – their highs and lows… literally in some cases. Kurt is clearly on drugs in some, slurring his words, and barely remaining conscious. There are also many truly touching aspects of the young couple, fussing over their new daughter, and behaving like a normal, young, family.

Montage of Heck is a must for Nirvana-lovers, and documentary-lovers alike. In true HBO style, it is gripping without being over-bearing. Just like Cobain’s life, the film ends abruptly. Unlike many documentaries, books and TV shows, this was entirely focussed on his life, and not his death. The only thing that would have improved it would have been the inclusion of Dave Grohl. But the interviews, home movies, animation, and live performance mix together perfectly to provide one of the most honest, and unbiased documentaries of recent years. A credit to executive-producer Frances Bean Cobain.

 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KOacVhXAmX0

Share