Nick Broomfield's documentaries are as much farcical as investigative, with the director affecting the role of bumbling, plummy-voiced faux-naif, Kurt & Courtney (1998) was no exception. He looks hilariously out of place trailing around grungey Seattle, politely interrogating a series of eccentrics, conspiracy theorists and whacked-out dopers. He examines the possibility that Courtney murdered her husband, but witnesses prove so unreliable he drops the charge. However, the censorious, evasive Love still emerges as the Wicked Witch and, as always, Broomfield's blundering approach masks a persistence which yields triumphant results. Most touching are tapes of a seven-year-old Kurt squealing along to The Monkees, innocence and exuberance still unspoiled.
Nick Broomfield’s documentaries are as much farcical as investigative, with the director affecting the role of bumbling, plummy-voiced faux-naif, Kurt & Courtney (1998) was no exception. He looks hilariously out of place trailing around grungey Seattle, politely interrogating a series of eccentrics, conspiracy theorists and whacked-out dopers. He examines the possibility that Courtney murdered her husband, but witnesses prove so unreliable he drops the charge. However, the censorious, evasive Love still emerges as the Wicked Witch and, as always, Broomfield’s blundering approach masks a persistence which yields triumphant results. Most touching are tapes of a seven-year-old Kurt squealing along to The Monkees, innocence and exuberance still unspoiled.
