Review by Donna Halfpenny Not even pop stars are exempt from pain or death. This sentiment is of little comfort to the many fans of Kurt Cobain, lead singer with the grunge group Nirvana, whose death, four years ago, shocked the music world.

In April of 1994, rock legend Kurt Cobain was found shot dead in his Pacific Northwest home. Although an official ruling of suicide was declared, there have been a number of allegations since, insinuating that more sinister forces were at work.

Cobain's wife, Courtney Love is at the centre of a new controversial, documentary-style film that questions her possible involvement in Cobain's death.

British film-maker, Nick Broomfield, who began making the film three years ago, drags the audience down into two Victorian basement apartments and the underground club scenes of Seattle -- the home of grunge -- where the friends and family of Kurt and his wife, Courtney Love, still live.

Interviews with former friends of Cobain, unashamedly wasted, are juxtaposed with `straight' family members and the result is utterly absorbing though disconcerting.

Broomfield and his crew may be at times incompetent but there is no doubt that they are highly courageous -- Courtney has already threatened to sue if the film is shown -- as they stumble through red-tape in order to find someone to blame for Cobain's death.

Whether Cobain's death was caused by commercial success, his wife or severe depression is of little consequence, what is interesting is how this film expands to become a commentary on documentary filming, the ethics of journalism and the cult of celebrity.

We all have a morbid curiosity, usually it manifests itself when we rubber-neck at an unfortunate victim of a road-side accident.

In this film Broomfield allows the audience to rubber-neck without getting the neck pain.

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