Ahoy, squirts! Quint here with a very disappointed reaction to Gus Van Sant's newest flick, LAST DAYS, a fictional film based loosely on the death of Kurt Cobain. Apparently, it's a very close match because the below reviewer thinks that it IS Van Sant's retelling of Cobain's death. The reviewer doesn't mention the circumstances around him seeing this film, but since it's not scheduled for release until October here in the states, I hope Van Sant has some time to make the film run, you know?
What could be better than the great Gus VanSant making a film about the final 48hrs of Kurt Cobain? The genius behind Drug Store Cowboys taking on the tragic death of the most beloved junkie of the nineties. It's the kind of pairing that makes the boys in marketing cream their pants with visions of an artistically credible product aimed directly at the heart of their target demographic.
Well my flannel clad friends, this ain't no 'Ray'.
Welcome to a world where a man making macaroni and cheese is so fascinating that it demands to be told from two different perspectives and commands fifteen minutes of screen time. Comprised of five pages of dialogue, a hundred and fifteen pages of muttering and ten minutes of improvised bull shit from Ricky Jay, 'Last Days' is the story of how one man dressed in women's clothing walked around his house, talked to missionaries, watched TV and blew his brains out. It's the most disconnected piece of film making since, well, the last VanSant movie. Bring along a heavy coat cause 'Last Days' has all the warmth of an ice cube. None of the glamorous aspects you would expect find in a film about dope fiends are anywhere to be found. No needles, no spoons and no balloons filled with tar. In fact we never see anyone do much of anything. Instead VanSant eviscerates the usual junkie romance with the more tedious aspects heroin, like listening to Velvet Underground records ad nauseam.
After coming to terms with the fact that VanSant has sucked you into another one of his Elephants, all you can do is wait it out one stagnant frame at a time and pray for the sweet release of death. Like Anakin in a lava bath, we all know how this film is going to end. Well sucker prepare yourself for disappointment cause like Ozzy says, "Suicide is no solution". The director denies his audience any grotoitus shots of brain splattering around the garden shed in favor of ten more minutes of Lukas Haas plays guitar in the back of a volvo. "Feel the pain".
In all honesty, this is probably a very real and respectful portrayal of what went down in the last 48hrs of Cobain's life. We like to think of rock stars, (especially ones that kill themselves) as living these mythical lives that enable them to see and feel more than us mere mortal ever could. However, as VanSant makes abundantly clear, it's all just a boring, self-indulgent bull shit. Let's hope that Taylor Hackford gets the option on the Courtney story.
Call me Son Of Kurdt
