As with 2Pac, Broomfield jumped on the "yoof"-bandwagon with this one, but without having secured the rights to any of Nirvana's music, or, well, anything really. Broomfield's trademark "making of"-style of directing falls flat on its face here because the result is so utterly barren and desolate. Watch Broomfield rumage through Washington state as he desperately tries to find interview partners (most of whom come across as complete and utter arseholes, especially Courtney Love's stepdad and a province cop who attention-seekingly peddles the "Coutney killed Kurt"-line - the only silver lining is Cobain's aunt, who comes across as kind and full of genuine affection for her deceased nephew), while Broomfield disingeniously describes himself as a "BBC film-maker" (he isn't). The wait for a decent Nirvana documentary continues, hopefully reaching its end when Montage of Heck is released later this year.