Forget about Manohla’s pan (seriously: has she just been watching too much Behind the Music?): go read this story on AJ Schnack’s Kurt Cobain: About a Son in the Village Voice, and then, if you have the means, go see the film tonight in New York or this weekend in L.A. To quote the inimitable Camille Dodero:

If Cobain’s death is the 9/11 of the modern-rock canon—an epochal tragedy that recklessly opportunistic minds have flattened into a sad, one-dimensional cartoon—then Gus van Sant’s tedious and arrogant Last Days is the World Trade Center of the posthumous Kurt industry: a fictionalized piece of shit by a big-name director. (And Nick Broomfield’s Kurt & Courtney is the Fahrenheit 9/11.) [...] Here Kurt Cobain, the supernatural songwriting god who discovered that the only true fountain of youth is death, is transmogrified into a mere mortal. This is About a Son’s singular objective, and real accomplishment.

We’ll have more on About a Son on Friday’s episode of FilmCouch. Suffice it to say, we’re fans.