‘Kurt’ Finally Finds a Home

There’s a new film festival in town, and after what happened there during the earliest hours of Monday morning, its name--previously unknown--is on everyone’s lips.

The reason: Courtney Love got Slamdunked.

Last week, when the Sundance Film Festival yanked a documentary about the grunge rocker-movie star and her late husband, Kurt Cobain, from its lineup for fear of a lawsuit, British filmmaker Nick Broomfield began looking for another venue. Slamdance, the 4-year-old alternative to Sundance, passed on “Kurt and Courtney,” which Love’s lawyers have been seeking to suppress since late last year.

But the fledgling Slamdunk festival--a small group of frustrated filmmakers whose 12 movies had been rejected by the other fests--had nothing to lose. Though aware that EMI Music Publishing had told Sundance that Broomfield lacked the rights for some of the music in the film, the Slamdunkers were eager to do something bold to coax busy festival-goers to notice their existence.

So it was that 150 film executives, reporters and critics assembled just after midnight at the Park City Elks Lodge, Slamdunk’s rented home. The crowd--though handpicked by Cassian Elwes and Bumble Ward, Broomfield’s agent and publicist--was made to stand outside in the cold before being allowed entry. Even actress Daryl Hannah had to wait in line. But that only heightened the illusion that this was an event worth losing sleep over.

“They said it could not be done,” Elwes, of the William Morris Agency, told the guests after they had settled into folding chairs. Then, as three stuffed elks’ heads gazed down from the walls, Elwes offered his answer to those who would keep “Kurt and Courtney” under wraps: an obscene gesture. It was a fitting way to introduce a movie filled with a singularly disturbing cast of characters.

Love’s father, who admits he used pit bulls to discipline Courtney when she was a child, calls his daughter “deranged” in the film. After other people interviewed in the film say Cobain considered divorcing Love, El Duce, a tattoo-covered man, claims Love offered him $50,000 to kill Cobain; he offers to tell more if the filmmakers will buy him a beer. Cobain’s Aunt Mary, meanwhile, plays haunting tapes of the former Nirvana member singing--at the age of 2.

The moment the film ended, Elwes’ cell phone began ringing with calls from potential distributors, and he declared the night a grand success and dismissed the possibility that a rights problem could derail a deal. Had the film screened at Sundance on Friday night as originally planned, he said, it would never have gotten so much attention.

Did the Slamdunk founders get what they wanted? “We’re encouraging everyone to please come back,” one of them said hopefully. Weren’t they worried about Love filing suit?

“Nah,” said another. “We love the attention.”

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Back at Sundance, everyone was talking about the festival’s first big sale.

One day after the premiere of Brad Anderson’s second feature film, “Next Stop, Wonderland,” Miramax announced that it had acquired the romantic comedy in a multi-picture deal that sources said cost the Disney-owned independent film distributor $6 million.

Miramax bought the worldwide rights to “Next Stop” and to Anderson’s next two films, sources said, but not without a fight from Sony Classics, who one person close to the bidding described as “very competitive.”

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But then, competition is the name of the game in Park City this week. With 103 feature films vying for viewers (and that’s just at Sundance alone), it can be a struggle to fill a theater. No wonder filmmakers have resorted to shameless gimmickry.

The creators of “Beautopia,” a documentary in competition about the glamorous and sometimes ugly world of supermodels, are giving away cheap lipstick. Free calculators are meant to drum up interest in “Conceiving Ada,” a film by Lynn Hershman Leeson about a woman genius who created the first computer program.

What do you give to the festival-goer who has seen everything? If you’re the director of “Brother Tied,” a film about two white brothers and the black barber who comes between them, you give Afro picks emblazoned with your incomprehensible title.

Slamdance’s entrants, meanwhile, have a slightly different tactic. Affiliated with the town’s No. 2 festival, they must try harder, which means taking their message to the streets. The promoters of “Every Dog Has Its Day,” a film by Marc Chiat, have been walking an assortment of canines up and down Main Street. And a member of the film crew of “Scrapple” is strolling around town in a huge pink pig costume over which he has stretched a small white T-shirt bearing the name of the film.

“scrapple, n. (skrap’el),” reads the back of the shirt. “U.S. cornmeal mush made with the meat and broth of pork, seasoned with onions, spices, herbs, etc., and shaped into loaves and sliced for frying.”

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Meanwhile, festival veterans are mourning the absence of Slumdance, last year’s spoof that sprang up in a 6,000-square-foot basement. Its founders, a group of self-described “vagrants,” created sort of a tent city for filmmakers of all stripes.

“As soon as you become an institution, you’re ripe for satire. That’s what Slumdance essentially was,” said Brian Flemming, a feature filmmaker (the unreleased “Hang Your Dog in the Wind”) and one of the vagrants. “It wasn’t an angry, hostile response to Sundance or Slamdance. We just wanted to have a good time.”

But the good times are over, at least for now. Flemming said there was talk of reprising Slumdance this year (“We thought we’d do a petting zoo instead of a festival. Or Slumdance the Ride, a virtual-reality ride in a van speeding around Park City.”) But fear of failing to re-create the original Slumdance energy (combined with a complete lack of funds) nixed those ideas.

Flemming says Slumdance may return next year with Slumdance 2000--”a year early to make up for being late this year.”