
More than three decades after reshaping ’90s rock, Courtney Love is back at the cultural center with an intimate feature documentary, Antiheroine. Premiering during the festival’s first week on Tuesday, January 27, 2026 (ET), the film traces her creative and personal rebuild and has fueled a week of conversation about legacy, accountability, and reinvention.
The debut screening drew a packed audience in Park City, though Love herself did not appear at the premiere. Even in absentia, the subject loomed large: clips spanning early club footage to recent studio sessions framed a portrait of an artist confronting her history on her own terms. The absence became part of the discourse—an echo of how Love has long been discussed in public while not always being physically present—yet the room’s focus remained on what’s on screen: a candid, often bracing self-examination.
Antiheroine centers Love’s narration and newly shot moments at home and in the studio. She reflects on the volatile pressures of fame, her marriage to Kurt Cobain, and the years that followed his death. The film doesn’t flatten contradictions; it allows jagged edges to remain. One sequence captures her trying to sing through fragility, another shows her stepping to a karaoke mic for a Nirvana song—small moments that land like seismic aftershocks given the history. The throughline is creative recovery: paging through diaries, excavating memory, writing again, and testing a voice that’s rougher, more weathered, but unambiguously hers.
The documentary doubles as a window into a long-gestating solo album, her first full-length in well over a decade. Studio footage teases in-progress material and reunions with longtime collaborators, including a scene that hints at the classic tensile snap of her best work. The film frames the record not as a comeback engineered for optics but as a personal necessity. There’s no public release date, only the sense of a methodical return: write, revise, record, repeat. That patience—unusual in an always-on cycle—adds stakes to every captured take.
In the days since the premiere, response has highlighted the movie’s refusal to declaw its subject. Viewers have emphasized how Antiheroine resists tidy redemption arcs while granting space for accountability and empathy. The archival weave is dense but purposeful, pairing the ferocity of Hole-era performances with quieter present-day interludes. Love’s gallows humor cuts through the noise; her barbed asides land alongside flashes of grief and creative doubt. The composite effect is neither hagiography nor hit piece—it’s a textured artist study, built around the unstable compound of memory and myth.
As of Tuesday, February 10, 2026 (ET), no public distribution deal has been announced. That leaves Antiheroine poised on the familiar post-festival ridge where reception meets marketplace reality. For Love, whose career has cycled through turbulence and reinvention, the waiting period feels almost thematic: a deliberate pause before the next release—film, album, or both—enters the wider world. The film’s final beats underline that momentum. The work is underway; the voice is in motion. Whether the next major milestone is a sale, a festival encore, a soundtrack drop, or a single, the narrative is no longer frozen in the mid-’90s. It has moved—slowly, unevenly, unmistakably—into the present.
Sources consulted: The Guardian, The Washington Post, TheWrap, Yahoo Entertainment