Despite the talent involved, Michael offers nothing more than a biased and unabashed look at how great the late singer was rather than who he was as a person with an interior life.
There’s arguably no singular cultural icon quite like Michael Jackson. He was the undisputed centre of the pop culture galaxy and everyone clung onto everything he did, whether it be his countless iconic songs or all the controversial legal issues that dogged him. This also means that the late singer inadvertently becomes a deep well of human psychology from which a wealth of stories could potentially be drawn.
From generational trauma and redefining masculinity to being a Black American who broke down racial barriers through music and the dangers of being the most famous person in the world, Jackson is perhaps the north star for all of these ideas (and much more) over the past several decades.
That’s why Antoine Fuqua’s Michael is a terrible cinematic depiction of the singer and his cultural impact because the movie teases all of the aforementioned heady ideas, only to chicken out every single time to remind us just how awesome Michael Jackson was.
To say that this movie commits all the classic biopic sins outlined in Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story is giving it far too much credit because there’s no proper story structure for it to work as a movie. Starting with the formation of the Jackson 5 and spanning until Jackson’s Bad tour in 1988, Michael ticks off major milestones in the singer’s life like someone going through his Wikipedia page, all while ignoring the psychological and dramatic substance behind said milestones. Whenever the movie gets close to something meaty, it quickly cuts to a recreation of a live performance or recording of a famous song as a distraction before moving to the singer’s next big life moment.
Even calling Michael ‘by-the-numbers’ is an insult to numbers because at least there’s a logic to ones and zeros. There’s absolutely no logic to be found in this glossy, 127-minute music video that functions as image rehabilitation trying to get ahead of any potential negative story at best, and a mockery of the artist, audience, and alleged victims at worst. When Berry Gordy (Larenz Tate) says, ‘In this business, you can make up just about anything,’ it comes off more as a warning than you initially realise.
The movie’s slavish depiction of events leaves no room for any thematic throughline or deeper exploration of any character who had a major impact on the singer’s life. It’s well documented that Jackson had an abusive childhood stemming from his father, Joseph Jackson (Colman Domingo), and Michael does hint at this. But the movie quickly handwaves all this away with nary an explanation, and making Michael the focal point without analysing the psychology of those around him with any nuance feels almost negligent. We don’t get any indication why Joseph is the horrible father he is, or any clue that his mother, whom we know he was very close to, is more than a lady who likes watching 1930s comedy movies with her son.
But the fundamental, fatal flaw of Michael is that the movie not only operates as a shameless hagiography of the singer, but also portrays him as someone with absolutely no personality behind his voice apart from what everyone proclaims him to be.
That’s no shade on Jaafar Jackson, whose recreation of his late uncle’s mannerisms, singing, and dancing is perhaps one of the best physical impressions of a real person in recent years. But it is ultimately a performance that recreates what we, the audience, know of Michael Jackson as a pop culture figure rather than a person.
There’s no indication of who he is as a person or what his personality is (other than he’s sad or lonely), nor does the movie even try to lift the lid or reveal something new about the singer. What it does do is show how Michael solved gang violence in Los Angeles by casting the Bloods and Crips in his Beat It music video, and how racial equality on MTV was solved by persuading the network to play his videos. I wish I were joking, but these scenes are in the movie.
Make no mistake, it’s amazing to watch Jaafar recreating Michael Jackson to the level that he does, but it’s ultimately a cynical nostalgia play aimed at telling us just how great the late singer was at performing live. As good as it is to see a recreation of Jackson’s legendary Motown 25: Yesterday, Today, Forever performance, I can easily just watch the original on YouTube and feel more emotion than what the movie is putting out.
The glossy recreations of Jackson’s live performances are somewhat fun to watch, but the elephant in the room that is the singer’s child molestation allegations linger in the background. While Michael never directly addresses these allegations (which the singer vehemently denied), it’s incredibly difficult not to acknowledge the disingenuous, almost taunting tone during certain sequences, such as the several shots of Peter Pan, Neverland, and Michael being around children.
It’s obvious that the movie wants to use those scenes to recontextualise the singer as a talented individual who felt a warmth towards children due to his childlike nature while also attempting to pour cold water on the well-documented allegations levied against him. But these scenes linger a bit too long for things to become uncomfortable. I can believe that the movie – and by extension Michael Jackson’s estate – thinks it is helping us better understand Jackson as a person, but it ultimately comes off as downplaying – if not outright erasing – the experiences brought forward by all of the singer’s alleged victims.
Diving deeper into the late singer’s psychology and linking it to his widely reported molestation charges is a big financial risk (which is why there’s a third hour of this movie we’ll never see), so all we’re left with is a piece of glossy content that’s filled with misinformation while Trojan horsing around as nostalgia bait. In a grim way, Michael perfectly encapsulates what’s wrong with our media and cultural landscape: It’s all lies and omissions wrapped in a pretty cover.
For those who argue for ‘separating the art from the artist’, Michael doesn’t even function well enough for that idea to take hold because the movie straight up ignores the art in favour of the artist. Despite several scenes of Michael coming up with his most famous hits on Thriller, there’s no attempt to even dig into the creative origins of songs like Billie Jean or Beat It. We’re just supposed to assume that everything just happened that way with nary an explanation, much in the same way we’re supposed to believe that someone as respected as Quincy Jones (Kendrick Samson) kowtowed at the altar of Jackson’s talent rather than push back constructively (which he did in real life).
The final upshot is that it feels wrong to approach Michael as anything other than a shameless act of brand rehabilitation for a dead celebrity who remains incredibly valuable to his estate. This isn’t a piece of art that says something meaningful about its subject or reveals the sensibilities of its director and writer. This is nothing more than a piece of IP guided by the financial motivations of its stakeholders, who, ironically, are the reason we’re able to get the well-made recreations of Michael Jackson’s live performances in the first place.
Regardless of where you come down on Jackson as a person, Michael was an incredibly frustrating watch because he is a monumental figure who deserves a better piece of art made about him, either negatively or positively. This isn’t a biopic, not really. This is a $200 million offering to the altar of Michael Jackson with a ‘His story continues’ ending card promising that we’re going to be subjected to more history rewriting and propaganda. The sad thing is, many people have fallen for it, and we’ll have to go through this whole charade again.
