Michael

by Mike McGranaghan

To this day, there is a cult around Michael Jackson. Its members don’t want to hear any criticism of him, refuse to believe anything negative about him, and will attack anyone who dares speak ill of him online. He is virtually a messianic figure to them. A few years ago, I posted on social media that I’d merely watched Leaving Neverland, the documentary exploring child molestation accusations made against him, and received hundreds of angry replies from people desperate to defend the singer and/or paint me as a racist. Critics who actually reviewed the doc got it even worse. Michael is made for those obsessed fans. It’s expressly designed to feed into their fantasy of MJ as a moonwalking Jesus.

The film charts his early days as a member of the Jackson 5 to eventual solo artist whose album “Thriller” became the top seller of all time. Rather than trying to give us insight into Jackson’s mindset amidst such extraordinary success, the screenplay shallowly highlights stuff we already know, almost as if working from a checklist. Nobody will be surprised that his father Joe (Colman Domingo) is a hard-ass who beats young Michael whenever he’s not perfect. We see the production of the “Thriller” and “Beat It” videos recreated, the debut of the moonwalking on the Motown 50th anniversary special, the struggle with vitiligo, and the Pepsi commercial where MJ’s hair caught on fire. This material is trotted out without nuance or insight. Just about the only thing not covered here is sister Janet Jackson, who declined to be represented and is therefore treated as though she never existed.

Biopics hit on familiar events by nature, of course. What’s dispiriting about Michael is the desire to hew tightly to the “King of Pop” mythology around the singer. Other characters in the movie are constantly telling him how special he is. He is repeatedly portrayed as a fountain of brilliance whose every move dazzles the world. In other words, it’s rather boring. Instead of making a picture about the man, they made one about the legend. That narrative has been around for decades in pop culture. Seeing a story about how a man of Jackson’s stature navigated unprecedented fame would be far more interesting than simply having the obvious repeated to us one more time.

Michael’s real-life nephew Jaafar Jackson plays him onscreen. Or maybe it would be more accurate to say he imitates him. Sure, the younger Jackson has the dance moves, but he lacks presence and acting ability. Love him or hate him, MJ had undeniable star wattage. You couldn’t take your eyes off him and, like Prince, his performances were electrifying. Jaafar Jackson, on the other hand, is bland, giving a one-note turn that in no way comes close to matching his uncle’s charisma. That problem only underlines how relentlessly fawning Michael is.

Now to the most insurmountable issue. The film completely ignores the credible molestation accusations made against Jackson. Several scenes show him befriending children, yet there is no mention of the scandal that rocked his image. Omitting that allows the movie to almost seem like it’s condoning his inappropriate behavior, which we now know included sharing a bed with other people’s kids and allegedly showing minors erotic material.

In fairness, the third act originally did reference the charges, then had to be hastily reshot for legal reasons. We’re left with a non-ending that gives us three full-length song performances in lieu of a genuine conclusion. Still, to make a movie about Michael Jackson and completely gloss over something so significant is morally reprehensible. The audience is asked to not care that he likely molested children. Members of the cult will rejoice.

The best that can be said about Michael is that Colman Domingo is good, as are Nia Long as Katherine Jackson and Miles Teller as MJ’s mid-career manager, John Branca. Otherwise, this is a shamelessly hagiographic biopic that adds nothing to the conversation and, offensively, omits a very big scenario that negatively reflects upon its subject. What a disgrace.