THE STORY – The story of the famous musician Michael Jackson, known as the King of Pop.
THE CAST – Jaafar Jackson, Nia Long, Laura Harrier, Juliano Krue Valdi, Miles Teller & Colman Domingo
THE TEAM – Antoine Fuqua (Director) & John Logan (Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 127 Minutes
Tale as old as time. Whatever is old is new again. It’s yet another day ending in “y,” so that of course means we have yet another biopic released about a legendary musical artist. It’s so commonplace at this point that you can’t even muster up any fight to resist the onslaught. The public is hungry for dramatizations of the lives of their favorite artists, getting a peek behind the curtain of what made them not only monumental talents but also drove them on a deeply personal level. It seems inevitable that Michael Jackson would soon get this treatment, even though there have been numerous unauthorized depictions of his life in the past. What makes “Michael“ have more distinction is that it has the blessing of his estate, and therefore is the first professionally polished rendition of his life that has yet to be brought to the screen. However, like most biographies influenced by interested parties, there’s only so much revelation and turmoil that will actually be revealed. Yet, even with that knowledge, it’s hard to fathom just how little this film treats its subject with very little sense of interiority, creating one of the most vapid hagiographies that this subgenre has seen in quite some time.
As one might expect, the film traces the explosive life and career of Michael Jackson, arguably the greatest pop star of all time. Well, at least it tracks the beginning section of that timeline, starting with the formation of the Jackson 5 with his brothers, under the strict management of their father, Joseph (Colman Domingo). Though they are a single unit, it is undeniable that little Michael (Juliano Krue Valdi) is beaming with a unique talent that captures the spotlight and yearns to break free from the cruel patriarch’s control. When an older Michael (Jaafar Jackson) begins to realize his own potential, he starts branching out into whatever avenues he can. The devotion to his family, mainly his siblings and mother (Nia Long), keeps him within close orbit, but it is also a time of great prosperity, when many worldwide hits are created. The yearning for independence climaxes during the final performance of the Victory Tour with the old band, when Michael promises a new venture as a solo artist and, as the coda to the film promises, his story will continue.
The first selling point of this entire endeavor is, obviously, the music. Jackson’s legacy is built upon decades of work that pierced the culture in a way that very few people were able to accomplish, if any at all. Most of the catalog is either set to zippy montages to mark the passage of time or is crafted as singular set pieces with stage performances in concert venues. Both options are meant to emphasize the enjoyment one derives from listening to this incredible music. Still, they also highlight just how anemic Antoine Fuqua’s direction of this material proves to be. What should be the most celebratory moments in Jackson’s life are flatly staged and assembled, which is a great misfortune for such an accomplished cinematographer as Dion Beebe. Jon Ottman’s editing isn’t as choppy as it was in “Bohemian Rhapsody“ (perhaps because it was handled by one of four editors, who contributed in an odd way). Still, there’s a consistent lack of momentum. As montage, the music is juxtaposed with mundane imagery of familial interactions, and the live performances alternate between the camera slightly panning amongst the crowd and oppressive close-ups. It’s apparent that the music is the crutch that’s meant to support these sequences, but one hardly feels invested with such a lethargic presentation that even films like “Bohemian Rhapsody“ and “Elvis“ were able to deliver.
There’s something else that those previous efforts about other artists accomplished as well that makes them more notable works, despite their own mountains of flaws. Not only did those films suitably evoke the magnetic energy of those performances, but they also made an effort to showcase their subjects as troubled individuals who persevered despite their personal deficiencies. It’s such a basic element of plot and narrative that it seems insultingly rudimentary to attack John Logan’s script for lacking, especially for such a talented writer that he’s already proven to be. However, this version of Michael Jackson is driven by very little conflict. Most of the drama is from the combative relationship with his father, but there’s barely any kind of internal struggle that he deals with on his own. His emotional immaturity, body dysmorphia, and drug addiction are all suggested, but only by fleeting moments that never attach such failings to any kind of interior crisis. The hollowness is only underscored by the exorbitant attempts to highlight his philanthropic attitude, including multiple visits to children’s hospitals and a genuine belief that his music is meant to heal the world. All is well in good for those already converted by his gospel, but it makes for such banal storytelling. It’s easy to assume that some of the gritty details were forcibly omitted given his family’s involvement, but whatever those decisions may have been, they have resulted in a poorly constructed portrait of a surprisingly uninspiring character.
To his credit, Jaafar Jackson does a credible job inhabiting the role, and there surely is a romanticized justification for it, being that he is the singer’s nephew. The makeup transformation does help manifest an uncanny recreation of Jackson’s early look, before his plastic surgeries reached even more gargantuan displays. Still, he does convey the physicality, and that distinct voice is faithfully rendered, both in speech and in song. However, there’s never a moment he truly provides exceptional work to admire, mostly because he is hamstrung by a script that offers no complexity to internalize. Honestly, there are times that Valdi is more impressive with his screen presence, perhaps because a lack of nuance is more easily tolerated in a child. The rest of the clan suffers from an even greater lack of depth, especially Long, who is reduced to worrisome looks and occasional platitudes of support for her child. Perhaps there’s more to Miles Teller’s role in the future as Jackson’s attorney, but what he contributes here is barely above the threshold of negligible.
Domingo is the only member of this ensemble who manages to create a more complicated role. It would be easy to reduce Joseph to a simplified monster, a controlling narcissist who only ever cared about his own success and desires. Much of that is the driving force here, but he adds a layering that makes him a more compelling figure. Buried deep within is still a love for his family, even pride in what his son has accomplished, and concern for his well-being. It’s a twisted kind of affection, one that is just as easily distressed by Michael’s condition after the Pepsi commercial incident as by his ability to continue performing. His eyes well with tears as this dichotomy plays out, and it’s yet another example of why Colman Domingo is a remarkable talent in his own right. He is the only person able to plunge deep and find the complexities hidden within a character that are not granted on the page.
There are very dark chapters in Michael Jackson’s life that one would not expect a film with the full endorsement of his estate to approve. It’s understandable, even expected, for these kinds of works. But what makes “Michael“ come underneath that generously low bar is that it refuses to paint its subject as anything less than saintly. It truly feels like this version of Jackson has been deified, shown to be consumed by his talent but without any dramatic stakes to accompany his triumphs. The tribulations are trivial in comparison, and with very little conflict, the momentum moves at a dull pace with little to appreciate beyond the established music. Sure, you can get excited by hearing a song that’s been filling you with joy for decades, but there is no captivating aura beyond that, extending to the vast majority of the cast as well. The long march of musician biopics will continue after this one, even in the assumed continuation of this very story. However, it’s still bewildering just how empty “Michael” ends up becoming.
