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Antoine Fuqua’s Michael arrives draped in spectacle, attempting to restore the sheen of Michael Jackson’s legacy through a conventional, estate-sanctioned biopic that sounds compelling—if you’re willing to ignore what’s left unsaid.
Produced with the full backing of Jackson’s estate, the film operates within a carefully controlled lens, offering a curated version of the artist’s life. Notably, it concludes before the wave of sexual abuse allegations that later defined much of Jackson’s public narrative, omitting both the accusations themselves and Jackson’s own controversial admissions regarding his relationships with children. While Jackson consistently maintained his innocence—and was acquitted in his 2005 criminal trial—the film avoids even a passing acknowledgment of these complexities. Instead, it glides past them entirely, crafting a glossy retelling that celebrates the triumphs while sidestepping the contradictions.
That selective storytelling creates something closer to fantasy than biography. Michael invites audiences to relive the unparalleled highs of one of the 20th century’s most electrifying performers, leaning into nostalgia with irresistible force. After all, few cultural forces rival the impact of Jackson at his peak; songs like “Billie Jean” alone carry enough power to eclipse discomfort with memory. The film capitalizes on that allure, immersing viewers in the thrill of his artistry, aided by an uncanny performance from his nephew, Jaafar Jackson. Yet in doing so, it transforms the narrative into something akin to a modern fairy tale—less grounded in reality than in mythmaking.
Originally, the project reportedly included material addressing the allegations, but those elements were removed due to prior legal stipulations. What remains, written by John Logan, is largely framed as a father-son drama. The film’s early sequences in Gary, Indiana, depict Joe Jackson—played with intensity by Colman Domingo—as a domineering force, pushing his children toward success with relentless discipline. Young Michael, portrayed by Juliano Krue Valdi, emerges as both prodigy and victim, caught in the tension between ambition and control.
Spanning the Jackson 5 era through landmark albums like Off the Wall and Thriller, the film centers on Michael’s quest for independence from his father and manager. In this respect, it mirrors the structure of Elvis, which similarly explored the dynamic between Elvis Presley and Colonel Tom Parker. The familiar “rise-to-icon” blueprint is firmly in place here, echoing the play-the-hits formula popularized by films like Bohemian Rhapsody.
To Fuqua’s credit, certain moments reveal a more nuanced directorial touch. In one standout scene, young Michael records in the studio while external pressures mount outside the booth. As the noise fades, the camera isolates his voice—pure, unfiltered, and untouched by the burdens that would later define his life. It’s a rare instance where the film transcends its own constraints, allowing the artistry to speak for itself.
Yet as the narrative progresses into adulthood, the film resists engaging with the full scope of Jackson’s complexities. His eccentricities—retreating into childlike spaces, his pursuit of physical “perfection,” the presence of Bubbles the chimp—are treated lightly, often reduced to quirks rather than explored as symptoms of deeper struggles. Family members react with bemusement, reinforcing the portrayal of Jackson as a misunderstood genius rather than a deeply conflicted figure.
At nearly every turn, the storytelling feels guided—if not shaped—by those invested in preserving a particular image. Katherine Jackson is portrayed with near-saintly reverence, while John Branca emerges as a steadfast ally. The result is a narrative that prioritizes legacy management over introspection.
In that sense, Michael aligns with the broader resurgence of Jackson’s cultural presence—from Cirque du Soleil productions to MJ the Musical—despite the renewed scrutiny sparked by the documentary Leaving Neverland. Rather than confronting that discourse, the film opts for spectacle, leaning heavily on the emotional power of the music to carry its message.
And undeniably, that approach has its effect. When the film focuses on performance—on the electricity of Jackson commanding a stage—it becomes difficult not to be swept up in the moment. Jaafar Jackson’s portrayal captures not just the technical precision of the dance moves, but the warmth and vulnerability that endeared the artist to millions.
Still, what lingers most is the tension between what’s shown and what’s deliberately omitted. Even the most polished biopics typically allow space for contradiction, but Michael remains firmly committed to myth over reality. It concludes on a triumphant note that feels, in hindsight, unearned—if not entirely disconnected from the fuller arc of Jackson’s life.
Yet the pull of nostalgia is undeniable. The film evokes a time when pop spectacle felt transformative, when stadiums united in songs like “Man in the Mirror” and “Human Nature,” and when Jackson’s presence seemed to redefine the possibilities of performance itself. In chasing that feeling, Michael succeeds in rekindling the magic—but at the cost of confronting the truth behind it.
Ultimately, the film asks audiences to believe in the legend once more. Whether that belief feels like celebration or denial may depend on how much of the story one is willing to leave unheard.
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Music