‘Michael’ Review: Embattled Michael Jackson Biopic Is Glossy, Sanitized, and Surprisingly Dull

The superstar's own nephew, Jafaar Jackson, does his best in a paper-thin biopic that only shows exactly what the Jackson estate will allow.

There are only two ways of looking at Michael Jackson in Antoine Fuqua’s predictably sanitized and surprisingly tedious biopic “Michael”: with pity or adoration. Sometimes, both! But always at least one, as the film alights on either screaming, tear-filled fans (“MI-CHAEL! MI-CHAEL!”) or quietly devastated family and friends (“Oh, Michael“).

Of course, that “Michael” skirts around the controversies, legal troubles, and horrifying allegations that marked the entertainer’s later years — and, for so many, have forever marred his legacy — isn’t a shock, as the film was supported and financially backed by Jackson’s estate. What does rankle, however, is that that by glossing over such matters, the final film has been mostly stripped of any humanity, good and bad.

The film features the late superstar’s own nephew Jafaar Jackson in the titular role and in his feature film debut. (Jafaar is the son of Jermaine, one of Michael’s four other brothers who shuffle around in the background of the film; only Rhyan Hill as Tito gets a moment to stand out, as he briefly wears a jewel-encrusted hat that reads “TITO” on it. Tito knew about branding.) And while no one can precisely match the energy, charisma, and presence — feel free to read any of these compliments with a “for better or worse” attached to them — of Michael Jackson, the young performer turns in admirable work here. Still, of course, he’s hamstrung by a bevy of outside forces: that he’s playing his own uncle, that his family is involved with the film, that so much cannot be legally portrayed, and that John Logan’s paper-thin script is unable to reach beyond any of those constraints.

Jackson plays his uncle as alternately soft-spoken and incredibly driven, a creative genius wholly unable to voice his needs, someone beloved and impossible to know. Logan’s script seems intent on making the case that Michael was simply a big kid, frequently cutting to him leafing through his beloved Peter Pan books, dreaming that Neverland is a real place, adoring animals (not his pets! his “friends”!), and living in a profound state of fear of his father.

The choices and their motivations are obvious, at once buffeting back the claims around Michael’s alleged pedophilia and neatly turning Joe Jackson into the film’s only bad guy. Life, certainly not Michael Jackson’s life, was ever that neat and tidy. (That even within the film Michael is compelled by his need to be seen as, not only his own person, but a grown man is constantly at odds with these aims, though Logan and Fuqua don’t seem to see that tension.)

Joe Jackson (mostly called “Joseph” by everyone in his life with a reverential terror) is at least a game enough villain. A virtually unrecognizable Colman Domingo slips into the film’s most cut-and-dried role and gives him real life and verve (it’s chilling to hear the beloved star’s velvet voice come out of such a cruel person). Joseph’s ambition and drive weren’t enough to get him anywhere — he’s literally working in a steel mill when the film opens — but he’ll be damned if his progeny don’t succeed. But is Joe’s motivation to get his kids to a better place or himself? (An early smash cut from the family’s small home in Gary, Indiana to their sprawling Encino family estate Hayvenhurst makes a winking claim to the latter.)

Clocking in at just over two hours — and unabashedly teed up for a sequel, more on that to come — the film is tasked with covering the first 26 years of Jackson’s life and nearly two decades of his career. That’s a tough ask for any feature film, but the great leaps of time and logic that run through “Michael” err on the side of boring. The flattening seemingly necessary to package this into less than two hours dilute both nuance, drama, and human emotion. A particularly galling early montage tries to do a lot of heavy lifting, as we watch Joseph and his boys zip through singing, dancing, and performing, with Joseph’s alleged child abuse tucked in right alongside the Jacksons’ artistic endeavors. It’s hammy. It also hurts.

As the Jackson 5 hits the big time, the film pushes forward into the inevitable: Michael’s desire to go solo. And why wouldn’t he?

We are constantly told — hell, Michael is constantly told — that he is special, that his own mother knew he was different the moment he was born, that he is the greatest in the world. During one pre-recording hype session, the young star even cycles through general affirmations (he loves affirmations that tend to sound like bad lyrics, his bedroom is lousy with Post-It Notes scribbled with nonsense statements like “Everything you’ve ever wanted is on the other side of fear”) that end with him telling himself he’s the world’s biggest star.

And, here’s the thing: that’s hard to argue with. One of the rare benefits of the Jackson estate’s involvement is that “Michael” is rife with all the bangers and jams that made MJ such a star. If you’re someone able to separate the art from the artist, it will be hard to shake the enduring power of “Thriller” or “Beat It” or “Bad.” Even if you’re not, well, get ready for some ethical dilemmas.

The film is less compelled to explain how that genius worked. Michael’s songwriting prowess is distilled down to snappy, silly montages that involve a lot of pacing and still more ruminating. How did Michael come up with the concept of “Beat It” and its still-iconic music video? Watch his eyes zing between those goddamn Post-It Notes (plus a generous dash of notecards) and a local newscast about gang violence. Ping! Idea! (More successful is the rehearsal session that sees Michael bringing together those same gangs to watch him sketch out the dance sequences for the video, a bit that’s both totally bizarre and oddly moving.) What about the visuals of “Thriller”? Ah, watch Michael watch “An American Werewolf in London.” Ping! Idea!

Despite his rising star power, there’s little question Michael’s life is an isolated one. His siblings all adore him (and they never, not once, show any sort of jealousy for his success or anger over his leaving the group, that is all heaped on Joe), his mother reveres him (even as a sad-eyed Nia Long is powerless to protect him), and the only people outside his home that he seems even remotely close to are both paid employees (KeiLyn Durrel Jones as bodyguard Bill Bray and Miles Teller as super-lawyer and manager John Branca). He’s never shown on dates or with pals, he doesn’t go out on the town, awards events are only for performances. He works alone. Most of his free time is spent eating ice cream on the couch with his mom.

When he does get out there? It’s often for frequent trips to visit sick kids at local hospitals, or shopping trips that put him in the path of starry-eyed young fans. How this might all come to a head in what will obviously be a second (or even third film) in this would-be franchise, we cannot know. In this moment, and in this film, the plotting feels queasy and obvious.

There were certainly many other crosses for Jackson to bear: the pressures of fame, drug addiction (the infamous Pepsi commercial incident and its fallout could frame its own feature film), and medical procedures that harmed more than helped. All of these elements appear in the film, but are too-lightly touched upon. The pressures of fame and the pains of Michael’s brand of friendlessness are barely explored, beyond the requisite scenes of screaming fans crowding outside the family estate and a terrified Michael attempting to get away from them (while still politely waving). Mostly, the film’s direction feels oddly anonymous, Fuqua bringing little of his pulpy flair to any of it.

It’s been widely reported that the film’s final act was almost entirely reworked due to complicated legal matters involving some of Jackson’s alleged victims and their long-standing legal agreements with the estate. Instead of diving into the child molestation allegations and their catastrophic impact, as the film originally did in its final act, the version of “Michael” that will arrive in theaters instead turns into something of a concert film.

It all ends with two seminal shows in Jackson lore — the final LA stop of the Victory Tour, a smash-hit London gig in support of the newly-released “Bad” album — that make for entertaining re-creations, if deeply unsatisfying ends to this chapter of the story. Knowing how different it could have been? Difficult to forget. Even worse: a closing title card that takes the MCU way out, telling us simply, “His story continues.”

We know that, of course, but what sort of story is it? What sort of story was this one? A tragedy, in many ways.

Grade: C-

Lionsgate will release “Michael”in theaters on Friday, April 24.

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