Michael, the new biopic about a certain musical superstar who messed up his face beyond recognition and had an unhealthy obsession with young boys, is a strange movie. It’s as if somebody made a biopic about Woody Allen, but ended it before his first playdate with his girlfriend’s daughter.
The film covers the life of Michael Jackson from the early Jackson 5 years through his triumphant solo touring debut in 1988. Jackson’s nephew, Jaafar Jackson, is extraordinary in the role of his uncle, nailing the look and physical demeanor of the King of Pop. The singing you hear in the movie is a blend of Jaafar’s voice with Michael Jackson’s voice, so he can’t get full credit for the musical takes. But his speaking voice is uncanny, as are his dance moves. He, at times, is Michael Jackson.
As directed by Antoine Fuqua (Training Day), the film is proof that the story of Michael Jackson needs much more than two hours—this should’ve been a TV series. What we get here is half of a movie, one that falls way short of telling the true, full, complicated story of Michael Jackson.
There were reshoots and rewrites on the project due to a legal problem: The ending was completely changed because filmmakers could not reference one of Jackson’s alleged victims. The third act, originally set to include scenes about child sex-abuse allegations against Jackson, was jettisoned in favor of a rousing concert performance and a pre-credit message reading, “His story continues.”
Will there be a sequel that covers the controversies that followed Jackson’s Bad era? I don’t know, but that movie would almost certainly be more horror show than happy-go-lucky origin story. Movies are mostly made to make money, so I’m guessing producers are pretty happy with this finished product, which is wowing audiences and making lots of dough. They aren’t crying over their coffees because they had to leave the gross stuff out of the film.
Michael doesn’t completely shy away from controversies. There’s plenty of time devoted to Jackson’s abusive father, Joe (played by Colman Domingo), and their contentious relationship. Fuqua does show Jackson’s obsession with Peter Pan and plastic surgery, and there’s also Bubbles the chimp getting pissed off after a round of Twister with Michael, hinting at the behavior that led to Bubbles being moved to an animal sanctuary a few years after Jackson adopted him. (He’s still alive and partying with other chimps!)
While the absence of the main problem that plagued Jackson throughout his adult life is irksome, Fuqua’s movie is relatively entertaining at times. Thanks to Jaafar, there are many times during which you would swear you were watching the guy who recorded “Billie Jean” and then went on to have sleepovers with other people’s children at his Neverland Ranch.
Now, don’t give me that shit about how Michael Jackson was just an innocent victim, an imperfect man as the result of an abusive upbringing. That’s just bullshit. I’ve seen enough to know he was indecent with children, due to his sleeping in beds with other people’s kids alone, along with the millions he paid to shut people up.
That doesn’t mean I don’t halfheartedly tap my foot when some of his music comes on, and that doesn’t keep me from being impressed with Jaafar’s performance in Michael. The movie has some good moments, especially involving Domingo, Jaafar and Juliano Valdi, who magically plays Michael as a young boy. While La Toya is depicted some scenes, Janet Jackson is completely absent from the film, like she never existed. She knew better than to participate.
The film isn’t a bombastic mess along the lines of the vastly overrated Bohemian Rhapsody. It’s just a movie that seems afraid of itself and its controversial subject, and lacks any true meaning or relevance.
Release the Jackson Files movie!