The King of Pop is back... And whatever you think of him, you’ll wish he wasn’t.
If you thought that Bohemian Rhapsody was an infuriatingly shallow Freddie Mercury biopic which sacrificed nuance and complexity for a formulaic messianic narrative reeking of estate interference...
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If you continually wince at the thought of Back To Black, the watered-down Amy Winehouse biopic which crossed the line from cinema into marketing stunt...
If you’re still plagued by traumatic flashbacks concerning the white-washing horrors of the PR-driven propaganda guff that was FIFA story United Passions...
...Then brace yourselves for Michael.
Directed by Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, The Equalizer series) and starring Jaafar Jackson playing his late uncle, this first official biopic of the late Michael Jackson chronicles the artist’s life from his early Motown days with the Jackson 5 all the way up to the release of ‘Bad’ in 1987. You know, the glory years before he was accused of child abuse.
Whatever you may think of the man behind the icon and even if you’re generous enough to give this project the benefit of the doubt by foolishly believing that the darker aspects of Jackson’s life could be explored in a planned second chapter (teased at the end with the card “His story continues”), Michael still only functions as an insultingly blatant hagiography. It removes everything from his early life story that could be deemed contentious, including allegations of violent abuse by his father Joe (Colman Domingo), his early encounters with sex, or his growing body dysmorphia linked to the toll celebrity and trauma took on him.
No need for any of that in this drama-free, formulaic and estate-controlled excuse to sell more albums. Instead, this biopic is sanitized to the point of being translucent and only caters to undiscerning fans who just want to hear the hits and witness recreations of iconic MJ moments. There’s nothing here that compellingly charts what drove a young boy to become one of the most celebrated figures of 20th century music.
To add insult to injury, there are eye-widening and “Oh look, you can see the estate pulling the strings” scenes which focus on a caring Jackson visiting hospitals and sitting at the bedsides of sick children.
You can almost hear the “creative” conversations...
“Do we think this could be in poor taste and a little too revelatory in our flagrant plan to smooth out Michael’s problematic legacy?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, because of the controversies...”
“What controversies?”
“... Seriously?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about, and no new generation audience member needs to concern themselves with anything that could besmirch the reputation of our beloved Michael. Let’s give their empty little brains some soulless slop instead – they'll gobble that right up and we’ll rake in millions in box office takings.”
It’s a shame, as no one can deny there’s talent behind and in front of the camera. Fuqua was clearly a corporate stooge on this one, and Jaafar Jackson, who does deliver an impressive impersonation of his uncle, is stuck in a surface-level film that tries so hard not to offend anyone that it forgets to be anything remotely interesting. As for Oscar-nominated screenwriter John Logan, there’s no explanation how the man behind Gladiator, Hugo and Skyfall could deliver such a bland and saccharine script. Other than a house extension, maybe.
“Keep on, with the force, don't stop / Don't stop 'til you get enough,” sang Jackson in his 1979 hit. The only thing you’ll want to scream when this supposed tribute but actual insult to Jackson’s true artistic legacy ends is ‘Enough’. HEE-HEE-NOUGH.
Michael is out in cinemas now.
