Antoine Fuqua’s “Michael” joins the staggering list of uninspired biopics, failing to live up to the legacy of one of the biggest pop stars of all time.
Michael Jackson is often considered the most successful pop star in history. With hit after hit spanning from his childhood until his death, there is little doubt that almost everybody knows at least one of his songs.
His 1982 album “Thriller” is the best-selling album ever released. Since its release it has sold 70 million copies worldwide, having gone 34-times platinum in the United States.
At the time it was record-breaking, charting seven of the nine tracks in the Billboard Top 10, including number one hits such as “Beat It” and “Billie Jean.”
A Michael Jackson biopic was always going to be steeped in controversy. While the larger-than-life figure still undoubtedly has his diehard fans, the allegations and bad publicity that marked his later years left him with just as many critics.
With that in mind, one might expect that a film about him would explore these nuances and offer a fresh perspective on who the King of Pop was. You would figure. Instead, Michael avoids those complexities almost entirely.
“Michael” plays the musical biopic story so safely that one would think Jackson himself was still alive and pulling the strings. This film has no interest in him as a person, focusing almost exclusively on his status as a global music icon.
Viewers could arguably gain the same level of excitement and information from reading from Jackson’s Wikipedia page. The characterization in this movie is so polished that he barely seems human. He is presented as unerring and ingenious at every turn, treated as a god more than an individual with a life and relationships.
This is due in no small part to Jaafar Jackson’s uncanny performance. While his resemblance to his uncle is striking, the portrayal feels closer to impersonation than embodiment. The delivery of each line feels largely one-note, with no strong attempt at emotion or variation.
If viewers expected Colman Domingo to be the movie’s saving grace, they’d likely end up disappointed. Even in weaker projects, Domingo still offers an entertaining performance. But here, he is buried beneath terribly eerie makeup and is given little room to elevate the material. Despite his efforts to make it work, the performance never lands.
At no point does the film ever feel interested in showing off Jackson’s creative process either. Where other terrible biopics will have cringe-inducing scenes in which the musicians just stumble across a sound and make it work, “Michael” cannot even be bothered to offer up that.
In any moment of creating music, he just does it and is perfectly right about it sounding good and working in that instant. Characters portraying Quincy Jones or John Carpenter reduce the producers to simple admirers of Jackson, offering nothing else in the way of collaboration. The result strips away the collaborative spirit that defined much of his career.
Unfortunately, movies like these are often simply vehicles for concert recreation. While this does make for some fun sequences, there is little reason viewers could not stay at home and watch the real performances instead.
Fuqua is not an inspired director that can keep you engaged in these moments. The direction relies heavily on routine cuts back and forth between Jackson and the crowd. Even in what are supposed to be impactful moments, such as the finale of The Jackson’s Victory Tour, everything falls flat.
For the last two hours of the movie, the film gives audiences little reason to care. The most characterization given to Jackson at any point is that he is a perpetual victim of Joseph Jackson and an impossibly perfect son. His relationships with the rest of his family is barely explored, yet viewers are supposed to feel invested in these brothers in the ending montage.
Ultimately, this movie feels unnecessary and honestly should not have been made. Producer Graham King reportedly intended for the movie to be represent Jackson in a more nuanced and human manner, even addressing the 1993 child sexual abuse allegations leveled against him.
Yet, the Jackson estate made the cowardly move to exploit a legal loophole to paint him as this saintlike figure and drop the discussion altogether. They instead give a cop out ending in 1988 and say that “his story continues.” Whether or not one believes Jackson did the things he is accused of, avoiding the subject altogether is spineless and robs the story of any honesty.
In an era where we get unique and well-made biopics such as “Better Man” or “A Complete Unknown,” “Michael” is a painful reminder of what we need to move away from.
2/10
