There is a pause of about five seconds in Michael when the singer’s familiar “hee-hee” sounds and the Michael Jackson Estate logo flashes on the screen. It’s a small thing, but it tells you a lot. Before the movie starts, he quietly draws a line about what this story will be and what it won’t be.
I kept thinking about that as the film progressed, not because I expected some kind of revelation (I didn’t), but because even within its carefully chosen boundaries, the film feels surprisingly uninterested in exploring the mind of the man at its center.
A Child Drawn But Not Understood
The film opens in 1966, in Gary, Indiana, with teenagers Michael Jackson it is already separated. He watches from the window as children his age play with the snow outside, while he continues to train with his brothers under the watchful eye of his father Joseph. Solid picture. The director soon finds out Antoine Fuqua you’ll want: Michael as an oddball, a prodigy who doesn’t belong.
But the film ends there. It does not push the “why” of that separation. Her mother Katherine’s faith as an ardent Jehovah’s Witness, which could have deepened that feeling of alienation, is flawless. What we get instead is something simple, and very small: he is special, no one understands him except his family, so he is alone.
Admittedly, there is a glimmer of something in focus. Colman DomingoJoseph Jackson is harsh, sometimes scary, defined by the belt, insults, constant pressure to win. The abuse is not hidden, and you can see how it can shape Michael’s sense of self—the fixation on his appearance, the need for control, the fear of failure. But even here, the film reduces Joseph to something dull. He is less of a villain than the agreed upon villain. Domingo tries to find something human in himself, but the script doesn’t meet him in the middle.
Quiet times with Nia Long as matriarch Katherine nears arrival. There’s a sense of humor in those scenes, the feeling that someone is trying to bring the family together without fully dealing with what’s going on inside it. For a few minutes, the film breathes. Then it moves on.
A By-the-Numbers Biopic That Plays Like a Checklist
And boy, does it really go on. Years go by in what feels like minutes. The Jackson 5 finally broke through. Motown is calling. Berry Gordy he especially sees talent in young Michael, who he says sings better than “Who’s Lovin’ You” Smokey Robinson once did. All of a sudden we’re in Encino, and we’re into the single years, and we’re into On the wallthen Thriller. It becomes a blur of milestones, one after the other before it has time to settle. The plot is sequential, but it doesn’t build. It just piles one moment on top of another.
That pace might have worked if the film had a stronger point of view. Instead, it often feels more like a highlight reel than a proper story. The music carries it, as expected. You can’t deny the pull of those songs—those songs still hit. The problem is though everything around them. John LoganThe screenplay includes scenes that feel like they were packed in between performances, something to say Quincy Jones you’ve probably experienced it.
Jaafar Jacksonplaying his uncle as an adult, is one of the few reasons the film remains watchable at all. He has low physicality—movement, voice, small gestures—and there are moments when something goes wrong, especially with the cool beats where he’s not asked to repeat what we already know. You get a sense of vulnerability, a vulnerability that underlies performance. Juliano Krue Valdi he does a solid job as little Michael, too. But both performances feel contained. There’s only so far they can go when a film refuses to dig any deeper.
The film shows the growth of the imprisoned Michael—his bond with the animals, his trust in his guardian, the sense that his world is shrinking as his fame grows—but it doesn’t linger long enough to explore it. There is sadness there, or at least one frame. Then the film is removed.
Music Is There. There is no explanation
The same thing happened with the music, and that’s when the film started to lose me.
For a film about an artist that delves into so much detail in pop history, there’s surprisingly little interest in how that music was actually made. Songs are used to express emotional or artistic growth, but the choice is not always static. “Human Nature” plays for a while intended to show his deep-seated view of gang violence dominating local news, even though he didn’t write it. “I Can’t Help You” is used in a similar way. These may be tolerable details for many, but for me these are just minor nitpicks. They make the distinction between artist and creator, which is important when you’re telling the story of someone as involved in his career as Michael Jackson.
And then there is Thriller. The film builds around it, celebrates it…and just keeps going. Rod Tempertonwho wrote the title song and featured prominently in On the wallnothing is said other than just talking. Artists who helped shape the album’s sound—members of Toto, Eddie Van Halen—don’t register at all. It turns the collaborative process into something that sounds strangely solo, at odds with the reality of how that music came together.
At a certain point, it becomes clear what the film is more comfortable doing: recreating moments we already know. Motown Performance 25. The Creation of “Beat It”. Pepsi commercial risk. They are all here, neatly arranged, sometimes with intensity. But there is little sense of discovery in the way they are presented.
‘Michael’: Hidden Concert Film
That extends to the overall feel of the film, too. many times, Michael it feels like a concert film trying to pass itself off as a biopic. The action sequences are strong, but everything else drags. John Ottmanwho worked Bohemian Rhapsodyis part of the editorial team here, and you can feel that same push and pull. When the music plays, the film starts to move. Otherwise, the pacing slows down, and scenes start to feel like stand-ins.
The casting options are also not always helpful. Miles Teller appears as John Cusack– look John Branca in a few scenes, it delivers a basic meaning, and disappears. It’s the kind of role that anyone could play. Bringing in a well-known actor for something thin ends up feeling less like a creative decision and more like a marketing one.
None of this feels sloppy, really. If anything, it sounds more careful. You can see that Fuqua holds Michael Jackson in high regard. To be honest, I felt that this film was made with love. It wants to honor the man’s legacy. But that respect turns into a warning, and that warning keeps the film from taking real risks.
The Importance of Visual Language Appropriate to the Central Character
Which begs the big question: was Fuqua the right filmmaker for this? Maybe that makes sense. But if you think about someone like him Baz Luhrmann and what he brought to it Elvis-style, exaggeration, sense of proportion-it’s hard not to feel that this story needs a strong visual voice. Michael Jackson was not just a singer. He was an image and sound engineer. A film about him should reflect that. This just doesn’t do it.
Finally, there is an absence that hangs over everything, which guarantees to produce a difficult speech. The film ends in the late ’80s, before the most difficult chapters of Jackson’s life begin. I understand the legal facts. I also understand the argument that a film can choose its scope. But this does not sound like a deliberate frame choice. It feels like avoiding, not just suspicion, but anything that might complicate the image the film is trying to maintain.
I can see the argument that maybe we should see the film where it stands, that it’s meant to be a simple, accessible version of the story, something closer to celebration than investigation. It’s understandable. But even at that rate, it falls short. A movie like I’m Not There (Bob Dylan) or Love and Kindness (Brian Wilson) does not just present the artist’s life; it finds a way into it, technically or emotionally. Unfortunately, Michael he never got there.
An Effective, But Ultimately Disappointing, Middle-of-the-Road Biopic
As a musical experience, Michael it works explosively. Hearing those songs again, seeing them played on the big screen, there’s still a rush. It’s hard to resist that. But once the music is over, there’s not much left to hold on to.
And maybe that’s what makes it so frustrating. This is a story that could have gone in any number of directions: messy, controversial, unresolved. Instead, it prepares for something safe and pre-approved, something that keeps you away from the person it’s about.
I grew up with this music. Many people do. Which makes me disappointed too Michael the world more. Not because the film avoids certain things, but because it doesn’t seem interested in saying anything new.
A self-described filmmaker who can’t stop talking—and writing—about films. Paul also shines as a ghostwriter and editor of several memoirs. He currently lives in the Philippines.
