Joel on Film

We pretty much know the story being told in Michael, because the story of Michael Jackson is more or less synonymous with the trajectory of pop music as we know it today. It’s not just that Jackson was a singular talent, both as a vocalist and as a dancer (perhaps more iconically in the latter role), in his own right, but that he was also undeniably a trailblazer. Screenwriter John Logan and director Antoine Fuqua’s film lives entirely and exclusively within this accepted reality, which means that there really is nothing approaching genuine conviction or courage here.

It’s an old joke by now that the structure of the screen biography is occasionally as simple and simplistic as framing a life as a reminiscence of sorts for its subject, and in the subtlest way possible—because the film begins at the place where it eventually also ends, in London for a rousing performance of Jackson’s hit song “Bad”—this one does exactly that. The problem here, however, is that neither Logan nor Fuqua especially establishes a useful or interesting perspective, since the film’s version of Michael (played by his nephew, Jaafar Jackson) thinks of and sells himself as a sort of mystery. For one, there’s the soft and feathery voice that he develops, following a childhood spent under the thumb of a hard-as-nails father who believed in corporal punishment.

For another, there’s the slow journey from a fairly supplicative boy to a slightly more decisive and assertive young man, who will eventually escape a tumultuous home situation and spread his wings elsewhere. We know where that will lead, too, in the second half of a life that this movie doesn’t explore at all. The behind-the-scenes drama involving that business is not really something a movie review should explore, but let’s just say it’s not entirely Fuqua’s fault that a studio was forced to make certain decisions, allegedly in response to some other, earlier decisions that went nowhere.

In any case, this is not the movie to see for any probing examination of a troubling and troubled man whose time in the spotlight began with such fervor, only to lead to a lot of legal scrutiny that rather poisoned public perception of him. Here, it’s simply the story of a preternaturally gifted young man, beginning with an intense childhood that had few escapes or friendships and arriving at a swift montage of an adulthood with smashed records and sold-out shows and, of course, a lot of performances. The younger Jackson, playing his uncle in what must have been an eerie experience, is utterly convincing here, it should be said.

The music is great, too, although we already knew that: The challenge for Fuqua is to do something with that music. The performances are mostly of the showing-off variety, as Michael invents a style of dancing specific to him, sometimes during a live show and seemingly on the fly. A few of these work, such as how “Beat It” is pared down to an experiment that led directly to its music video, but at other times, it merely feels like cosplay, such as how the production of “Thriller” brings the entire proceeding to a sagging halt and seems to exist out of obligation.

In fact, that feeling of cosplay is pervasive through this whole affair, as even the convincing physical performance from Jackson (the actor) disappears into subtle makeup prosthetics that transform him, somewhat uncannily, into Jackson (the subject). There’s also the matter of his human story, which hits all the usual beats of such cinematic adaptations of a publicized life. Michael finds himself stuck in the punishing cycle of his father Joseph’s (Colman Domingo) vision for the family band, seeks avenues for going solo with a new manager (John Branca, played by Miles Teller) and finds that success in spades, all while learning how lonely it is at the top.

The specter of where the real story actually goes hovers over this telling of the early years, though, in ways that the film is either incapable of or unwilling to explore. We know what becomes of Michael Jackson, beginning just a few short years after the end of this movie, and that makes this plastic celebration of the man’s life all the more hollow and, because of the inherent potential that a good screen biography can bring, disappointing.

Rating: *½ (out of ****)