The legend has returned to the screen, but not as a revelation. “Michael” attempts to resurrect the King of Pop, focusing on the formative years of a musical genius, yet feels strangely…incomplete. This isn’t a gritty exploration of a complex life; it’s a carefully curated presentation, the first half of a promised two-part biopic.
The story begins in 1966 Gary, Indiana, within the walls of the Jackson family home. Young Michael, brilliantly portrayed by Juliano Valdi, is a captivating force even then, navigating the relentless demands of his father, Joseph. Colman Domingo delivers a chilling performance as the patriarch, instilling a brutal mantra: win or lose, there is no in-between. This early pressure shapes the trajectory of a future icon.
The film then becomes a whirlwind tour through the Jackson 5’s meteoric rise and Michael’s subsequent solo career. Iconic songs – “ABC,” “I’ll Be There,” “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” “Billie Jean” – aren’t just part of the soundtrack; they *are* the soundtrack, woven into the narrative with almost relentless frequency. Scenes unfold as familiar moments from music history, from the creation of “Thriller” to the infamous Pepsi commercial incident.
Jaafar Jackson, Michael’s nephew, steps into the daunting role of his uncle. He masterfully replicates the voice and, crucially, the mesmerizing dance moves. However, the film’s superficial emotional landscape prevents Jaafar from truly embodying the spirit of Michael, resulting in a remarkable impersonation rather than a fully realized performance.
A nagging issue plagues the film, echoing a trend in recent music biopics. The reliance on original recordings, with actors essentially lip-syncing, creates a disconnect. It feels less like witnessing a story and more like watching a tribute act, a polished performance built on the foundation of pre-existing artistry. The blending of Michael Jackson’s voice with Jaafar’s is subtle, almost imperceptible.
What’s most striking is what “Michael” *doesn’t* address. Controversy is conspicuously absent, and any attempt to delve into the complexities of Michael’s psyche remains frustratingly shallow. Reports suggest even the script underwent revisions to avoid sensitive topics, hinting that the second part may follow a similar path of omission.
Despite the involvement of significant talent – director Antoine Fuqua, screenwriter John Logan, and a supporting cast including Miles Teller and Nia Long – the film feels strangely hollow. It’s a beautifully produced, meticulously crafted…advertisement. A calculated move by the Jackson estate to reignite interest in a legendary catalog, disguised as a cinematic experience.
“Michael” offers a sugar rush for devoted fans, a nostalgic trip through the highlights of a remarkable career. But for those seeking a genuine, unflinching portrait of the man behind the music, this film falls short. It’s a polished surface, concealing a deeper, more complicated story that remains largely untold.
