It’s safe to say that with every new biopic, the entire genre is once again questioned. There is the matter of encapsulating a person’s entire life into a mere two hours. And then there is also the question of bias which, despite direction, is always noticeable. Omissions are castigated, embellishments are sanctioned – when the source material – reality – is readily available (and in itself, also embellished by PR teams and the star themselves), it becomes difficult to remain true to it. So when something like Michael comes along, pressure washed, inherently Hollywoodian, seemingly devoid of any pessimistic narration, critics and audiences alike are quick to fly down on it. Despite this, there is something about Antoine Fuqua’s rendition of Michael Jackson, dubbed “the greatest entertainer of all time”, that lingers long after a viewing – the question is whether it is the film itself, or simply the legacy of Jackson himself.
Spanning from the 1960s to the 1980s, aptly named Michael covers the first chunk of the singer’s life, from his origins in the Jackson 5, singing in bars in Gary, Indiana under the disapproving eyes of patriarch Joe Jackson (Colman Domingo), through to his Bad tour in the late 80s shortly after the Pepsi commercial accident. Confident, prodigy, outcast, Michael quickly becomes the star of his family, and as he grows older, his desire to go solo strengthens – but the weight of duty towards his family and his father’s obsession with keeping the Jackson name – plural – alive crushes his spirit.
The standout in Michael is unsurprisingly Jaafar Jackson as his uncle, a revelation in every sense of the word. While they certainly have similarities, an inherent shyness and soft-spoken nature, the transformation is nevertheless incredible, and tone of voice and movement both onstage and off is uncanny. From a production and sound design perspective, Michael is a strong candidate in the biopic genre, and Jackson radiates in its centre, mirroring his uncle’s most famous performances almost down to a tee – it’s infectious stuff to watch. What’s infectious however is also incredibly traditional. But while Michael makes no effort to break the biopic mould, it also isn’t incredibly loyal to reality either. This review does not seek to posit an opinion on the allegations brought against Michael Jackson, but it does however wish to highlight the almost saintly light in which he is portrayed, particularly the virtual bash over the head reminders of his childlike nature. A great many scenes take place in his bedroom, a bric-a-brac of toys and children’s books, including the Peter Pan story he rereads religiously. His basketball playing brothers refuse to indulge in a game of Twister with him, and he is frequently at the children’s hospital, chatting away about his favourite stories. His bodyguard Bill Bray (KeiLyn Durrel Jones) looks on with a warm smile, almost in wonderment, yet this seems almost propagandised. A case can certainly be made for “the boy who never grew up”, for the man too sweet for this world, but considering recent documentaries and narrative, this feels wrong, somehow, as does the decision to cut it off so abruptly at Bad, arguably the peak of his career. Sour taste in the mouth aside, there is a sense of unfinished business, a halt in an inconclusive storyline, and while rumours of Michael 2 are somewhat positive, it remains to be seen what an entire film dedicated to the latter half of Jackson’s life could look like, when the first film – albeit covering extensively his relationship with his father – feels so squeaky clean.
