Michael

No one expected this long-delayed piece of Michael Jackson pop-aganda to lay bare the man behind the myths and myriad controversies in forensic style. And yet… this soft-ball character study of the King of Pop only doubles down on the former, while completely ignoring the latter, hitting all the usual dreary biopic beats along the way.

Written by Gladiator’s John Logan, directed by Training Day’s Antoine Fuqua and produced by Bohemian Rhapsody’s Graham King, Michael leaves no stone turned in its efforts to guide its subject’s reputation through all the rocky terrain. It’s an act of fan (and estate) service that deals only in black and white, omitting the final 21 years of his life. 

On the side of the angels is Michael (played as a youngster by Juliano Krue Valdi and Jackson’s nephew Jaafar Jackson as an adult), who we meet as a singing protégé and front-kid for the Jackson 5, a boy band that would conquer the hearts of America. It’s Gary, Indiana in 1966 and the Jacksons’ suburban bungalow is ruled with an iron fist and a leather belt by the boys’ draconian blue-collar dad, Joe (Colman Domingo). He’s desperate to find a way out for his family. There’s a mention of his gruelling job at the steelworks but as so often the case in Michael, one line of dialogue does all the heavy lifting. What drives him? What makes him Michael’s nemesis over the years ahead? It’s very King Richard, in which Will Smith wrestled with a raging but complex tennis dad Richard Williams, though without the psychological spark.

Michael leaves no stone turned in its efforts to guide its subject’s reputation through the rocky terrain 

It’s a big question to leave unanswered. Michael is a toxic father-and-son story – a Peter Pan vs Captain Hook tale that deals in simple truths: the young boy who never grew up, taking refuge in JM Barrie and Walt Disney to reimagine the childhood he lost to tour buses and stages; and the dad who drives and exploits his talent. But Domingo’s reptilian turn never gets beyond cartoon baddie and mum Katherine (Nia Long) is never more than ornamental. It’s a movie more invested in Bubbles the chimp than any of Jermaine, Marlon, Tito, Jackie and sister LaToya (Janet Jackson recused herself entirely from the film).

A time leap to 1978 introduces the grown-up-but-not Michael (now played by Jaafar Jackson), tentatively striking out as a solo artist. He finds his voice but not his authority, recording ‘Off the Wall’ with an awestruck Quincy Jones (Kendrick Sampson) in the midnight hours because he’s still forced to do the nine-to-five with the Jackson 5. 

The songs, of course, are electrifying. The famous Thriller video is clunkily recreated but the multi-camera concert footage raises the roof, especially the climactic 1988 Bad World Tour gig at Wembley. Jaafar Jackson has all of his uncle’s moves, too.

But so much is skirted past: his mum’s Jehovah Witness faith; Jackson’s skin condition; his relationship with painkilling meds; even his musical talents. We hear repeatedly that his talent is ‘god given’, which means no effort to dig into the creative process. The songs and inspiration arrive as he floats serenely in the pool, although to be fair: ‘If I’m not here to receive these ideas, God might give them to Prince’ is a zinger.

This is the payoff you get with the musical biopic. Want the songs? Tell the story the estate wants. Want to tell the grittiest version of the story? Go without the music. The fact that Michael was filmed in the family’s actual Encino mansion, and that Jackson’s attorney (and producer) John Branca is played by Top Gun: Maverick star Miles Teller, probably tells you what you need to know about how that compromise played out.

No respectable record collection could be without Off the Wall and Thriller. No Blu-ray shelf will need a copy of Michael. 

In cinemas worldwide Fri Apr 24.