By BRUCE DENNILL
Michael / Directed by Antoine Fuqua / PG
Musical biopics are a mixed bag in general, with recent releases including the relatively cerebral likes of A Complete Unknown (about Bob Dylan) and Springsteen: Deliver Me From Nowhere. Michael is not like either of those in that it doesn’t try to find a particular thread within a greater narrative, choosing rather to go for a no-warts-at-all hagiography of the indisputably talented (and just as obviously troubled) Michael Jackson. In making the choices they do, the filmmakers choose a particularly safe path and, as ever when no risks are taken, excitement can’t be guaranteed.
It feels odd: Jackson, with all his complexities, genius and faults, was nothing if not fascinating. His is a genuinely unique story, even among the general eccentricities exhibited by musicians famous enough to make movies about. So why is Michael so … slow? So … stilted? And so deeply unrealistic?
The answer that seems most obvious, even if it’s only based only on a couple of superficial observations, is that that Jackson family want it this way. Most of the siblings are executive producers, meaning that the film is an investment they will be hoping for a return on. There’s nothing wrong with that, of course, but with one of the main plotlines in the film involving the abusive nature of late family patriarch Joseph Jackson (Colman Domingo, layered in thick make-up but exuding hostility regardless) and his disruptive, selfish behaviour as he used his talented children as a meal ticket, any scenario in which a project could be construed as a scheme to cash in on Michael Jackson’s enormous fame feels about as cynical as Joe’s brand-focused machinations.
If this feels overly sceptical, the complete absence of one important character in the film does nothing to remedy suspicions. Janet Jackson is not an investor in any way and, more damningly, asked to not be included in the movie, at all. She is simply not there, even as a passing reference or the face in a picture frame on a mantelpiece. As a measure of the credibility of the piece, that’s a knockout blow for many.
As some sort of counterbalance, the fact that Michael is played by his own nephew, Jaafar Jackson, brings some real-life family DNA to the screen. The young actor is a close physical match for his uncle and does a good job of handling the pop star performance parts of the role. For the greater part of his role, though, he is – like everyone involved – hamstrung by the writing and directing required to make the film a hagiography; tribute rather than truth.
Screenwriter John Logan knows his way around big film scripts – his credits include Gladiator, The Last Samurai, The Aviator and Skyfall – so the sluggish, mawkish pace and tone of his screenplay here (it feels like nothing so much as a soap opera in its 47th season) is both surprising and impossible to ignore. Likewise, director Antoine Fuqua, best known for pacey action thrillers like Training Day, The Equalizer and Olympus Has Fallen, seems unlikely to have chosen to drag out a script that contains around 90 minutes of dialogue and action – at most – for an extra 40 minutes beyond that.
The film does make a case for Michael’s affinity for children having to do with his own yearning for an innocence he missed out on due to his father’s ceaseless driving of the Jackson 5’s career, but even that angle – a stance taken, at least – is not well handled, with the script requiring Michael and his minder to regularly visit toy shops and a particularly overstated moment involving a book, a picture of Captain Hook and an arrow pointing at that picture with the word “Joseph” scribbled there, just in case the metaphor was too subtle.
There’s enough in the source material, however poorly juggled, to make a large number of people want to watch this film – Jackson was the most famous person on the planet at the height of his fame and his musical and dance legacy remains pretty much peerless. But whatever your thoughts about the controversies not covered in this film and those that fall outside of its scope, this project does nothing to add to Jackson’s legacy. Whatever the motives behind the film’s creation, that’s an unfortunate outcome, and even if all of the texture and complexity of the real-life superstar’s life and origin story are ignored, Michael only really hits its marks for viewers who enjoy Jackson’s music and celebrating the way it makes them feel (with white socks, groin grabs, jerky moonwalks and the rest) is about as deep as they need to go with his story. And to be fair, there are plenty of those people around…