Review of a much-anticipated and feared film: “Michael”

I just left the screening of the movie “Michael,” which I went to—I have to admit—not doing the Moonwalk (I’m definitely incapable of that), but rather dragging my feet.

I was planning to wait a few days before going—that’s how much I dreaded the outcome! Pressured by a few media outlets, eager to get feedback from the handful of French “Michael experts,” I was specifically asked to go first thing in the morning.

In the South of France, dawn comes late, especially during the holidays, so I went to the 10 a.m. showing (the very first one, after all) in a nice theater in Nice—one with high-quality picture and, above all, sound. That said, I chose the French-dubbed version, because if I wasn’t going to hear Michael’s real voice, I’d rather hear a French voice actor than a poor imitation...

There were only 10 of us scattered throughout the theater, but oh well... let’s move on.

I was very nervous, the tension heightened by the endless commercials delaying the curtain rise and the lights going down; I almost left the theater, telling myself I’d come back another day, when I felt like it.

But the lights dimmed, and, on the UNIVERSAL label, music from one of Michael’s live performances began to play. I feared reliving the opening minutes of “This Is It,” with that Columbia jingle I can never hear again—even though it has announced thousands of other films for decades—without my heart being crushed and shattered by what we know to be a treasure, a spectacle, a life... on the verge of being torn away.

And off we go. Embarking on an odyssey—that of a life, and above all, the beginning of a life—known, read, reread, seen, and revisited. But not quite.

The film succeeds in refreshing a family and artistic narrative that could easily have become stale.

Jaafar’s performance is thoroughly commendable, at times stunning (especially in certain profile shots: “Did they insert archival footage?” I sometimes found myself surreptitiously wondering, “Ah, no, it really is Jaafar!”)

They had the obvious foresight to keep Michael’s voice and music on all the songs, which for me is the crux of the matter. I can’t imagine using imitations, however convincing they might be, as other biopics have done. The dancing, too, you might say, is hard to replicate, because dance is all about physicality, body language... In that regard, it’s complicated to find an identical figure—light, slender, ethereal, hyper-flexible—that captures the same fluidity and choreographic precision as Michael’s body... You can’t have it all. Still, once again, Jaafar must have worked his fingers to the bone to achieve what—over the course of a few takes, of course, and certainly not over the long haul—comes closest to his uncle’s stage presence.

One might regret the major gaps or leaps that skip over certain periods. I’m thinking of the PIR period in Philadelphia, The Jacksons and Gamble & Huff, Quincy showing up out of nowhere, the “Bad Tour” wrapping up with no transition to what came before. The Jackson brothers are pretty much in the background, Rebbie is invisible, Janet didn’t want to be involved, Father Jackson is a shark, Branca slathers on the hair gel and thinks he’s the Messiah... Anyway...

Aside from these highly debatable elements, how could you possibly cover it all in two hours? Would skimming the surface have allowed us to get closer to Michael and establish some foundational reference points? Personally, I don’t think so.

Inaccuracies? Yes, of course there are some. Among other things, the brothers didn’t sing “Never Say Goodbye” in 1968 since it was released in 1971, Suzanne De Passe was only the third person involved in the “discovery” of the Jackson brothers, etc. The film also glosses over Michael’s rather ruthless “businessman” side—his more down-to-earth side.

But the film still manages to plant seeds regarding the development of Michael’s personality that will allow those who don’t know him well—or not yet—to better grasp and understand him, and no doubt to reflect on how these factors led him to certain life choices, his approach to (or lack of) communication, and the treatment he would subsequently receive from the press, which would then be echoed by a segment of the general public.

Beyond the family and personal considerations and the temporal gaps of those first 30 years of life, the film also shows, sporadically but clearly, how Michael shaped himself by reading, reflecting, learning, studying, asking questions, and working—a lot... How, from a very early age, he wasted no time and lived his entire life for his art, for self-improvement, for the sublimation of his talent into a universal message. How, also very quickly (from the very beginning, in fact), he chose to help and share the financial benefits of his success with those in need, without dragging journalists and cameras along (to get tax breaks too? Yes, of course). To turn his personal talent into a gift from heaven, his unparalleled success into a mission.

The film addresses all the controversial aspects of this period of his life (nose, vitiligo, the Pepsi incident and medication, racial issues surrounding MTV) without ever overdoing it.

All the ingredients are in place for a potential but necessary sequel that will, I hope, be uncompromising.

The curtain falls on a dark, direct gaze we know all too well and on a scathing “Who's Bad” that slips a moccasin through the crack of a door toward a sequel and an answer to be given.

So, if there is a sequel, I can only hope that this “unresolved issues” segment—which the press currently laments so much—will indeed be thoroughly examined. Because when you have nothing to hide, you show it. And we have nothing to hide.

In any case, in this installment, there was absolutely no risk of addressing the “affairs”—as they say—between 1958 and 1988, since they emerged in 1993 and the Chandler contract had already ruled out that possibility from the start.

Too many llamas, giraffes, and sappy stuff, I heard myself say, in this installment? Would you have preferred grim, murderous scenes? Well, move along, there’s nothing to see here! What you call “sappy stuff” and “Peter Pan-esque childishness” is far closer to reality than the nightmares you have in your head and hope to see exorcised through Michael Jackson.

So yes, with the little pebbles scattered throughout this installment, safely tucked away in our pockets and minds, I hope that another installment will delve deeply into the rest of Michael’s career and life: his artistic journey, his achievements, his Neverland, his children, his spirituality. But let’s also address the setbacks of every kind he experienced—the betrayals, the lies, the extortion, the death slowly instilled in his soul, which was resolutely turned toward the good he wanted to see even in the worst scoundrels. Let’s set the record straight, let’s show, let’s explain, let’s recount the trials, the acquittals, the dismissed false testimonies, the vulture-like rumors, the money-making schemes and post-mortem cash-grabs.

Let’s stop with the ellipses and the incomplete sentences. Let’s dot the i’s and cross the t’s wherever necessary. And let’s give Michael back what is his, what was stolen from him—those fragments of soul still held captive in the hell of lazy, narrow-minded brains, of hearts filled with sorrow and envy in this world*.

May the potential second part (no doubt this is wishful and idealistic thinking, but you know me) finally bring peace and restore the truth, may the energy of his music continue to flow even better and even further.

In the meantime, I think this film is an interesting starting point, especially for young people who don’t know Michael well and who it might inspire to learn more, to go further...

But otherwise... when will we see a Netflix series that takes the time to go into detail?

When will we see a film specifically about the trial that would showcase, with great emotional and narrative depth, the dark gallery of portraits of detractors, accusers, the (false) testimonies, the closing arguments, and ultimately, the acquittals?

*In my recent conversations with the media, it’s always the same word being thrown around as if it were an urgent matter: “accusations”…

“Why not use the word ‘acquittals’?” I replied. “The word starts the same way… 14 acquittals. Why do you write ‘He was not convicted’ as if he had never stood before a judge, when you should say ‘he was tried and acquitted’?”

What about the other “charges”? Some were dismissed by the American courts, others were dropped. Empty cases, false testimony, anachronisms, contradictions… All those people went home. Why didn’t you report these facts? Why let these doubts linger, this smokescreen, when real criminals are on the loose?

You ask me why I “paid” for the first scandal? Aside from the bad advice from the insurers—because, sir, Michael WANTED a trial—I would ask you: what father accepts money in exchange for the crime committed against his child? Do you know many? A father who has since committed suicide and a “martyred” son who nevertheless supported Michael tooth and nail when he was in college and who today no longer wants his name to appear in a biopic.

In short, I doubt much of these remarks—and others besides—will remain in the final interviews....