There’s a moment early in Michael where the noise becomes deafening, not from the audience within the film, but from the weight of expectation pressing in from the outside. A biopic about Michael Jackson was never going to be just another awards-season contender. It’s an attempt to bottle lightning, myth, controversy, and genius all at once. And in many ways, director Antoine Fuqua succeeds, while carefully choosing what not to touch. At its best, Michael is electric. Jaafar Jackson doesn’t simply perform, he channels. The precision in movement, the vocal cadence, the intangible aura that defined Jackson’s stage presence, it’s all recreated with striking authenticity. The musical sequences are undeniably the film’s high points, bursting with energy and reverence. These moments don’t feel like imitation, they feel like resurrection.
But outside the spotlight, Michael struggles to find the same confidence.
Structured as a conventional rise-to-fame narrative, the film follows Jackson from his The Jackson 5 beginnings through his meteoric solo ascent. It’s a familiar blueprint, executed with polish—sleek cinematography, rhythmic editing, and a soundtrack that does most of the emotional heavy lifting. Yet, despite all its technical finesse, something feels oddly distant.
A major reason for that distance lies in one of the film’s most questionable creative choices: its reliance on voiceover. The voiceover tells us what to feel in moments where the performance and direction should be doing that work organically. It creates a layer of separation, like we’re being told the legend of Michael Jackson rather than truly witnessing it unfold.
In a film so dependent on presence—on movement, music, and raw emotion—this choice feels counterintuitive. The best scenes are the ones that don’t need explanation, where silence and spectacle speak louder than words. This ties into the film’s larger issue: its careful, almost cautious storytelling.
Michael is deeply committed to celebrating Jackson’s artistry, but far less interested in interrogating the complexities of his life. The narrative avoids the more controversial aspects entirely, choosing instead to end on a note of triumph before the darker chapters can take shape. The result is a portrait that feels curated—impressive, respectful, but ultimately incomplete.
At its best, Michael is electric. Jaafar Jackson delivers a performance that goes beyond imitation and into something far more immersive. The movement, the voice, the presence—it’s all there, recreated with a precision that borders on uncanny. When the film leans into performance, it comes alive. These sequences don’t just remind you of who Michael Jackson was, they momentarily convince you he’s still here. And that strength extends well beyond its lead.
The casting as a whole is, simply put, incredible. Colman Domingo brings a layered intensity to Joe Jackson, balancing control and quiet menace without tipping into caricature. Nia Long adds warmth and emotional grounding, while Miles Teller fits seamlessly into the machinery of Jackson’s rise. Across the board, the ensemble elevates the material, often adding nuance in places where the script itself holds back.
One of its most persistent issues lies in the editing. For a story built on rhythm—on music, movement, and timing—the film surprisingly struggles to find a consistent flow. Scenes often feel truncated or stitched together in a way that disrupts emotional continuity. Key moments arrive and disappear too quickly, while others linger just long enough to feel overextended. Instead of building momentum, the editing sometimes works against it, creating a stop-and-start dynamic that undercuts the film’s natural energy.
It’s particularly noticeable outside the performance sequences, where transitions can feel abrupt and narrative beats don’t always land with the weight they should. There’s a sense that entire layers of the story have been compressed, leaving behind a version that feels polished on the surface but structurally uneven underneath.
Michael is deeply invested in celebrating Jackson’s artistry, but far more hesitant when it comes to exploring the complexities of his life. The narrative avoids the more controversial chapters entirely, opting for a cleaner, more controlled portrait. The result is a film that feels carefully curated—impressive, reverent, but incomplete.
Still, it’s hard to ignore just how much works here.
When the music swells and the performances take center stage, Michael taps into something undeniable. It captures the scale, the spectacle, and the cultural impact of a once-in-a-generation artist. And thanks to a cast that consistently overdelivers, it often reaches emotional highs that the structure itself struggles to support.
In the end, Michael is a film caught between two identities: a bold, immersive musical experience and a cautious, tightly managed biopic. It excels in the former, hesitates in the latter, and never quite reconciles the two.
Michael releases in theaters on April 24.
