Jaafar Jackson portrays his uncle in Michael

The film stretches across a significant portion of Michael Jackson’s life, beginning in the modest family home where everything started. We meet him as a child, navigating a world shaped almost entirely by his father, Joseph Jackson, whose methods oscillate between discipline and outright cruelty. From there, the story follows the rise of The Jackson 5, the early success that hinted at something bigger, and eventually the transformation of Michael into a global phenomenon. On paper, it sounds like a familiar arc. In execution, the film chooses to simplify that journey into something much narrower: a story about control, and the long, painful attempt to break free from it.

Before even watching the film, my expectations were already buried somewhere beneath the floor. Not because of the subject, but because of the genre. Biopics about musicians rarely work. And it’s not a coincidence. The problem is structural. Music is not an accessory in these stories—it’s the core. You cannot separate the artist from the work, and yet the work is almost always locked behind legal walls. Rights need to be secured, estates need to approve, and every decision becomes a negotiation. In the case of Michael Jackson, that negotiation becomes even more complicated. The film’s list of producers reads less like a standard production team and more like a family gathering. His estate is involved. His relatives are involved. Even members of the next generation are involved. And when the people being portrayed are also the people approving the portrayal, the boundaries of what can and cannot be said become very clear.

This is where the film reveals its true nature. It is not an exploration of Michael Jackson’s life in its entirety. It is a curated version of that life, built around a central conflict that feels both safe and dramatically convenient: the relationship between Michael and his father. Everything else orbits around that. The music, the fame, the milestones—they are present, but they are not the focus. They function more as transitions than as subjects. The creation of albums like Off the Wall and Thriller, moments that reshaped the music industry, are treated with surprising brevity. The collaboration with Quincy Jones, one of the most important creative partnerships in modern music history, is reduced to passing glimpses. Even iconic performances, the kind that defined generations, appear and disappear before they can fully resonate.

For some viewers, this approach will feel like a missed opportunity. For others, it will feel like a deliberate choice. The truth sits somewhere in between. Because the film isn’t just choosing what to focus on—it’s also choosing what to avoid. And the absence is impossible to ignore. A Michael Jackson biopic that sidesteps the most controversial aspects of his life is not an incomplete film by accident. It is incomplete by design. Reports surrounding the production suggest that earlier versions of the script included material addressing those controversies, only for legal complications to force a complete restructuring. Entire sequences were reportedly removed and replaced, at a significant cost, to reshape the narrative into something more acceptable. What remains is not the original vision, but a revised version—a film that feels, at times, like a carefully executed rescue operation.

And yet, despite all of that, the film works. Not entirely, not perfectly, but enough to surprise. It is far better than it had any right to be. It is coherent, emotionally accessible, and, most importantly, aware of its limitations. There is a softness to it, an almost deliberate gentleness in how it handles its subject. Michael is portrayed not just as a performer, but as something closer to an idealized figure—fragile, misunderstood, and, at times, almost angelic. It’s an interpretation that leans heavily into sympathy, occasionally to the point of exaggeration, but it aligns with the film’s broader strategy: avoid complexity, emphasize emotion.

At the center of all this is Jaafar Jackson, stepping into one of the most intimidating roles imaginable. Casting him is both the film’s safest and riskiest decision. Safe, because the resemblance is undeniable. Risky, because resemblance alone is never enough. From the early promotional material, there was reason to be skeptical. Michael Jackson’s presence was never just about appearance—it was something intangible, something that couldn’t be replicated through technique alone. And yet, as the film progresses, something clicks. It doesn’t happen immediately, but once it does, the performance settles into a convincing rhythm. Part of that success comes from a very specific choice: committing fully to the version of Michael that audiences recognize. The voice, the mannerisms, the emotional tone—it’s all calibrated to match the public image, not necessarily the private reality. It’s not the most daring approach, but it’s the most effective one for this kind of film.

Opposite him, Colman Domingo delivers a performance that carries much of the film’s dramatic weight. His portrayal of Joseph Jackson is intense, imposing, and unapologetically harsh. The film positions him as the central antagonist, the force that shapes and distorts everything around him. It’s a portrayal that leaves little room for nuance, but it serves the narrative the film has chosen to tell. In a story built around conflict, clarity often takes precedence over complexity.

The direction by Antoine Fuqua is another unexpected strength. This is not a director typically associated with restraint, and yet here, restraint becomes his most valuable tool. The pacing is carefully managed, the transitions between musical sequences and dramatic moments are smooth, and the film maintains a consistent rhythm throughout. The musical performances themselves are handled with a level of respect that borders on reverence. They are not attempts to outdo the original moments, but rather to recontextualize them within the narrative. Whether that approach works depends largely on the viewer. For some, it will feel redundant—why watch a recreation when the original is readily available? For others, it will provide a new layer of connection, placing familiar moments within a broader emotional framework.

Ultimately, the experience of watching Michael is shaped less by the film itself and more by what the viewer brings into it. If you approach it as a fan, someone with a deep connection to the music and the legacy, the film offers enough to engage and entertain. If you approach it as a critic, looking for depth, complexity, and honesty, the limitations become more apparent. It is not a film that fully explores its subject. It is a film that carefully navigates around it.

And yet, there is something to be said for what it achieves within those boundaries. It tells a story. A focused, contained, and emotionally coherent story. It avoids the common mistake of trying to cover everything, choosing instead to concentrate on a single thread. In a genre often defined by excess, that restraint is refreshing. It doesn’t elevate the film to greatness, but it does make it work.

In the end, Michael finds itself in a very specific category—a small, often overlooked space reserved for biopics that are simply… good. Not groundbreaking, not definitive, but solid. It delivers enough of what audiences expect while avoiding complete collapse under the weight of its own subject. It is, in many ways, exactly what it needed to be.

The lingering question, however, extends beyond the film itself. What comes next? There is already talk of a sequel, a continuation that would presumably explore the parts of the story this film avoids. But that raises an obvious concern. If the first film was shaped so heavily by restrictions, what would a second film look like? What would it be allowed to say? And more importantly, what would it choose not to say?

Sometimes, stopping at the right moment is the smartest decision. And despite its imperfections, Michael feels like it ends at exactly that point.