The biopic needs to die, or, at the very least, be reinvented. Antoine Fuqua's Michael is the nail in the coffin in a long string of biopics over the last few years that just refuses to get it right.
The film traces the life of Michael Jackson from his Gary, Indiana childhood under the iron fist of his father Joe Jackson (Colman Domingo) through his rise as the undisputed King of Pop, spanning the Jackson 5 era to his late '80s solo dominance. That's where the story, officially, ends.
His story "continues," the film assures us. Lucky us.
Here's what Michael actually is: a 130-minute estate-approved highlight reel with a plot nailed to it. The moment the logo for Michael Jackson's former company, Optimum Productions, appears in the opening credits, the ruse is up. The Jackson siblings are executive producers, and you feel every one of their fingerprints on every sanitized, consequence-free frame. Tons of footage was left on the cutting room floor after millions of dollars in reshoots, and what remains is bland, unfocused, and utterly predictable from frame one.
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