Film Reviews

‘Michael’ Review: It’s Bad, It’s Bad (Really, Really Bad) [D]

Jay Ledbetter April 21, 2026

It is often said that the sleek, disposable, experience-first superhero blockbusters that have flooded movie theaters for the last two decades are akin to amusement parks. There are thrills to be had and fleeting dopamine hits but it lacks emotional staying power and doesn’t reward further examination. Well, if superhero films are amusement parks, music biopics have become wax museums with soundtracks; entities reverse-engineered into something resembling stories from music people love. In the same way that it is impressive to see a well-executed wax sculpture of Jim Carrey as Ace Ventura, the most enthusiastic response it can evoke is, “Hm, that’s neat, it looks like the thing I know.” What the film means is a complete afterthought. Interiority is completely dismissed in exchange for impressive physical duplication. In Michael, Jafaar Jackson’s ability to moonwalk and capture the relentless physical rhythm of the most famous popstar who has ever lived (and his real-life uncle, so there’s DNA in those dance moves) is undeniably impressive, but masterful imitation does not a good movie make. Michael fails as a film by refusing to flesh out its titular protagonist in any sort of mature or dramatically fulfilling way. Rushed and often technically sloppy, the film cares little for true artfulness, instead relying on the pre-existing songs and performances to provide cheap pleasures. But hey, at least the music’s good.

Directed by action journeyman Antoine Fuqua (Training Day, The Equalizer franchise), Michael explores the life and career of Michael Jackson from 1966 to 1988; that is, from the early stages of The Jackson Five to the Bad tour. Insofar as there is any sort of dramatic thrust to Michael, it comes via Michael’s relationship with his abusive father, Joe Jackson, played by Colman Domingo. Like every other character in the film, Joe is a paper thin idea of a character more than an actual representation of a person. Caked in first-rate prosthetics and makeup, Domingo is asked to be cruel, grumpy, and angry; pretty much exclusively. There are no instances of apparent love for his family or appreciation for his eventual affluent lifestyle. Something – anything – to make him feel human was lacking for the entirety of the film. He is the devil and Michael is, almost literally, an angel. Jafaar Jackson plays pretty much every scene effectively, but his portrayal of Michael Jackson ends up feeling like Forrest Gump or Amélie Poulain. Michael’s innocence and naïveté make him some sort of vessel for good in the world.

We know only a few things about Michael in the movie, and the totality of what we know does not constitute what one would call a “personality.” He loves animals and children’s playthings. He’s very talented and energetic. He’s immensely famous. He has a difficult relationship with his father. The most traditionally complete and compelling throughline the character has is his insecurity about his nose. It is hardly “Rosebud” but that plot point at least has a beginning, middle, and end. Michael includes about a half-dozen scenes of The King of Pop visiting children in the hospital and an extended sequence of Michael seemingly halting gang violence between the Bloods and the Crips in an absolutely bizarre scene that, while rooted in an actual occurrence, feels like a children’s author adapting Menace II Society. It may just be the most baffling scene of the year.

It will come as no surprise that many of the behind-the-scenes drivers of Michael were also involved with Bohemian Rhapsody, another sanded-down biopic that mistook recreation for storytelling. Bo Rhap made only slightly less than the GDP of Grenada so, naturally, the powers that be decided to stay the course on a film about an even more influential artist. Antoine Fuqua, who has made films with a certain semblance of style in the past, plays it entirely safe with Michael, letting the past speak for itself by making every single element of the film thoroughly literal. The film feels almost too scared to be interesting. Like clockwork, it is a rote scene or two of personal drama that leads into a musical montage. With as airless as the dramatic scenes are, you could basically close your eyes and treat the film as a greatest hits album with interstitial skits. You know what was visually compelling? The music video for “Thriller.” You know what isn’t visually compelling? A faux-recreation of the behind-the-scenes of the music video for “Thriller”!

The film makes no effort to reveal anything new or interesting about Michael Jackson in the musical sequences. It simply coasts on the greatness of Michael Jackson’s music. Medium shot after medium shot, over-cut and flatly covered, will surely lull many viewers into some form of dull comfort (smart money is on Michael’s box office managing to actually surpass the GDP of Grenada) but Michael will challenge no one. The question is: does it even want to? Should it want to? The superficiality of the family dynamics and lack of any reflection on Michael Jackson’s internal pain and alleged misdeeds will almost certainly make it more profitable and focusing on physicality and prosthetics is a good way to garner awards attention. Michael is a film that may as well have been edited in a boardroom (with the Jackson Estate keenly looking over their shoulder).

Hurdles are overcome with little-to-no effort. MTV’s reluctance to play music videos from Black artists is resolved in literally two minutes (by Mike Myers, of all people, fulfilling his obligation to have a surprise cameo in a crummy music biopic that feels as much like a jump scare as a fun little Easter egg). Michael’s siblings sans Janet, whose life rights request must have gone to spam, no longer wanting to indulge in childish games is no problem because Michael has Bubbles (the movie could have used more Bubbles, by the way. Electric stuff.) Michael Jackson brought a tremendous amount of joy to a marvelous amount of people, but he was a person; a person with problems and a sense of self. In Michael, he is Paul Bunyan, a piece of American folklore performing impossible acts of entertainment. He is a Manic Pixie Pop Star.

Perhaps the most ironic thing about Michael is that it very regularly flashes scenes from some of cinema’s great films over the course of two hours. The Michael Jackson in Michael is a true blue cinephile, taking in classics like Singin’ in the Rain, Modern Times, Dawn of the Dead, and several others. We see these films on televisions Michael is watching. It is a copy of a copy. In the same way that the Michael Jackson performances in Michael are cheap imitations of things that already exist, Antoine Fuqua shows the potential for creative triumph in a film that lacks any such creativity. Lacking any sense of style or personal point of view, Michael is an exercise in mimicry. Give Madame Tussaud $150 million and I’m confident she could make something more or less as artful as Michael. It’s a nine-figure wax museum.

Grade: D

Lionsgate will release Michael only in theaters and IMAX on April 24.

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Jay Ledbetter

Jay Ledbetter is a finance manager by day, film critic by night living in Atlanta, Georgia. He began writing about film in 2013 and is not afraid to confront people of all ages if they are too loud in the theater.

In addition to his work at Awards Watch, Jay has written and hosted podcasts for Film Inquiry and InSession Film. He is an auteur obsessive, regularly diving deep into the filmographies of celebrated filmmakers.

Jay is a proud member of the Atlanta Film Critics Circle and the Georgia Film Critics Association. You can follow him on Twitter @MrJayLedbetter.