Michael is the youngest and undoubtedly the most talented of five singing and dancing brothers. Their dad, Joseph, raises hell, believing that music is their escape from the fate of other “poor Black kids” whose only hope is the steel mills. He drills them, raising his voice as if training for promotion to the rank of sergeant major. “In this life you’re either a winner or a loser,” he says. “This is your life. Are you going fight for it?” “Yes, sir,” they reply in unison. “From now on no more Jackie, Tito, Marlon, Jermaine, and Michael. From now on you’re The Jackson 5.” The band gets to be well known among talent-spotters all over America—who don’t see it Joseph’s way. They want Michael, in whose future they believe, without his brothers. He is delightful and has perfect pitch and can’t keep his feet still; he is grabbing all the attention. In a brief, violent scene when the family return home after a sellout gig one evening, ten-year-old Michael becomes giddy. “You think you did good?” Joseph says. “My opinion don’t matter around here?” He beats Michael with his belt. A couple of decades later, Michael Jackson becomes one of the most famous people in the world.
“Michael” (Lionsgate), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, is best thought of as a profile of the father-son relationship. (Talented son wants solo career; powerful father is dead-set against.) “Michael and Joseph” or “Joseph and his Many Sons” would have been a better title. As it is, the film would have always drawn strong criticism because the story the filmmakers choose to tell scrubs the most tricky events of Michael’s later life. (The closeness of the project to the family is illustrated by the casting of real-life-nephew Jaafar Jackson as the adult Michael.) We will have to wait for a more bullish film to fill in those gaps.
One-fourth of the story considers Michael’s childhood. The Jackson 5 are successful; the family grows rich. Michael grows up but is not weaned. His siblings find things to do outside their musical lives; Michael creates a fantasy—Neverland—in his rat’s nest of a bedroom and maintains this la-la world far beyond an age by which it should have been outgrown. He reads one of those children’s books whose cover is hardback and which consists of pictures that take up a whole page. Music-industry bosses agree that he needs what he calls “the freedom to…express myself creatively,” but he’s unable to follow through. ”It’s not that easy,” to move out, he says. “I’m not ready for that.” He makes decisions but takes no actions and waits for someone else to wield the knife—“I need you to tell my father”; “I need you to fire Joseph”; “Joseph’s exploiting me. I wanted to do a solo tour. He’s just ruining it all. I need my freedom.” (The film doesn’t explain why Michael calls his dad “Joseph.”) Michael’s babyishness is bathed with affirmations—“You’re confident/You’re strong/You’re beautiful/You are the greatest of all time.” And he begins to change his appearance—visiting a plastic surgeon at a very young age to get a nose-job. But he still lives at home. He never ventures into the world on his own.
The filmmakers present one adult Michael who is ambitious and grandiose and an exhibitionist. A meeting to hire new lawyers isn’t going very well. But one manager-agent rescues the deal by flattering Michael in the manner we might a five year old. “You wanna be the biggest star in the world?” the agent asks. “Yes,” Michael says. “I believe there’s no one like you,” the agent goes on. “And there never will be.” Michael has a list of childish demands. “I want the largest concert tour there ever was.”
But the darker, second Michael obsesses over exotic animals, which roam freely in the garden, and other children, whom he hangs around in hospital. One child who is undergoing chemotherapy asks what kind of pets Michael has. Michael starts to list them—“snake, giraffe, llama, three parrots…”—and so on. “I’m a professional dancer,” he says to his chimp. “Want some ice cream? O.K. But then I’ve got to go to work.” He plays in the aisles of ‘TOMTOM’s toy store with his bodyguard and then signs autographs at the checkout.
Joseph is played by Colman Domingo, who wowed as the brash game-show host in “The Running Man,” which I reviewed in November. His commanding presence in “Michael” is enough on its own for me to recommend the movie. Take one scene where he summons his family to his office: he sits behind a power desk, the only one eating a sandwich and drinking iced tea. “The Jackson family is our blood,” he says. “That’s our Coca-Cola. We need to open up our store and start selling.” Michael interrupts; Joseph shuts him down. “No, sir,” Joseph says, “I told you what to think.” He sends two slick company men packing: Michael is free to record on his own but “I own his ass from nine to five.” When Michael is hospitalised with severe burns, Joseph shocks Michael’s mum and the surgeon by his hardness. “Do you think he’ll be able to perform again?” he asks. “Ever?” This scene also hints at future addiction to painkillers: “You’ll be in a lot of pain,” the surgeon says. All the scenes of Michael’s touring concerts are dazzling; the special effects are created in part by Industrial Light and Magic, the best in the business.
“Let your light shine into the world. Now you let your light shine. Do you understand me? Don’t you ever let anyone take that away from you. Not even yourself.” Michael’s mother is fond of high-sounding phrases. His manager has the future “Thriller” in mind. “I suggest you start laying down some killer demos,” he says. “Can you do that?” “Of course I can do that,” Michael says.
Adam Poole
24th April 2026
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