I don't broker irony these days -- that would be like trying to sell kudzu in Alabama -- but I do find contradictions in the roiling discussion around Antoine Fuqua's Michael (2026) to be notable.
Critics and audiences are sharply divided over the picture that tells the story of Michael Jackson's rise from child phenomenon at age 8 to uniquely enigmatic adult megastar, roughly the years from 1966 to 1988. Jackson died in 2009.
Critics say the picture, which stars Jackson's 29-year-old nephew Jaafar (brother Jermaine's son), lacks depth and vital insight, covering familiar territory about parental abuse, while showcasing the abilities of the sumptuously talented Jaafar in recreated live performances of the Jackson 5 and Michael's solo work on stage and in the studio. In sum, the picture is a well-crafted but ultimately disappointing narrative about a mysterious cultural icon.
Audiences, particularly Jackson's Black fans, defend Fuqua's film as celebratory and respectful, especially in its treatment -- actually, lack of treatment -- of charges of child abuse leveled against Michael in his later years, beginning in 1993. Insiders say later chapters of the film will deal with that period -- how remains to be seen.
(While I found persuasive the claims against Jackson featured in Leaving Neverland, the 2019 film that has been removed from circulation by the Jackson estate, many (most?) others said, maybe reflexively, that the documentary was a hit job and a money grab. New charges have surfaced since the release of Fuqua's film, this time involving a family of four siblings who were close to Jackson for many years.)
Some Black fans might be conflating criticism of the film as cinema with criticism of the gifted young Jaafar, who quite likely triggers precious memories of his uncle. They might be reading criticism of Michael's importance to Black music, which is undisputed. Or they might be feeling white critics are attacking Black cultural agency and identity, which, if true, would add another level of irony to the mix.
Some Black defenders have warned white reviewers to tread carefully, and I find that dangerous and chilling. Not only does rejecting sincere reflection echo the drumbeat of the current administration's punishing paranoia, but it would suggest Michael's legacy could not withstand the scrutiny.
Gauntlets being thrown down in defense of Jackson run counter to the man's most enduring public image -- that of a unifying spirit, perhaps embodying in the most glaring personal display possible the blurring of racial, ethnic and cultural lines. The work he did in 1986 with Lionel Richie and Quincy Jones to create the "We Are the World" video and movement is a testament to his enduring affirming legacy as globalist and unifier.
How fans find peace with the contradictions in a revered figure is ultimately an individual struggle, but I don't believe anybody gets there by denying contradictions exist.
TBH, the intimate and tragic documentary This Is It, released just after Jackson's death, gives me more insight into the man than Fuqua's impressive biopic. I remember seeing it twice in one day in two separate theaters because it was so riveting.
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