Michael (2026)

Dir: Antoine Fuqua

Cast: Jaafar Jackson, Nia Long, Juliano Valdi, KeiLyn Durrel Jones, Laura Harrier, Jessica Sula, Mike Myers, Miles Teller, Colman Domingo

Jaafar Jackson channels his uncle’s magnetic presence and undeniable star power, yet this music biopic feels like a glossy highlight reel by sidestepping the most challenging chapters of the King of Pop’s life

For nearly three years, I’ve been diving deep into the world of film reviews, and if there’s one subgenre that keeps resurfacing, it’s the music biopic. In recent years, legends like Elvis Presley, Whitney Houston, Amy Winehouse, Bob Marley, and Bruce Springsteen have been resurrected on screen, only to be flattened by films that barely scratch the surface of their legacies. Then came James Mangold’s “A Complete Unknown”, a rare spark that reminded me Hollywood could still deliver a biopic with real insight. Timothee Chalamet’s electrifying turn as Bob Dylan stands out as one of the genre’s finest performances in recent memory. While not without its flaws, the film dared to zoom in on a pivotal cultural moment, signalling a welcome shift away from the tired cradle-to-grave formula. Now, with “Michael” poised to be the music biopic event of 2026, I walked into the cinema sceptical, even as box office records tumbled and audience buzz reached a fever pitch.

The fanfare around “Michael” has been impossible to ignore since its debut two weeks ago, even as critics remain cool on the film. With so many musical icons already immortalized on screen, a Michael Jackson biopic felt inevitable, but the real question was always: who could possibly fill the King of Pop’s shoes? Backed by the Jackson estate, the answer arrived with a twist—Michael’s own nephew, Jaafar Jackson, would step into the spotlight. At 29, Jaafar is a musician in his own right, but now faces the daunting challenge of embodying not just the world’s most famous pop star, but also his own uncle, all in his very first acting role.

Despite stepping into his first acting role, Jaafar’s performance is the film’s undeniable centrepiece. It is almost eerie how precisely he channels his late uncle, capturing not just Michael’s quirky, soft-spoken, and childlike demeanour offstage, but also the electrifying, larger-than-life presence he commanded on it. Even though Jaafar only mimes the songs, his uncanny resemblance and magnetic stage presence make it hard to imagine anyone else in the role. Juliano Valdi, as young Michael during the Jackson 5 era, is equally impressive, guiding us into the family’s early struggles in Gary, Indiana during the mid-1960s. Colman Domingo’s Joseph Jackson is the relentless patriarch, driving his sons to the brink with harsh discipline, while the youngest, most innocent Michael bears the brunt of his father’s wrath.

After years of relentless rehearsals, the group finally catches the eye of Motown Records and rockets to international stardom. Motown founder Berry Gordy (Larenz Tate) urges Michael to step into the spotlight on his own. Most of “Michael” traces the King of Pop’s quest to carve out his solo legacy, celebrating the triumphs of “Off the Wall” and “Thriller” while he struggles to break free from his father’s controlling grip over his career and the Jackson family empire.

Catching “Michael” after the initial hype, I found myself siding with the critics, though I can absolutely see why fans and casual moviegoers have embraced it so warmly. First and foremost, the music is irresistible. Whatever your feelings about Michael Jackson or the controversies that swirled around him, there’s no denying his genius. His discography is a parade of hits, cementing him as one of the most influential and beloved artists of the twentieth century, and a pop culture icon like no other. The film revels in his early classics, from “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough” to the legendary “Thriller”, the latter’s horror-inspired video recreated with dazzling flair as Jackson embarks on his short film ambitions. Technically, the film shines: director Antoine Fuqua and cinematographer Dion Beebe bathe the screen in the lush, neon glow of 1980s music videos, evoking pure nostalgia. While some heavy-handed CGI keeps the concert scenes from feeling fully immersive, the booming sound design practically dares you not to dance in your seat.

Choosing Antoine Fuqua to direct was a fascinating gamble. Known for his hard-edged crime dramas like “The Equalizer” series and the Oscar-winning “Training Day”, Fuqua seemed poised to inject some real grit into the darker corners of Jackson’s story—the loneliness of Neverland, the legal storms, the physical metamorphosis. Yet, John Logan’s script, perhaps shaped by estate or studio interference, abruptly halts the narrative in the late 1980s. As a result, Fuqua’s trademark intensity is swapped for a glossy, sanitized sheen that, while reminiscent of vintage music videos, feels out of step with the turmoil beneath Jackson’s glittering surface.

This leads to the film’s most glaring shortcoming: its refusal to grapple with the controversies that defined Jackson’s later years. When I first heard about a Michael Jackson biopic, I was intrigued by the potential for a film that would challenge its audience, not just parade a greatest hits reel. “Michael” had a real chance to confront the allegations and shadows that loomed over the pop star’s final chapters. Instead, by ending the story before any offstage drama unfolds, the film feels incomplete, leaning into a messianic narrative where Jackson is cast as a divinely appointed bringer of love and joy. Frankly, it’s pure fantasy. By taking such a defensive, one-sided approach, the film paradoxically makes Jackson less compelling. The complexities, the darkness, the unanswered questions—all are swept aside, reducing a deeply complicated figure to a cardboard cut-out. Had the film dared to explore the controversies leading up to his untimely death, a more courageous script could have delved into his loneliness or the psychological toll of his fame. It would not excuse his alleged actions, but it would spark debate and invite viewers to draw their own conclusions, rather than spoon-feeding them a sanitized, saintly image.

The film also falters with its supporting cast. Colman Domingo, usually a powerhouse, is boxed into the tired “Abusive Father” trope as Joe Jackson—a role that’s become all too familiar in recent music biopics. Nia Long’s Katherine Jackson is left with little more than pained glances and saintly concern, serving as a moral compass in a story that refuses to explore any real moral ambiguity. Miles Teller, as Michael’s lawyer John Branca, is so underused he might as well be invisible. The strangest casting choice, though, is Mike Myers as CBS Records CEO Walter Yetnikoff. Myers pops up for a single scene, buried under prosthetics and makeup, offering a blink-and-you ’ll-miss-it dose of comic relief. Oddly, it’s almost a carbon copy of his role in “Bohemian Rhapsody” (2019), underscoring just how formulaic and uninspired modern biopics have become.

Michael Jackson was a man of staggering talent, seismic influence, and haunting complexity. He deserved a film unafraid to meet his gaze. Instead, what we get is a two-hour apologia, with Fuqua seemingly following a script handed down from on high. The result is a hollow spectacle that puts the “brand” before the “biography.” Fans will surely fill the seats to watch their idol moonwalk across the screen, but anyone seeking real cinema will leave feeling short-changed, wishing for something far more daring. While we are teased by a scroll stating that Michael’s journey continues, I cannot see a sequel, still under the influence of the Jackson estate, depicting one of their own in a harsh light.

Michael is now showing in UK Cinemas

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