Michael (dir. Antoine Fuqua)

by Jack Martin | Apr 23, 2026

Certificate: 12A

Running Time: 127 mins

UK Distributor: Universal Pictures

UK Release Date: 22 April 2026

WHO’S IN MICHAEL?

Jaafar Jackson, Colman Domingo, Nia Long, Miles Teller, Laura Harrier, Jamal R. Henderson, Tre Horton, Rhyan Hill, Joseph David-Jones, Jessica Sula, KeiLyn Durrel Jones, Kendrick Sampson, Kat Graham, Larenz Tate, Liv Symone, Kevin Shinick, Derek Luke, Juliano Krue Valdi, Jayden Harville, Jaylen Lyndon Hunter, Judah Edwards, Nathaniel Logan McIntyre

WHO’S BEHIND THE CAMERA?

Antoine Fuqua (director), John Logan (writer), John Branca, Graham King and John McClain (producers), Lior Rosner (composer), Dion Beebe (cinematographer), John Ottman and Harry Yoon (editors)

WHAT’S IT ABOUT?

The early life and career of the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson (J. Jackson)…

WHAT ARE MY THOUGHTS ON MICHAEL?

Ever since Michael dropped its first teaser trailer, I’ve been half-jokingly referring to it as “Bo-HEE!HEE!-mian Rhapsody.” It’s certainly an easy joke to make, especially since Bohemian Rhapsody has become the go-to example of overly safe and heavily sanitised biopics of famous musicians (not to mention the fact that Graham King is the producer on both movies). But little did I know, even then, that my silly renaming would accurately describe the actual movie, because Michael is the exact same product as Bohemian Rhapsody.

Seriously, both are extremely generic movies that chart the meteoritic and surprisingly easy rise of an iconic musician – in this case, Michael Jackson instead of Freddie Mercury – with them as the focus while their equally crucial bandmates are barely even characters. They both involve said musician facing crises both personal and professional while almost always treating them as being in the right, even when they’re doing or saying things that may be otherwise unethical. Both are edited by John Ottman, who inexplicably won that year’s Editing Oscar for Bohemian Rhapsody and apparently hasn’t learned a thing about restraint after that film’s infamous mount of jump-cuts in a single scene. Both are bookended by the musician performing one or more of their most iconic hits at London’s Wembley Stadium. Hell, both even have a Mike Myers cameo where he plays a disgruntled music executive (I guess they’ve got to establish a cinematic universe somehow, by making him the Stan Lee of music biopic cameos).

But you want to know the difference between Michael and Bohemian Rhapsody? The latter at least felt like a movie. As formulaic as it was, and with as many behind-the-scenes problems as this one, the Queen biopic had a clearer beginning, middle and end while, for the most part, resisting the urge to make its central figure so perfect that they almost come across as an infallible god. That’s what Michael does, almost fascinatingly so, to where it completely removes nearly anything that may negatively affect his image and spends at least half its running time having characters tell Michael Jackson to his face that he’s special, he was born with a great gift, and every other prophetic phrase you could use to hype up a person.

That doesn’t make Michael a movie. It makes Michael a propaganda piece disguised as a movie. And not even a particularly good one, either, as it has zero artistic ambition other than to present a heavily manipulated account of someone who, quite tragically, has been exploited as much in death as he was in life.

It primarily follows the earlier years of Michael (played as a child by Juliano Krue Valdi, and by Jaafar Jackson as an adult), from his childhood when he was part of The Jackson 5 under the strict control of their domineering father Joe Jackson (Colman Domingo, sporting some demonic contact lenses in case you forgot he’s the bad guy), to his initial breakthrough as a solo artist, to his phenomenal successes with his various hit albums and singles. In between, there’s some light family drama – mostly consisting of Domingo’s Joe staring down his prodigal son whenever he speaks out of turn – and the introduction of a CG chimp named Bubbles. Oh, and lots of people screaming and fainting at his numerous concerts.

Now, we all know what’s missing from this speed-run version of Michael’s life, and the makers of this movie clearly know it too, ending things right before it reaches that particularly troublesome era. But honestly, the film has way bigger issues than the absence of certain legal issues that Michael Jackson was accused of. For one, the movie has absolutely no directorial vision whatsoever, with Antoine Fuqua strictly in hired-gun mode as he simply points the camera at his actors and do nothing with it, creating a low energy set to some of the blandest cinematography since the last generic music biopic, all of which drains any and all life out of scenes that feature. John Logan’s script, like I mentioned earlier, is largely made up of dialogue that always remarks how talented and unique he is, and how his one true purpose is to bring love and joy to the people, like he’s a higher-pitched Jesus with killer dance moves. If it was any more complimentary towards its subject, the movie would have ended with him flying up into the sky to take his place on Mount Olympus.

Credit to Jaafar Jackson who, despite having the emotional range of a boiled potato, is a phenomenal dancer and emulates some of the most signature moves of his real-life uncle very well. But he’s stuck playing this all too squeaky-clean version of Michael who is written to have almost no flaws whatsoever, a blatant attempt by the Jackson estate (who of course had a massive hand in putting this together) to preserve the godly image of their most sacred source of income. Their control over his image is evident all throughout this movie, almost enough to equate it to old Soviet Union propaganda designed to hide all monstrous attributes of its extremely flawed central figure, only Joseph Stalin at least had some say in how he was ultimately portrayed.

Obviously, Michael Jackson was no Soviet dictator; he was a very talented entertainer with some genuinely great songs among his catalogue, and like all of us had deep issues that were only enabled by the ghouls around him. This movie – or, as it should forever be known, Bo-HEE!HEE!-mian Rhapsody – is yet another example of that enablement, and it’s genuinely upsetting to see this man’s legacy be further distorted to the point where, beyond a few memorable renditions of his most toe-tapping work, he no longer seems recognisable.

To use one of his most memorable songs, it’s bad. It’s bad. It’s really, really bad.

SO, TO SUM UP…

Michael is as painfully formulaic as your average major music biopic, but there is something extra ghoulish about the way that Michael Jackson’s image is being portrayed so infallibly, without any mention whatsoever of his most controversial moments in favour of a hollow and somewhat exploitative presentation of his greatest hits.