As Bad As Movies Get

I try to enter all movies with an open mind, or at least open-ish, but that’s tough for a biopic of (let’s just say) a troubled artist made solely to whitewash their life story with their family’s estate running the show. I can’t say I expected to love Michael, but I wanted to see what all the fuss was about, especially with its record-breaking opening weekend.

What I saw was one of the worst movies in years, a bland and pretty evil exercise in brand management and biopic shlock. It’s barely a movie as much as a bunch of half-assed re-enactments stringed together with remarkably creepy undertones and a great soundtrack … of course.

It didn’t help matters that I saw it with an all-time terrible crowd1 in which many (MANY!) people took photos of the screen with their flash on, chatted throughout and tried to out-sing(?) the Jackson 5. Still, they could’ve been perfect angels; it wouldn’t have changed matters when it came to what’s definitively the worst movie I’ve seen so far this year.

Ever since Bohemian Rhapsody went bananas at the box office in 2018 and somehow won four Oscars (including most embarrassingly Best Actor for Rami Malek), we’ve been on a music biopic run of sorts. There has been Elvis, Rocketman, Springsteen: Deliver Me from Nowhere, Whitney Houston: I Wanna Dance with Somebody, Back to Black, Better Man, Nina and A Complete Unknown. I’m sure I’m missing some, but the point stands: We’re getting so many biopics as they’re relatively simple to make, immediately have intellectual property to mine and are an easy way to make a quick buck and win some awards.

Michael is the latest of those, and apparently, at one point, there was a pretty compelling script that went into Michael Jackson’s baggage, most notably his damning child sexual abuse accusations over the years and his flameout with drugs and pain medication. This is certainly a less fun and sanitized movie than what we ended up with, and the Jackson Estate knew that and did everything in its power to quash the true story and turn this into your run-of-the-mill biopic dreck.

Beyond the behind-the-scenes machinations, the movie itself is a mess, turning Michael Jackson into a genius who’s never erred, taking on his power-hungry father, played with what can best be described as “I want an Oscar now” energy by Colman Domingo. All of his dialogue could easily have been written by AI with the prompt “mean biopic dad.” And that’s as deep and introspective as this thing gets.

Of all the recent biopics, the only one with any juice was A Complete Unknown, and that’s mostly because of the starpower from Timothée Chalamet and Monica Barbaro. James Mangold’s decision to turn Bob Dylan into a wandering cipher was a genius take that at least created some energy and a plot. He’s less of a hero, at least compared to the usual biopic protagonist, and more of a talented asshole trying up against himself. It’s Side B (and a less successful version) of Inside Llewyn Davis. Still, that’s preferable to these other films, which wouldn’t be caught dead saying a negative word about their deified artists.

It’s not a surprise that the best biopics in recent history are fictional, allowing the directors and screenwriters to play with the format and keep the audience guessing. There’s TÁR, The Brutalist and Marty Supreme in recent years, all probing character studies about flawed but brilliant characters in their chosen fields which have the biopic-y historical undertones but are almost novelistic in their approaches. You don’t know what’s about to happen and these characters can constantly fail because they’re not mandated to win by a board of directors staring at the bottom line.

There are so many scenes in Michael in which a historical person of note says to the titular character something to the extent of “You is kind. You is smart. You is important.” And then Michael grins and the two exchange looks and then a song plays and he dances or some shit. That happens a dozen or so times, interspersed between young Michael Jackson looking into the distance or playing Twister with a CGI Bubbles the chimpanzee. Yes, the music’s good. He’s got hits; I can’t deny that. Just listen to the Greatest Of at home or something.

“A lot of people, I think, will kind of swallow any misgivings they may have and just sort of say, ‘Oh well, it’s a great jukebox movie,’” said Dan Reed, director of Leaving Neverland, a doc on MJ’s victims. “I think Jackson was genuinely a very nasty man and hurt a lot of children. And he may have been a great entertainer, but those things don’t cancel each other out.”

A movie like this succeeding is a direct rebuke to those hurt by Michael Jackson, which clearly isn’t surprising for America in 2026. Our president is … well, you know. Kanye West is packing stadiums again. And Louis C.K. is back headlining comedy festivals. A sterilized version of the Michael Jackson story in which he consistently meets and hangs out with little kids (with zero introspection by the filmmakers) and comes off as a superhero mixed with a divinity is only right for where the culture is. Everyone is 12 now, and no one wants to think critically about anything they like (or don’t like, for that matter).

I read something recently about how this decade in movies will be known for its nostalgia-bait and inability to grow up, which feels right. Obviously, there are good movies—I wouldn’t be writing this newsletter if not—but the majority (especially the crowdpleasers) are just “remember this?” experiments with zero thought or idea.

The new Moana live-action movie is the quintessential example of this, a worse-looking retread of a movie from 10 years ago with the same stars coming back for a quick paycheck. We can’t even get past a decade without trying to capitalize on well-made art and something people liked at the time.

Michael has a longer gap between his all-encompassing starpower and the movie, but it’s the same thing. This wasn’t made for art’s sake. It was made so his songs get back on the charts and that when you Google “Michael Jackson movie,” Leaving Neverland isn’t the first thing that pops up.

Instead, you get this garbage biopic that feels like a 30 Rock bit crossed with a more barbaric cancellation imagery repair tutorial. And to be fair, it’s working. As I said, my audience was singing and taking pictures and thrilled to see Michael Jackson’s nephew imitate the moonwalk.

Sometimes we get what we deserve. That’s not a good thing.