Michael 2026: Review Michael Jackson Movie

Michael Jackson, 5 Decades and Beyond

Born in the 70s and raised in the 80s, I belong to that in-between generation that remembers life before everything became instant, digital, and endlessly scrollable. A true Gen X upbringing meant cassette tapes, MTV on loop, and artists who did not just release music, they defined entire eras. And while Michael Jackson was technically a decade ahead of me, his peak years aligned perfectly with my formative ones. You did not have to be born in his exact timeline to feel his gravity. You just had to be alive when the world revolved around him.

Quick heads up: this review contains a few spoilers, especially around key performances and scenes.

The 1980s were not just a successful decade for Jackson, they were a cultural takeover. With Thriller in 1982, widely recognized as the best-selling album of all time, and Bad in 1987, he did not just dominate charts, he reshaped what pop stardom looked like. Music videos became cinematic events. Dance became storytelling. The “Moonwalk” became mythology. By the time the 90s rolled in with Dangerous and HIStory, his influence had already cemented itself across generations.

Watching Michael in IMAX felt less like viewing a film and more like stepping into a time capsule that somehow still breathes in the present. What struck me immediately, even before the first act fully unfolded, was the audience. It was not just Gen Xers reliving their youth. I saw Millennials, Gen Z groups, and even Gen Alpha kids sitting beside their parents. That alone says something no statistic ever fully captures. Jackson is not nostalgia. He is continuity.

And yet, numbers do tell a compelling story. The film reportedly opened to around $217 to $219 million globally during its first weekend in April 2026, making it the biggest opening ever for a biopic and even surpassing Oppenheimer in opening day performance. That kind of reception is not just about hype. It reflects enduring relevance.

Directed by Antoine Fuqua, the film focuses on Jackson’s life from the late 1960s up to 1988, stopping just before the controversies that would later complicate his public image. It is a deliberate narrative choice, and one that shapes the tone of the entire film. This is not a full cradle-to-legacy biography. It is a portrait of ascent, of talent under pressure, and of brilliance forged under relentless scrutiny.
The story opens in Gary, Indiana, during the late 60s, where a young Michael, portrayed by Juliano Krue Valdi, rehearses tirelessly under the strict discipline of his father, Joe Jackson, played with intensity by Colman Domingo. These early scenes are uncomfortable at times, not because they are overly dramatized, but because they feel grounded. The film does not shy away from the rigid and often harsh environment that shaped the Jackson 5.

When the group transitions into their Motown years under Berry Gordy, played by Larenz Tate, the tone shifts. Suddenly, the grind meets glamour. The Jackson 5’s rise is portrayed with energy, anchored by hits like “I Want You Back” and “I’ll Be There.” These moments are not just musical highlights, they show a young performer learning how to command an audience.

The film truly finds its rhythm in the transition from child star to solo icon. The collaboration with Quincy Jones, portrayed by Kendrick Sampson, becomes a turning point. You feel the shift from controlled family act to independent artistry. The creation of “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough,” “Beat It,” and “Billie Jean” unfolds with a sense of urgency and purpose.
One of the most powerful sequences recreates the 1983 Motown 25 performance of “Billie Jean.” It is here that Jaafar Jackson, making his film debut as Michael, delivers a performance that goes beyond imitation. When the Moonwalk lands, it is not just choreography, it is a moment suspended in time. You already know it is coming, yet it still gives you chills.

And that was my experience throughout the film. There was this unexpected emotional pull from the very beginning. I felt a lump in my throat before I could even rationalize why. Goosebumps. A quiet kind of awe. It is difficult to explain, but it speaks to how deeply Jackson’s presence is embedded in collective memory.

Jaafar Jackson deserves real credit here. He captures the voice, the physicality, and the subtle vulnerability of his uncle. More impressively, he rises to the challenge of embodying one of the greatest dancers in pop culture history, someone whose movements were not just learned but honed to near-perfection through relentless practice. You can see the effort in the precision of the choreography, the sharpness of each beat, and the confidence in his stage presence. He channels not just the steps, but the attitude and aura that made Michael Jackson so magnetic. That said, there were moments where I found myself thinking he could have leaned further into the physical transformation. Michael had a certain ethereal fragility, almost otherworldly. But then again, replicating someone larger than life is an impossible standard.

The film does not just rely on performance, it thrives on music. The official soundtrack, “Michael: Songs from the Motion Picture,” includes 13 tracks that span his career, from Jackson 5 classics like “Who’s Lovin’ You” to solo anthems like “Human Nature” and “Bad.” Beyond that, the film layers in additional songs such as “Smooth Criminal,” “Black or White,” and “Man in the Mirror,” enriching the narrative without overwhelming it.

There are also quieter, more intimate moments that stand out. A scene featuring “I Can’t Help It” plays over a reflective studio sequence. Another uses “Blame It on the Boogie” during a playful interaction involving Bubbles the chimpanzee. These glimpses humanize Jackson, reminding us that behind the spectacle was a person navigating extraordinary circumstances.

One of the film’s most intense sequences revolves around the 1984 Pepsi commercial accident, where Jackson suffered serious burns due to a pyrotechnics malfunction. The scene is handled with restraint, focusing less on shock and more on aftermath. It becomes a turning point, symbolizing both physical and emotional strain.

The narrative builds toward the Bad era, culminating in a grand IMAX-scale recreation of the Wembley Stadium performance. This finale does not try to outdo reality. Instead, it honors it. The scale, the sound, the energy, it all comes together in a way that feels earned.

Naturally, comparisons to Bohemian Rhapsody are inevitable. That film, centered on Freddie Mercury, set a high bar for music biopics, particularly with its Live Aid climax. Rami Malek delivered an Oscar-winning performance that captured Mercury’s flamboyance and vulnerability.
If I am being honest, Bohemian Rhapsody may still edge ahead in terms of narrative structure and emotional payoff. Its Live Aid sequence remains one of the most electrifying finales in recent cinema. It knew exactly where to land.

But Michael does something different. It does not build toward a single defining moment. Instead, it immerses you in a series of defining moments. It is less about one peak and more about understanding the sustained magnitude of Jackson’s career. And perhaps that is why it resonated with me in a deeper, more personal way. From the opening scenes, I felt emotionally anchored. Not because the film demanded it, but because the subject naturally evokes it.

The supporting cast also adds dimension. Nia Long brings warmth and quiet strength to Katherine Jackson. Miles Teller as John Branca and Derek Luke as Johnnie Cochran contribute to the broader picture of the people surrounding Jackson during key moments in his career.

What the film ultimately achieves is balance. It celebrates without blindly glorifying. It acknowledges pressure without turning the story into tragedy. It chooses a specific window in time and explores it with focus.

Walking out of the theater, I found myself reflecting not just on the film, but on the phenomenon itself. How does one artist remain relevant across five decades? How does music created long before streaming still resonate with audiences who have never known a world without it? The answer lies somewhere between talent, timing, and transformation. Michael Jackson was not just a performer. He was an innovator. He understood visual storytelling before it became standard. He treated music videos as short films. He pushed boundaries in ways that artists today still build upon. More importantly, he connected. Across race, across geography, across generations. That is not something you can manufacture. It is something you become.

And that is why the theater felt the way it did. Why different generations sat side by side, reacting to the same moments. Why songs released decades ago still trigger immediate recognition. The magic did not fade. It evolved.

Michael as a film is not perfect. It has pacing issues in parts, and it occasionally leans into safe storytelling choices. But it succeeds where it matters most. It reminds you why Michael Jackson mattered, and why he still does.

For those who lived through his rise, it feels like stepping back into a moment that once defined the world. For those discovering him now, it is a powerful introduction to an artist whose influence still shapes what music, performance, and pop culture look like today. Michael Jackson stands in a class of his own, not bound by era, geography, race, or gender, but elevated by a legacy that continues to unite audiences across every possible divide.

And somewhere in between those perspectives lies the real achievement of the film. It bridges time.

Long live the King of Pop.