The sound arrives first, the restless pulse of “Wanna Be Startin’ Somethin’,” building under the image like something gathering force. Then the details come in fragments: black shoes, white socks, the measured walk, the line of a jacket, the suggestion of a ponytail. The camera stays just behind him, keeping its distance, letting recognition form on its own. The superstar Michael Jackson flashes on screen, and then we cut to him as a 10-year-old boy.
Retreating to his room after a brutal beating from his father Joe Jackson (Colman Domingo), with a flashlight under the covers in the family’s home in Gary, Indiana, Michael is a lost child as he reads Peter Pan. Juliano Krue Valdi (10-year-old Michael) is a marvel as the budding Jackson 5 prodigy whose once-in-a-generation vocal ability catches the attention of Motown mogul Berry Gordy (Larenz Tate), with performances of Smokey Robinson’s “Who’s Lovin’ You,” “I Want You Back,” and “The Love You Save.”
Jaafar Jackson (Michael Jackson) delivers an Oscar-worthy performance. The son of Jermaine Jackson, Jaafar dazzles as he moonwalks and appears alongside rival gang members during the ‘Beat It’ sequence. The final performance of the Victory Tour, where he sings “Workin’ Day and Night” to emancipate himself from his father and achieve loftier ambitions, is a marvel.
As director (Antoine Fuqua) put it, “It’s uncanny how much he’s like Michael. Sounds like him, dances like him, sings. It’s really uncanny.”
Jaafar does not just resemble Michael Jackson. He moves like him, with a level of specificity that feels studied rather than mechanical. The rhythm, the posture, the control of stillness before movement, all of it aligns with what audiences expect. But the performance fails because of that. It succeeds because of what he does when he is not performing.
His Michael is internal. Measured. Reactive.
And it is in those moments, particularly opposite Colman Domingo, that the film finds its center. Domingo, coming off back-to-back Academy Award nominations, approaches Joe Jackson not as a caricature, but as a fully realized figure. Joe has long existed in public memory as a controversial, even feared patriarch. A man defined by discipline, ambition, and control. Here, he is all of those things. But he is also something more complicated.
Domingo described the role as “a rich, complex, and flawed character,” and that complexity is what gives the film its weight. This is not a simplified dynamic or one built for easy judgment. It is built on tension that accumulates slowly, through expectation, pressure, and the constant demand for perfection.
And the audience feels it. That was the most striking element of the screening. Not the music. Not the choreography. The audience. Their reaction was immediate and specific. They did not simply watch the film unfold. They responded to it in real time.
They clapped and cheered.
Not at the obvious moments of performance, but during scenes of confrontation. Moments where Michael pushes back against Joe. That kind of response does not happen by accident. It happens when something feels true. Because what the audience is reacting to in those moments is not celebrity.
It is recognition.
A father who demands more than a child can give. A child who tries, absorbs, and eventually resists. The film, at its best, understands that this is the story worth telling. Everything else, the fame, the success, the cultural impact, becomes context. Important context, but still secondary.
The supporting cast, Nia Long (Katherine Jackson), Laura Harrier (Suzanne de Passe), and Kat Graham (Diana Ross), while strong and necessary in building the world around Michael Jackson, function largely in orbit of that central relationship. They help establish the scale of his life, the industry around him, and the breadth of his influence. But they do not carry the emotional core. That belongs to Michael and Joe.
And this creates an interesting tension within the film’s structure.
On one hand, Michael attempts to be comprehensive. It spans years, milestones, and defining moments in a career that reshaped music and performance. On the other hand, its most compelling scenes are intimate, contained, and deeply personal.
When the film leans into that intimacy, it becomes something far more focused. It stops trying to capture everything. And in doing so, it becomes more effective because those scenes do not rely on legacy.
They rely on human dynamics.
Jaafar Jackson’s restraint becomes critical here. There is a version of this performance that could have leaned heavily into imitation, into recreating the familiar gestures and moments audiences already know. Instead, he allows space. He reacts. He absorbs. And when he finally pushes back, those moments land with force. The applause in the theater is not for spectacle. It is for release.
For a power shift that has been building quietly beneath the surface. That is what elevates the film. Not its scope. Not its ambition. But its willingness, whether intentional or not, to narrow its focus to something universal. A relationship defined by pressure. By expectation. By control. And ultimately, by resistance.
In those moments, Michael stops being a biopic. It stops being about a legend. It becomes something far more immediate.
BOTTOM LINE: A story about what it costs to become that legend in the first place, and that is what the audience responds to. Not the icon. The human being underneath it. And that’s what makes Michael a Reel See!
Amy Pais-Richer is REEL 360 News’ newest contributor. She is a published author and we are lucky to have her!
REELated:
It took a team to build Frankenstein’s monstrous award success
