Last night I saw the biopic, Michael about the late, great Michael Jackson. Watching the movie brought so many childhood memories to the forefront of my mind. As I sat in the theater with my husband and youngest child, my heart leapt when I saw the actor, Jackson’s nephew -Jaafar Jackson, reenact pivotal moments in entertainment history and my childhood. Giddy and cheeks flushed with excitement, I watched nostalgic and full of glee, a young black man take the world by storm. His voice, his dance moves, his spirit moved my very core. There will never be another like him. Michael Jackson was a dream caught in a cruel reality.
I remember when MJ moonwalked across the stage during the Motown 25. I was eight years old, eyes stretched wide and unblinking at the TV, witnessing the greatest entertainer in my lifetime glide across the stage in a flash of sparkle and magic. Michael was my first boyfriend. I remember sneaking into the bathroom and unfolding the Thriller album to kiss Michael's cardboard lips as I straddled the toilet. At age thirteen, I remember going to the Bad concert; the electricity zipping through the air and jumping into the bodies of fanatics like the Holy Spirit during a charismatic church service causing them to faint and swoon. I remember being repulsed by their behavior before I found myself screaming and crying Michael's name as a supernatural energy pulsated from the stage. I remember watching with breath bated as Michael danced through a Nubian depiction of Egypt in Remember the Time; how he defied gravity in Smooth Criminal; how he united us in Black or White; how he reassured us in You Are Not Alone; how he wooed us with Butterflies; how he angered us with They Don’t Care About Us; how he stirred us with Earth Song, how he inspired us with Man in the Mirror, how he encouraged us with Heal the World, how he heckled us with Wanna Be Starting Somethin’, how he flirted with us in The Way You Make Me Feel. There wasn’t one facet of life that Michael Jackson didn’t touch.
Michael Jackson was a complex character. On one hand, I was in awe of his talent, on the other, I was in awe of his propensity to hurt himself. Beautiful brown boy turned strange white alien, I loved him still. Wacko Jacko survived almost two decades of FBI investigations, child abuse, abuse accusations, intense self-hate, and profound loneliness to succumb to an untimely death at the young age of fifty. What we saw on the outside reflected how much he suffered on the inside.
Michael was his ancestor’s greatest dream; affluent, influential, talented, intelligent, and kind. He was also a cautionary tale, teaching us that all the money in the world cannot buy peace, love, self-worth, or friendship and being surrounded by sycophants will only destroy you faster.
I pray part two of the movie will highlight Michael Jackson the brilliant businessman, the philanthropist, the activist, the legend who made more money dead than most people would ever alive. The greatest artist who ever walked the earth (second only to Prince 😊). That he will be portrayed as a beautiful complicated being trying to figure out life like the rest of us.