OPINION-COLUMN | Remembering the time of Michael Jackson

From childhood memories to global legacy, the Michael biopic captures the emotional connection audiences share with Michael Jackson.

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I WALKED into the cinema expecting nostalgia. I walked out carrying my childhood. Watching Michael, the much-anticipated biopic of Michael Jackson portrayed by his nephew Jaafar Jackson, I thought I knew what I was in for – another retelling, another carefully constructed tribute to a man whose life has been dissected, debated and documented endlessly.

But I was wrong. This was not just a film; it was a time machine. From the very first scene, there was something arresting about Jaafar’s performance – not just the precision of his movements or the familiar cadence of Michael’s presence but something more elusive: a sense of spirit. It didn’t feel like imitation; it felt like channelling. At moments, I forgot I was watching an actor at all.

And perhaps that is what makes Michael different. It doesn’t over-explain him; it simply lets you feel him. Because how do you explain someone like Michael Jackson?

He wasn’t just the King of Pop; he was larger than life in a way that still feels difficult to define. His music did not merely top the charts; it crossed borders that politics, religion and language often struggle to bridge.

In living rooms from Kuala Lumpur to Kansas, in cassette tapes and pirated CDs, in school performances and wedding dance floors – Michael was there. For those of us born in the 80s, he was not just an artist; he was part of growing up. I did not realise how deeply those memories lived in me until Billie Jean played in the film.

Suddenly, I was not in a cinema anymore – I was a child again, watching his music videos in awe, trying and failing to moonwalk across tiled floors, believing that music could be magic.

Then another memory surfaced, one I hadn’t revisited in years. In 1996, when Michael came to Malaysia for his HIStory World Tour, I was nine years old. I was not at the concert – of course not. I was only nine. Only the older members of my family went.

I remember them coming home – changed, excited and overwhelmed – full of stories that felt too large for me to fully grasp. I listened anyway, trying to imagine what it must have been like, piecing together a moment I had only experienced through their words.

At nine, I didn’t yet understand what it meant to witness something like that, only that I had missed something extraordinary.

Watching the film now, decades later, I realised something unexpected. It didn’t take me back to the concert itself; it took me back to that version of me – the child standing just outside the experience, trying to imagine it through someone else’s memory. And somehow, that still matters.

There is something about Michael Jackson that refuses to settle into nostalgia alone. His music continues to move across time and generations, living in fragments, in radio stations, old tapes, digital playlists and stories passed down without effort.

And Jaafar carries that legacy with restraint and care. It is not a performance built on imitation alone; it is shaped by understanding. He doesn’t try to replace Michael; he reflects him. That distinction matters.

Walking out of the cinema, I realised I hadn’t just watched a biopic; I had returned to something personal. Because Michael Jackson was never only for those who saw him live in stadiums. He also belonged to those who knew him secondhand – through screens, radio, borrowed stories and imagination – people like me. And maybe that is the real legacy of his music.

It doesn’t ask whether you were there; it simply stays with you anyway – larger than life, still moving across generations, unforgettable.

Hashini Kavishtri Kannan is the assistant news editor at theSun.

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