First up is this On Set double feature is “Michael.” From “Bohemian Rhapsody” to “Rocketman” to numerous recent Elvis flicks, we clearly love our music origin stories. “Michael,” directed by Antoine Fuqua as Part I of a pair of films, is the latest attempt to bring a bygone icon back into prominence. The lead role is played by Michael Jackson’s own nephew Jaafar and two things become apparent right away. First, the songs and the dancing and the global excitement of Michael’s early arc as potent as ever. There has never been anyone quite like Michael Jackson. But the second and more important realization is that this depiction is not going to confront the controversies of his later years in any meaningful way. Even though “Michael” strategically stops the tape right after the release of “Bad,” well before any of the really difficult stuff starts to come to light, the weight of what goes unsaid is very heavy. There are no babies held out of Berlin hotel windows. No references to Neverland that go much beyond the vaguely inspirational. The Jackson family, it seems, is in full reputation reconstruction mode for Michael with this film. It is endearing, to be honest, and it very nearly works. But presenting Michael as an angelic innocent who only wants to bring joy to the world is perhaps asking too much of us as viewers. We’ve been told way too many things about what comes next, and it will be interesting to see if they tackle any of it in Part II.
Now, on to “The Devil Wears Prada 2.” Speaking of image laundering, is there any hope that Miranda Priestly can be redeemed in our eyes after all this time. It’s been 20 years since we last saw Merryl Streep’s iconic horrible boss and imagined life under her capricious and often cruel gaze. “The Devil Wears Prada 2” finds her, Andy, Emily and Nigel pretty much right where we left them back in 2006, with the one glaring exception that nobody reads physically printed material anymore. Runway Magazine, the fictional publication at the heart of the original film, is in existential peril in this sequel. Between corporate acquisition, generational attention drift and the hinted-at threat of AI, Runway looks like it has run out of exactly that. So, it’s up to the cast to solve the problem in the all the ways we know and love. Snark, purposeful walking and a script crafted using the broadest possible strokes. Nothing is very serious in “The Devil Wears Prada 2” so there is no shame in letting the entire thing just wash over you without leaving any marks. I won’t go as far as to call it mindless fun, but it is harmless. Like the plot, the performances, when not burdened by expired one-liners and silly callbacks, are familiar and perfectly fine. The fashion, however. Well, that is stunning. And that is really the point anyhow, isn’t it? I think this softer, more sympathetic version of Miranda would say so.
Both of these films depend on our nostalgia to work, but they tap into those reserves in very different ways and get quite different results. “The Devil Wears Prada 2,” at least, seems like it was written by adoring fans. But “Michael” has too much baggage for that. It feels like it came straight from the office of his lawyers.
