MJ the Musical
Ensemble Arts Philly
240 S. Broad Street
Philadelphia
Showing through Jan. 8 - 19, 2025
Seen Jan. 9
MJ the Musical begins with a deliberately boring backdrop. Dime-a-dozen dancers are shown stretching onstage; it’s as if they’ve just rolled out of bed into another day of work. The humdrum is disrupted when a man slides into the scene, hand face-planted against his dipped-down, black fedora: An icon, obscured and unchanged, has arrived, and the background boppers are thrown into action by an almost involuntary roar of applause from the audience.
Everyone gets the message: It’s showtime.
That message rang out like an alarm clock during this week's Philadelphia premiere of Pulitzer Prize winner Lynn Nottage’s controversial Michael Jackson musical, introduced in the playbill as a “jump to your feet and dance in your seat” kind of show by Academy of the Arts CEO Ryan Fleur.
The amphitheater inside the Academy of Music was littered with empty seats but otherwise consumed by unwavering audience support on the second night of the touring Broadway show. Those who bought tickets were ready to sing along to their favorite songs (loudly, right in my ear) and laugh knowingly at all of Jackson’s inside jokes.
Even under a spotlight scripted just for him by an accoladed author, we never get to see the real Michael Jackson. Rather than delve into the depths of a highly complicated character, Nottage designs a nostalgic — and nauseatingly winding — trip through trauma lane, melding together 40 of Jackson’s greatest hits through snapshots of the psychological torture that fueled the superstar’s self-harming perfectionism.
Nottage, a "huge Michael Jackson fan” who has cited his work as “the soundtrack of my life," attempts to pay tribute to and evade a takedown of her apparent hero by centering the story around the final rehearsals preceding Jackson’s 1992 Dangerous World Tour. The script conveniently skirts the most complicated aspects of the child prodigy’s public legacy; it was 1993 when formal claims of sexually assaulting minors were first lodged against the singer. Nottage, however, has no problem employing flashbacks to the ‘60s — not if it means the chance to rebuild upbeat Motown sequences while showcasing Jackson’s scarring childhood.
It’s clear how Nottage wants to remember MJ: She’s one of the millions who have lauded him as a breaker of racial barriers; a dedicated humanitarian; an innovative dancer; a spellbinding performer. She tries to let the music speak for itself, kicking off the production with a classic: “Beat it. Just beat it. No one wants to be defeated. Showin’ how funky and strong is your fight. It doesn’t matter who's wrong or right.”
But Nottage does more than write in memoriam of his musical legacy. She uses her pen to paint a portrait of Jackson that frames him exclusively as a victim.
He is the victim of an abusive father; negligent doctors and pain relievers; fame; tabloid journalism.
“No matter what I do, it always gets twisted,” Jackson says early on in the action, as his manager encourages him to submit to interviews as a way of taking hold of his public image: “You could use some good press.”
Every reference to Jackson’s upsetting upbringing — virtually all of which merely skim the surface of his widely known biography — is a transition for increasingly extreme choreographic sequences. It’s difficult to grasp the true tragedy of the artist’s life when each turn leads to a flashy dance number. Not to mention that the set is literally made up of moving smoke and mirrors; the layers of distraction are a disservice to everyone involved.
Nottage throws away all of the interesting and important questions that could have made for a dynamic play in an awkward attempt to protect and preserve an idol.
At one point in the play, a reporter granted the rare chance to film Michael’s creative process does ask him: “Is it really possible to separate your life from the music?”
The show refrains from exploring that idea in any meaningful way.
The worst MJ is accused of doing is gambling with his finances. His manager warns against outsized spending on safety risking ventures (jet packs, toaster lifts, cotton candy machines, exceedingly large crews). Jackson argues that “the bigger it is the more we can give back.”
“Throwing more special effects at the stage isn't gonna make it any better,” his manager pouts.
“Each time you say no,” MJ poeticizes, “something beautiful is gonna be lost.” The language is loaded.
Jackson’s confused logic about how to “heal the world” is narratively linked to the fundamental lack of love offered to him in his early years. An alternative explanation offered for Jackson’s obsession with amplifying the volume of his performances is that “it feels like love” when audience members are unable to turn away.
Nottage never gives us a closer look at the man in the mirror. She holds herself hostage to sentimentality, as if struck by Stockholm syndrome. We learn little about the artist and probably even less about the art. Nottage does not prompt self-examination; she seeks to sustain the spell of Michael Jackson as spectacle.
If Nottage’s aim was to express her love for a troubled man’s music, she could’ve done a lot better. The result reads to me as a grave robbery of agency — as well as a kidnapping of stunted celebrity values in lieu of one's own.
I couldn't look away, but what I was watching wasn't love.
Purchase tickets — or don't — to MJ the Musical here.
