“Mediocre” is a compliment to a film this weak. Its runaway success is because audiences crave its subject, not its quality.

Michael, as a film, is not good. It’s not outright terrible. It has some redeeming qualities. The sound design and a few scenes stand out. But it is objectively not a good movie. Despite that, it would be remiss of me as a lifelong fan to dismiss the impact that erupted during its release.

People are rediscovering Michael as a person, some for the first time. Michael has flooded my social feeds, even alternate accounts without any Jackson-adjacent algorithms. Videos, photos, stories, questions, comments… everything. In my day-to-day life, I’ve heard strangers mention it on the street. Non-fan friends of mine asked if I’d seen it yet. The only other time in my life where non-fan friends mentioned him to me unprompted was in 2009, both when he announced the This is It residency, and when he died.

Of note, the younger generations have an insatiable curiosity about Michael. Watching Gen Z learn about Michael in real time is heartwarming; even if occasionally bittersweet. Their awe is evident and contagious. They are learning a lot about him, quickly. The film scratched the surface, and they want to know more. They are starting to wrap their minds around how different life was before and after his death. They are trying to understand that there is no other cultural equivalent to Michael Jackson.

 He really did that? Yes, yes he did. And so much more.

The moments they come to terms with what he endured and how cruel the world was to him are tough. I feel a sense of protection for them; I want to reassure them but I’m not sure with what. I can only speak from my experience. And that is that no matter what, he was always loved—and he knew it.

It’s eye-opening to see how much the public still openly adores Michael. Even if it is surface appreciation for his art. As an elder Millennial superfan who saw everything happen around him in real time, especially in his later years, it’s more difficult to simplify or separate the things that complicated our experience. I still carry anger, confusion, and exhaustion alongside joy, love, and empathy in connection with his artistry. Seeing the wide eyes and open mouths of younger fans, exuberant in their celebration of him, soothes something in my heart.

In particular, many have expressed their grief. That they were not aware until now that it’s still in them, this profound wound that has never healed… and grappling with the fact it might not ever. 

I had my own moment like this in the theater. Michael opens to a black screen with a live cut of “Workin’ Day and Night.” This is similar to how This is It opens. I immediately started crying, my body shaking with sobs. It passed, but of all the things I do expect to trigger a grief response, that was not one of them (I have a Pavlovian reaction to any iteration of “Man in the Mirror”).

I don’t shy away from my grief, the moments where it hits again that Michael is gone. I’ve accepted that I will always grieve his death and all we lost with it. It’s always there, sitting in my chest, and sometimes something strikes that chord. It’s poignant to see others come to terms with that, unprepared for the sting of a still-healing wound. It reminds me how much he still matters to the world.

To be clear, grief is a good thing. It’s not negative. Grief is love with no place to go. Every time we play a song and think of him fondly, every time we laugh at a funny moment, every time we watch a video and let ourselves get swept away, that’s a place where our love for him goes. But sometimes we’re reminded that the only place left to channel some of that is to Michael himself. But he’s not here anymore; he should be, and it’s a net good to recognize how painful and unfair that is.

We may not have many more opportunities to do what Michael wanted most from the world. Michael as a person is still a living memory for those of us that were there. I knew at some point he would become a historical figure with no contextual real-time experience to relay. What I didn’t expect to understand was that it means we will have fewer and fewer opportunities in our lives to do what we’re doing now. Moments where we come together, celebrate him, rejoice, and connect with his artistry.

Even when a project like this is a product of capitalism before anything else, it’s still worth it to experience while we can. Just like we all knew in the back of our minds that we would not have forever with Michael, we don’t have forever with each other, either.

This, to me, is the unmissable and undeniable impact of Michael’s theatrical release. The writing is bad, the story is soulless and muddled, the editing is inconsistent… but people are finding the real Michael in it all. Some are discovering him for the first time; some of us are re-living moments that we never thought we’d see again.

If you are an antemortem fan and have not decided to see it, I encourage you to consider attending a screening. Go with a Saturday night crowd, deal with the phones, the talking, the popcorn-crunching, and just watch what happens. It can’t ever replace Michael himself, but you might realize as I did that the magic he shared is still within us.