This Is It

I remember sitting in a half-empty theater in October 2009, feeling like a bit of a vulture. Michael Jackson had been gone for only four months, and the cynical part of my brain—the part that grew up on a diet of 90s tabloid headlines—was convinced this was a hollow cash-grab by AEG Live to recoup their losses. I watched it on a laptop again recently while nursing a mild fever, and for a moment, I honestly thought the green-screened soldiers in the "Earth Song" segment were hallucinating with me. But as the credits rolled, I realized that This Is It isn't really a movie at all. It’s a high-definition ghost story.

The Perfectionist in the Room

The most striking thing about this "documentary" is that it was never supposed to be one. These weren't intended to be cinematic frames; they were "game tapes" meant for MJ’s private library so he could review his footwork. Because of that, we get a version of the King of Pop that feels remarkably stripped of the usual artifice. There are no sparkling socks here, just a 50-year-old man in a blazer and a headset, trying to find the "pocket" of the groove.

Watching the interactions between Jackson and his musical director, Michael Bearden, is where the real drama lies. It’s not the drama of a soap opera, but the drama of craft. There’s a scene where Michael tells the band to let a note "simmer" or "simmer-and-bathe." He isn't being eccentric; he’s speaking a specific musical language that only he truly hears. It’s a fascinating look at a director-performer relationship. Kenny Ortega, who previously gave us the kitschy joy of Hocus Pocus and High School Musical, acts as a sort of gentle shepherd here. He’s clearly aware he’s handling a fragile, albeit brilliant, piece of porcelain.

A Spectacle of What-Ifs

The film is a transition piece, caught right on the cusp of the digital revolution. This was 2009—the year Avatar changed everything—and you can see that tech-anxiety and excitement bleeding into the production. The "Smooth Criminal" sequence, where they digitally inserted Michael into 1940s noir films like Gilda alongside Rita Hayworth, was mind-blowing at the time. Today, the CGI looks a little "uncanny valley," but the ambition is undeniable.

The scale of the production was staggering. With a $60 million budget just for the stage show, AEG was building a literal playground of 3D screens and pyrotechnics. Orianthi, the lead guitarist, shreds through "Beat It" with a precision that reminds you how much this era loved a good, flashy solo before indie-folk took over the airwaves. Watching a 50-year-old man out-dance twenty-somethings while barely trying is the ultimate flex. Even when Michael says he’s "saving his voice," he sounds better than 90% of the people on the radio today.

The Profit and the Pathos

We have to talk about the elephant in the room: the "This Is It" residency was a financial behemoth. The film itself pulled in over $260 million worldwide, becoming the highest-grossing documentary/concert film of all time. It was a cultural phenomenon that dominated the watercooler talk of late 2009, serving as a collective wake for a global audience. Looking back, the film captures that weird Y2K-into-the-2010s aesthetic—a mix of practical stagecraft and early-stage digital maximalism.

Is it a masterpiece of filmmaking? No. It’s a collage. It’s grainy in parts, overly polished in others, and the editing by Kenny Ortega's team clearly works hard to hide the moments where Jackson seems physically spent. But as a character study, it’s unparalleled. We see the "MJ" persona fall away to reveal a man who is deeply, almost obsessively, obsessed with the "L-O-V-E" (as he frequently reminds the crew). He isn't the caricature the media spent the previous decade dissecting; he’s just a guy who wants the bass to sound like it’s "dragging you out of bed."

In the end, This Is It works because it denies us the ending we expected. There is no final curtain call, no sweat-drenched bow at the O2 Arena. It just... stops. It’s an unfinished symphony that managed to make $200 million by showing us the rehearsal. It’s a bittersweet experience that reminds me why we cared about the music in the first place, even if the circumstances of its release still feel a little opportunistic. It’s a must-watch for anyone who wants to see what "perfectionism" actually looks like in practice.