“MJ,” on Broadway at the Neil Simon Theatre—directed and choreographed by Christopher Wheeldon, with a book by Lynn Nottage and music by, well, M.J. himself—begins before the lights go down. While the audience members settle into their seats, a sheer, bluish scrim stretches from the ceiling to the edge of the stage.
Frost plays Michael as an extreme perfectionist and a shy mystery all the way down. His physicality is that of a precocious but heedless kid. Frost kicks and spins, wiggles his legs and pops his shoulders almost identically to Jackson; even his walk, a loose-limbed half swagger, brings to mind endless tour footage. The depiction doesn’t quite add anything to our understanding of the real Jackson, but the fact of its rote excellence is a reminder of the freakish nature of Jackson’s fame.
This isn’t only Frost’s problem—it affects almost the entire production. Wheeldon’s choreography is excellent, but it’s most effective when it echoes Jackson’s almost exactly. David Holcenberg’s music supervision and arrangement makes for some wonderful moments, primarily those which prompt us to remember sitting in our childhood rooms, listening to or watching videos of Jackson’s songs. The deep nostalgic effect is undeniable.
You were naive to expect otherwise.
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MJ was far more than baseless allegations.
I love Michael Jackson. RIP the greatest humanitarian and artist of all time
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