Less Wacko, more Jacko in 'This Is It'

How do you commemorate the last days of the most famous pop star in history? "This Is It," the new documentary chronicling the Michael Jackson comeback concert that never was, answers this question in an unexpectedly low-key way: by showing the person, rather than the spectacle.

It's extraordinary, really, just how ordinary it is - no shameless product placement, no pompous myth-making and not a word of Jackson's death until the very end. I walked into the theater expecting some of the most barefaced heart- and purse-string tugging ever committed to celluloid. Two hours later, I walked out quietly moved by the film's honest, no-frills approach.

The structure of "This Is It" is simple: It's a concert documentary, segueing breathlessly from one chart-topper to the next with an occasional pause for cast and crew interviews. We are given brief glimpses of the production behemoth powering the show - the special effects, the fireworks, the dance auditions, the madcap set - but the film's focus remains strikingly narrow, showing fans the concert they missed rather than attempting any larger portrait of Jackson's life and career.

And what a concert it is. Admittedly, we only see informal rehearsal footage, full of little scuffs and slip-ups, but it's this behind-the-scenes peek that makes the film so interesting. For once, MJ isn't a remote, all-singing, all-dancing machine. Instead we see him caught off guard, just being himself, on footage that the notorious perfectionist almost certainly didn't intend for public consumption.

In "This Is It," we see Jackson doing things we've never seen before: joking around, experimenting and making mistakes. We also see just how involved Jackson was in the show's conception, whether rigorously correcting the backup band or tutoring zombie extras on how to be spooky in an updated segment of the "Thriller" music video.

Despite his humble demeanor - I swear, every other word is followed by either "thank you" or "God bless" - it's clear who's in control, and Jackson's presence, even when he's in a pair of baggy tracksuit bottoms, is immense. The genius is in the details: a flick of the wrist, a kick of the foot or an extra bar to let the music "simmer." Of course, there are some pretty ridiculous moments, like Jackson emerging from a massive robotic spider in the middle of "Thriller," but the spirit of the concert, much like its accompanying film, is refreshingly down-to-earth.

We largely have the music to thank for that: Four months of airwave inundation have done little to dampen the power of these songs. If anything, they've just proven how good they are. "I Want You Back," the single that started it all back in 1969, explodes to ecstatic life in concert, all ringing pianos and chirping guitar riffs; the macho posturing of "Beat It" is as irresistible as the day it was recorded; and the bass-line of "Billie Jean," infamously despised by Jackson's producer Quincy Jones for being "too high in the mix," still raises hairs on the nape of my neck.

Even less-cherished tracks from later in his career - like the oppressive New Jack Swing of "Jam" or the endless environmental gloop of "Earth Song" - sound revitalized in concert, brimming with life where they sounded stiff and forced on record.

And what of the man himself? Well, I'm not going to hazard any conspiracy theories, but judging by his performance here, he looks far happier and healthier than the endless whirl of tabloid gossip would have you think. He is 50 years old, of course, so there aren't any back-flips or anything - but you needn't worry; he can still pull off a moonwalk.

Jackson's voice also sounds better than it has in years. On ballads like "Human Nature," his crystalline falsetto tremors and shakes with emotion, while on more upbeat tracks like "Smooth Criminal," he attacks the stop-start melodies with laser-like precision, deploying his usual arsenal of pants, hiccups and falsetto squeals.

The only thing we can hope for, really, is that this is truly it. But considering the tens of millions the movie has already grossed in its fortnight-long release, I somehow doubt the Michael Jackson estate will stop until it gets enough - enough, in this case, being an absolute frick-load of money. And if this is only the calm before the storm, let's just hope the imminent flood of memorabilia takes its cue from "This Is It." Even with the biggest pop star in history, less can sometimes mean so much more.

4 PAWS