I walked out of MJ the Musical asking myself a question that I don’t think the show necessarily wants you to ask:
If you removed the music and the dancing, would the story still hold you?
That’s not a knock against the production. It’s a question about theatre itself.
Because from the moment the lights come up, MJ does what it sets out to do with astonishing confidence. The singing is phenomenal. The choreography is, frankly, jaw-dropping. There are moments where you stop watching individual performers and simply absorb movement. The ensemble moves with a precision that feels almost mechanical, yet never sterile. It has heartbeat. It has swagger. It has joy.
And then there’s the actor (actors) portraying Michael Jackson.
Playing someone so universally recognizable has to be one of the most difficult assignments in musical theatre. Audiences don’t need to be convinced they’re watching Hamlet or Jean Valjean. They need to believe – at least for a moment – that they’re watching Michael Jackson. That’s an almost impossible standard, yet the performance manages something more important than imitation. It captures the rhythm of the man. The voice, the posture, the hesitations, the confidence, the vulnerability. It never felt like someone doing an impression at a Vegas tribute show. It felt like an actor understanding why Michael moved the way he did.
That distinction matters.
The production wisely avoids trying to tell every chapter of Jackson’s life. Instead, it frames the story around rehearsals for the Dangerous World Tour, allowing memories to unfold organically through interviews and preparation. Structurally, it’s a smart choice. It keeps the evening moving and gives the songs a reason to exist beyond, “Well, now it’s time for another hit.”
Still, I kept coming back to that original question.
The dramatic scenes are good. Sometimes very good. But I rarely found myself leaning forward because of the dialogue alone. I found myself leaning forward because I knew another incredible musical sequence was about to erupt. The emotional moments often function as bridges connecting one iconic performance to the next.
Again, that isn’t necessarily failure.
Michael Jackson wasn’t famous because he gave riveting interviews. He wasn’t legendary because he told compelling stories between songs. He became Michael Jackson because he could command a stage in a way almost no performer before or since has managed. His storytelling happened through music and movement. Asking MJ to separate those elements may be like asking The Nutcracker to work without dancing or Les Misérables without music.
The show understands that.
It isn’t trying to convince you that Michael Jackson had an ordinary life with extraordinary music. It’s trying to recreate the feeling of watching someone whose talent almost defied explanation.
There were moments where I wished the book dug a little deeper into the contradictions of the man. It brushes against difficult subjects without allowing them to dominate the evening. That’s a deliberate artistic choice, and audiences will likely divide on whether it was the right one. Some will appreciate that the production focuses on the artist rather than becoming a courtroom drama. Others may feel the omissions leave an incomplete portrait.
I found myself somewhere in the middle.
I didn’t necessarily need the show to answer every difficult question surrounding Jackson’s life. But I did occasionally want more complexity in the quieter scenes. The production sometimes seemed eager to get back to the next number before the dramatic tension had fully settled.
Then again…
Every time I thought that, someone started singing.
And then someone started dancing.
And suddenly I remembered why I was there.
Broadway often talks about the “triple threat” performer – the actor who can sing, dance, and act. MJ feels like a celebration of the first two at the absolute highest level. Every production values choreography, but few productions are about choreography in the way this one is. The movement isn’t decoration. It’s the narrative engine.
Technically, the production is remarkable. The pacing rarely drags. The transitions are seamless. The lighting creates concert-scale spectacle without losing theatrical intimacy. Costumes instantly transport the audience through different eras of Jackson’s career. And the orchestra gives familiar songs a richness that reminds you these weren’t simply pop hits – they were meticulously crafted pieces of music.
There’s also something infectious about hearing an audience collectively react to songs they already know by heart. In most musicals, the score introduces you to new music. Here, every opening note carries decades of cultural memory. The audience isn’t just hearing songs; they’re remembering birthdays, weddings, road trips, childhood bedrooms, first dances, and countless moments where Michael Jackson’s music became the soundtrack to their own lives.
That’s powerful theatre.
Is MJ a perfect dramatic work?
I’m not convinced.
Is it one of the most entertaining nights you’ll have on Broadway?
Absolutely.
Sometimes we ask theatre to challenge us. Sometimes we ask it to comfort us. Sometimes we ask it to hold a mirror up to society.
And sometimes we simply ask it to remind us what extraordinary talent looks like.
MJ may not leave you wrestling with profound philosophical questions on the subway ride home. It may not become the musical you spend weeks dissecting over coffee.
But it will leave you humming.
It will leave you marveling at dancers who seem to have rewritten the laws of physics.
It will leave you appreciating just how impossible Michael Jackson’s talent really was.
And perhaps that’s enough.
Not every show has to reinvent storytelling.
Sometimes the story is the performance itself.
Brian Brijbag 