Rammed with every music-movie cliche, an almost mute supporting cast and a Michael who only produces endless smiley blandness, this is a frustratingly shallow filmAntoine Fuqua’s demi-biopic of Michael Jackson gives you the chimp, the llama, the giraffe … but not the elephant in the living room. It’s like a 127-minute trailer montage assembling every music-movie cliche you can think of: the producers’ astonishment in the recording studio, the tour bus, the billboard chart ascent, the meeting with the uncool corporate execs in their offices.The film skates through Jackson’s life from the early days of the Jackson Five, terrorised by belt-wielding dad Joe, to his emergence as a stunningly original, globally adored solo act, culminating in the colossal Wembley Stadium concert in 1988, at which stage he was 30-years-old. And there we leave it, with the baffling surtitle flashed up on screen before the end credits roll: “The story continues”. It certainly does. Does this mean a second, dark...