To say I was juiced up with anticipation before Michael released would be an understatement. The promise of those absolute bangers on the big screen, Jaafar Jackson’s almost eerie resemblance to the King of Pop, and the sheer pull of nostalgia had me ready to surrender to the spectacle. This wasn’t just a film I wanted to watch—it was a concert I was born too late to attend.They weren’t just bad; they were brutal. Critics dismissed the film as hollow, sanitised, even pointless—a biopic that, despite its subject, had “nothing to say.” Rotten Tomatoes reflected the same mood: a dismal critics’ score hovering in the 30s, built on hundreds of reviews that seemed to agree on one thing: this was a story told too safely, about a life too complicated.Before I had even booked my ticket, the experience felt pre-ruined.But then came the audience.Tens of thousands of viewers pushed the score into the high 90s, praising the very things critics had brushed aside—the music, the performance, the thrill of reliving Michael Jackson at his peak. For them, Michael wasn’t hollow; it was electric. Not empty, but immersive. Not evasive, but emotional.We’ve seen this divide before with Bohemian Rhapsody, the musical biopic of Queen frontman Freddie Mercury. But then, this divide wasn’t this stark and immediate. It wasn’t this impossible to ignore.Which raises an uncomfortable question: when critics and audiences are watching the same film and walking away with completely different experiences, what exactly are they each looking for?Critics vs audience: Two films, one screenFor critics, Michael was less a film and more a missed obligation. A life as layered and controversial as Michael Jackson’s, they argued, cannot be told by stopping at 1988—at the height of fame, before the allegations, before the discomfort. What they saw instead was a carefully curated version of events: a gifted child shaped by abuse, a misunderstood genius, a man stripped of desire, contradiction, or moral ambiguity.Story continues below this adIn their reading, the film doesn’t just avoid the darker chapters; it erases the very tensions that define his legacy. The result, many felt, was a biopic that confuses reverence for honesty, one that chooses protection over perspective.Audiences, however, seemed to be watching a completely different film. Where critics saw omission, viewers saw immersion. Where critics wanted interrogation, audiences embraced experience. Much of that rests on Jaafar Jackson, whose performance doesn’t just mimic but channels the voice, the movement, and the aura of Michael Jackson. Add to that the music, the choreography, the sheer sensory rush of watching those iconic moments unfold on a big screen, and Michael becomes less a biography and more a time machine. For many, it isn’t about what’s missing; it’s about what’s being relived—the sheer spectacle, the superstardom, the feeling of witnessing the King of Pop at his peak.In fact, the defence didn’t stop at applause. In the days following the release, audiences actively pushed back against the critical narrative, resurrecting old case details and counter-arguments in Jackson’s favour. They pointed to investigations that did not result in convictions, questioned the credibility of certain testimonies, cited reports of long-term scrutiny by agencies like the Federal Bureau of Investigation, and highlighted how some allegations were settled out of court. In doing so, the conversation around Michael spilt beyond cinema and into something closer to advocacy—an attempt not just to enjoy the film, but to reclaim the man at its centre.So who’s right?In a traditional sense, critics hold more authority; they shape discourse, influence perception, and set the tone for how a film is “understood.” But films like Michael complicate that hierarchy. Because when audiences show up not for truth, but for memory; not for answers, but for emotion, critical frameworks begin to lose their grip. What remains is a split not just in opinion, but in expectation: between those who believe cinema should confront, and those who simply want it to transport.Story continues below this adFresh Take | From plot to vibes: The A24 effect on how we now watch filmsFrom Gadar 2 to The Greatest Showman, the same story repeatsThis isn’t new. We’ve seen this fault line play out across films where critics and audiences seem to be responding to entirely different impulses. Take The Greatest Showman. Much of the critical hesitation stemmed from the uneasy legacy of PT Barnum—a figure many felt the film softened and romanticised. But audiences didn’t walk in for a history lesson. They showed up for the grandeur, and they got it: Hugh Jackman at his charismatic best, a rousing underdog story, a soundtrack that refused to leave your head, and the crackling on-screen chemistry between Zac Efron and Zendaya. The result? Lukewarm reviews, but a fiercely loyal fanbase.A similar story unfolded closer home with Gadar 2. Critics called out its dated storytelling, over-the-top dialogues, and an ageing Sunny Deol going through familiar motions. But inside theatres, it was a different film altogether—one powered by nostalgia, crowd energy, and the thumping return of “Main Nikla Gaddi Leke.” Audiences weren’t dissecting the script; they were celebrating a feeling.And then there’s Sandeep Reddy Vanga’s Animal, perhaps the most divisive of them all. Critics targeted its unapologetic hypermasculinity, its indulgence in violence, and moral excess. Yet the film pulled in massive numbers, proving once again that provocation, when packaged as anything marketable to the audience, can be just as magnetic as comfort.Across these films, the pattern holds: critics question what a film means, while audiences respond to what it does to them.Story continues below this adMichael is when the music wonBy the time I finally walked into Michael, I had already made up my mind, or rather, the critics had made it for me. Expectations were low enough that I went alone. Why drag a friend into what I was convinced would be a disappointing watch? And yet, somewhere between that scepticism and the end credits, my brain did a full 180.Because I didn’t hate it. I didn’t even feel indifferent. I enjoyed it—fully, unexpectedly, almost reluctantly.There’s a disarming quality to watching Jaafar Jackson inhabit Michael Jackson—the soft, almost sotto voce presence, the shy smile that feels both performed and deeply familiar. I found myself mirroring it at times, smiling back at the screen without quite realising it. And then there were the moments that didn’t just entertain, but transported: a baby Michael singing ‘One More Chance’ with the Jackson 5, somehow tapping into a nostalgia that predates me by decades to say the least. And then there were the meticulous recreations of ‘Thriller’ and ‘Beat It’, where the theatre around me gave in completely—“hee-hees,” cheers, and all.Maybe that’s the point. Films like Michael aren’t trying to settle debates or rewrite legacies. They’re chasing something far more immediate—a feeling, a memory, a shared cultural pulse. Critics might leave asking what was left out. Audiences leave holding on to what stayed with them.Story continues below this adAnd in that dark theatre, for a couple of hours, the music—and the man—still won.