REVIEW: Leaving Neverland's 'Stark & Painful Truth' Demands Your Attention

We knew, right?

But did we?

I’ve been around long enough to have seen the professional and personal trajectory of Michael Jackson play out in real time – from gifted child star to polished and charismatic young performer to absolute fucking supernova to King of Pop (a self-imposed title that nonetheless stuck) to fading but still important to dead legend. Putting aside what the song and dance, it’s fair to say that for a large chunk of the man’s time in the spotlight, a great many people viewed him at best as eccentric (and not always in the good way), at worst as a bit of a wrong ‘un.

We all heard the rumours, the accusations, the innuendo. And those people not hypnotised or blinded by his stardom and his talent – we’ll talk about them shortly – either paid scant attention to the scuttlebutt or made justifications (with a childhood like his, little wonder he’s stunted or strange or even inappropriate) or paid too much attention to conspiracy theories stating that the people accusing Jackson of indecent acts against the children whose love and attention he seemed to covet were after a quick, fat payday.

Hell, I brushed enough of the bad stuff off to one side, and I’m not even a Jackson fan. I mean, yes, he has a handful of tunes that rank among the best pop music ever produced, but there’s no copy of Thriller or Bad on my CD shelf (told you I’ve been around a while) or my Spotify playlists (hey, I’m trying to keep up). I guess part of me didn’t believe Jackson would sexually abuse children – to me, the performative sexuality in his act seemed like the overblown pantomime of someone who didn’t have a genuinely sexual instinct in their system – and I guess part of me didn’t want to believe it. Not out of loyalty to an artist I respected and enjoyed but didn’t revere; more a denial that someone so blessed and disciplined in one area of their life could be so remiss in another.

It’s complicated. It’s messy. It’s ugly to unpack and confront and wade through.

With the release of the two-part documentary Leaving Neverland – premiering 8.30pm tonight on Ten, concluding the same time the following night – we don’t have much of a choice anymore. We kinda have to unpack and confront and wade through it. Because the stark, unadorned and painful truth of the two men sharing their stories – stories of how they and their families were captivated, indeed seduced, by Jackson’s charisma, wealth, power and fame, and claims that they were sexually abused for years by a man they idolised and loved (and still do in some ways) – demands it.

Not everyone is going to accept the stories told by Wade Robson and James Safechuck, the two men at the heart of Leaving Neverland. Hell, type the title of the documentary into Twitter and you’ll quickly tumble down a rabbit hole of MJ truthers who vociferously deny any and all allegations of improper behaviour by their hero or decry Robson and Safechuck as liars and frauds with long histories of contradictory behaviour and statements. Don’t spend too long down that rabbit hole. It can be hazardous to your psychological and emotional wellbeing.

Watching the documentary, though, I found it impossible not to take what Robson and Safechuck were saying as 100% gospel truth, even the parts that required them to recant claims they’d made in the past regarding Jackson’s innocence against past accusations of impropriety. There’s too much detail in their recollections – too much overlapping, corresponding detail. There’s too much sadness in their recounting of incidents in the past (there’s nothing more heartbreaking in the whole four hours of Leaving Neverland than Robson’s hope, when he was contacted as an adult by Jackson, that the two could form a true, honest friendship as men, and that Robson could be the kind of confidant and counsel Jackson so badly needed). There’s too much conviction in their drive to move on and build the best lives they can with their own families. And there’s too much confusion in the eyes of both men as they struggle to reconcile the feelings of love that they had for Michael Jackson with the feelings that this man betrayed and took advantage of their love in such a terrible, terrible way.

I’ve read interviews and listened to podcasts in the last few days talking about our current ‘cancel culture’, and how Jackson’s influence and legacy may be too ingrained to ever wipe him off the books (not that I’m an advocate for that kind of erasure, regardless of someone’s misdeeds). Radio stations around Australia are already blacklisting Jackson’s music – whether that lasts… well, we’ll see – but even not hearing Beat It or Billie Jean on the regular is going to wipe away the lingering memory that Jackson was a predator hiding in plain sight, using his ‘Wacko Jacko’ persona as a distraction for something harmful and horrible. And so many of us, for whatever reason, just let it slide.

But did we?

We knew, right?