By the end of MJ, we don’t know if Michael’s gay, asexual, or criminally messed up, but his music transports us across generations. Both stories poke and prod at Black male sexuality they trace the lifelong scars that domineering parents leave they dramatize the misfit in a label-crazy world and they allow their heroes and audience to escape ugliness through art, which doesn’t make the pain go away, but clears space for ambiguity.
