As had been anticipated long before Michael reached theaters, it is virtually impossible to talk about the film without returning to the myth, the production, and the controversies that continue to surround it.

When I read Matthew Belloni’s account of the original Michael script, what stood out was not just its content, but the limit it reveals. Because more than offering a version of events, his reporting exposes a structural impasse: perhaps this story simply cannot be told in full. And if it cannot be told in full, what happens to a possible second part?

At first glance, everything points toward a continuation. The film reportedly ends with a title card suggesting that “his story continues,” a gesture that feels less like closure and more like a promise. Lionsgate executives have already said the creative team is working to deliver “more Michael” soon after the first release. There is even talk that roughly 30 percent of a potential sequel could be built from footage already shot, including performances from the Dangerous tour and sequences tied to the Neverland investigation.

On paper, the path seems obvious. The first film ends in 1988, at the height of the Bad era. A sequel would naturally move into the 1990s and 2000s, covering Dangerous, HIStory, Invincible, Neverland, the 2005 trial, the acquittal, and everything that followed. The cast and director have expressed interest. Jaafar Jackson says he has “more to give.” Antoine Fuqua has pointed to a wealth of material still left unexplored, including the Super Bowl performance and what he himself described as “the whole Neverland of it all.”

And yet, everything that makes a sequel narratively inevitable also makes it structurally fragile.

Because the same reports that point to a second film also reveal what had to be removed for the first one to exist at all.

The original cut of Michael reportedly extended into the 1990s. That version no longer exists. Between 45 and 60 minutes were removed, including an entire third act centered on the first abuse allegations. A sequence depicting the police raid on Neverland was filmed and later cut. Scenes involving Diana Ross disappeared. Even an opening image of Michael staring at his reflection while police lights flashed outside was ultimately abandoned.

In the case of Diana Ross, portrayed by Kat Graham, her removal was not an isolated decision but part of this broader restructuring. The scenes had already been filmed, and in the original script, she served as a key figure in Michael’s formation—a mentor whose presence extended from the Motown years to The Wiz. Her role would have expanded the emotional dimension of the story, offering a layer of intimacy and influence beyond the industry itself.

As the film was reshaped to avoid legal exposure tied to the Chandler case, anything connected to that period—directly or indirectly—was gradually removed. There is also speculation that issues related to likeness rights and creative control may have played a role, which could help explain other absences, such as Janet Jackson. In the final version, that narrative space is largely occupied by Berry Gordy, shifting the focus toward a more institutional and less intimate framework.

The driving force behind these cuts was not creative. It was legal.

A clause tied to the Chandler settlement—reached in 1994 after the 1993 allegations, when Michael agreed to a financial settlement to end the civil case—prohibits the dramatization, depiction, or even mention of that case in commercial media. This type of clause was not incidental. Even at the time, there was a clear awareness that Michael Jackson’s life would one day be retold. By establishing that restriction, the agreement did more than end a legal dispute; it effectively set the boundaries for any future narrative.

The problem is that this clause was reportedly only fully accounted for after a version of the film had already been shot that included this material. The result was an emergency overhaul: 22 days of reshoots, millions in additional costs, and the complete removal of a third act that extended into the 1990s. The film now pulls back to 1988, ending before it reaches legally sensitive territory.

What Belloni describes in the first script reflects this tension directly: an attempt to approach 1993 while simultaneously navigating what cannot be shown, named, or contested.

And it is precisely this point—not a lack of material, but an excess of what cannot be said—that makes the question unavoidable about whether it is worth trying a Michael 2 at all.

When it became clear that the agreement might prevent a direct depiction of the case, the doubt felt inevitable. Because that is where everything shifts. That is where Michael Jackson’s public trajectory fractures.

By trying to reorganize everything into a workable narrative, a narrative that, as expected, protects Michael, it became “dangerous” (pun intended). The original script tried to frame the Chandler case only as an extortion attempt and turn the strip search into a central trauma. There was a clear line: Michael as the victim of a system that exposed him and of people who sought to exploit him.

But this version does not resolve the problem. Because this is not simply a narrative choice. There is a real limitation. With the settlement, Michael also gave up something that now feels essential: a formal conclusion.

What remains is a gray zone that no narrative can cross without distortion.

Perhaps that is why Belloni’s account does not read as manipulation, but as exposure. Because while the script attempts to exonerate Michael, it inevitably runs into what cannot be said, cannot be proven, and cannot be reenacted without consequence.

Two things can be true at the same time. It is possible to believe that Jordan Chandler was a victim. And it is also possible to recognize that the family dynamic surrounding him was not simple, not passive, and not free of competing interests. Michael’s intimate proximity to children was never incidental, nor was it hidden. This does not resolve the case, nor does it absolve anyone, but it prevents the story from collapsing into a single, comfortable version.

The 1993 settlement crystallizes this impasse. The payment ended a legal process, but not the doubt.

And now it’s bad because the problem is not a lack of story to go on. It is the opposite.

From 1993 onward, everything that defines Michael Jackson as a public figure becomes inseparable from this core conflict. There were the public humiliations, the Oprah interview, the Martin Bashir documentary, the marriage to Lisa Marie Presley and its dissolution, the second marriage to Debbie Rowe, the three children whose origins have been endlessly questioned, the period outside the United States, the abandonment of Neverland, the 2005 trial, the acquittal, the financial strain, the attempted comeback with This Is It, and finally, a death that continues to fuel conspiracy theories.

None of this exists in isolation. Everything inevitably leads back to 1993.

And that is precisely why it seems unlikely that a second part will ever move forward.

Because, unlike books and documentaries—which do not depend on the family’s approval—an “official” project operates within very clear limits. The Broadway musical avoided direct confrontation. The final film did the same, while the original script attempted to frame it. But neither format can sustain the complexity of the later years without entering territory the estate has historically avoided.

Without confronting that core with real freedom, there is no possible continuation.

The film may succeed as spectacle, as reconstruction, as reaffirmation of a legacy that remains undeniable. It may even repurpose what was cut into something legally viable. But there is a point beyond which it is no longer possible to move forward without breaking the very conditions that make this project possible.

In the end, Belloni is not simply describing a script. He is showing why the story stops exactly where it becomes most difficult.

And in the case of Michael Jackson, what is left out is never secondary. It is precisely what prevents the story from continuing.