'Janet Jackson.' Is a Frustratingly Incomplete Portrait of a Pop Icon
So we still don’t know what happened.
After almost two decades of investigation, speculation, and accusation, we don’t have a conclusive picture of the events leading up to Janet Jackson’s “wardrobe malfunction” at Super Bowl XXXVIII in 2004. This weekend’s two-night, four-hour documentary Janet Jackson., which aired simultaneously on A&E and Lifetime, offered her the perfect opportunity to address that infamous moment once and for all. Instead she revealed virtually nothing.
Is it really that important? Was that half-second of a nipple flash really such a big deal, or should we defer to Jackson when she says, “I’ve moved on and it’s time for everyone else to do the same?” Isn’t the whole point that we let this fleeting moment overshadow her astonishing achievements and glorious music for too long—while not holding Justin Timberlake, her co-conspirator in “Nipplegate,” to the same standard?
The overblown fall-out from the incident effectively derailed and forever reframed one of pop music’s great careers: It turned her into a punch line, helped torpedo the Damita Jo album, shut down potential movie roles and endorsements, even led to Congressional adoption of a “Janet Jackson bill” that increased penalties for “indecent” broadcast material. But we don’t hear Jackson express her feelings about these merciless public attacks—nor about the ire former CBS chief Les Moonves reportedly directed toward her personally, beyond her comment that “we have history with CBS.”
What Jackson seemingly fails to realize, as this documentary (Executive Produced by Janet and her brother Randy) glaringly illustrates, is that telling a story selectively doesn’t make the hard questions go away. From years of reporting, most recently in the fx/Hulu documentary Malfunction (disclosure: I was part of the team who worked on that film), we know too much about that halftime show—that she changed the outfit and the choreography at the last minute without telling the director, that she immediately fled the premises without speaking to anyone—to simply accept her tossed-off explanation that “it was a mistake that never should have happened” without asking for any further clarification.
This approach is indicative of many odd decisions in Janet Jackson. For such a hugely influential and flat-out brilliant musician (the film culminates with her well-deserved 2019 induction into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame), where is the music? The transformative moment in her career, the making of 1986’s groundbreaking album Control, is glossed over in a few seconds; her stunning reinvention with 1994’s magnificent janet. isn’t mentioned at all. We hear about the success of her albums, but not about their creation.
It’s long been established that making an authorized biography of any kind can mean doing a deal with the devil—access to interviews and archives in exchange for a conveniently sanitized version of history. And there are a few gems in this project’s footage, like a stunning clip of Jackson and producer Jimmy Jam arguing in the studio during the making of Rhythm Nation 1814 that’s every bit the equal of the bickering Beatles we saw in the Get Back documentary, or a clip of her and brother Michael working on the lyrics to their 1995 single “Scream.”
But while Jackson blames tension on the set of the “Scream” music video on Michael’s label, it’s well documented that Michael had snuck into the studio to re-record and remix his vocal so that his voice was more prominent than Janet’s on the track. And struggles within the Jackson family, which she repeatedly presents as a united front, are pretty obvious when fewer than half of her siblings actually appear in the film.
Maybe director Benjamin Hirsch, whose previous work is in reality television, just wasn’t strong enough for the job, but it’s likely that no one could have steered this project into those deeper, more problematic waters. (It’s worth noting that the interview about the Super Bowl was placed into even friendlier hands, as a conversation between Janet and Randy.) It’s reminiscent of the recent Bee Gees: How Can You Mend a Broken Heart documentary, which cast the group’s fall from the top of the charts exclusively as a racist, homophobic backlash to the disco movement, ignoring their own overexposure and bad moves like the disastrous Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band film—a disingenuous and self-serving narrative that damaged an otherwise fine film.
Strangest of all is the emphasis throughout Janet Jackson. on the men in her life rather than her own work. Jackson’s relationships with husbands James DeBarge (she denies the long-standing rumor that they had a secret baby together) and Rene Elizondo, and with fiancé Jermaine Dupri, are given far more attention than the records and videos that changed the direction of pop. And then, out of nowhere, there’s one reference to her mysterious current husband, Wissam Al Mana, without any mention of who he is, how they met, or even his name. Respecting a subject’s privacy is fine, but at a certain point, you have to decide whether you’re telling your story or not.
The deflection is especially frustrating at a moment when the public is eager to reconsider the dominant narratives about persecuted celebrities. Framing Britney Spears, which premiered almost exactly a year ago, captured our imagination for many reasons, but primarily for its depiction of just how unfair the coverage was that our female stars had to endure. Nothing Compares, a new film about Sinead O’Connor which just screened at the Sundance festival, offers a reassessment of another troubled singer. Had Jackson chosen to open up about some of her struggles beyond her marriages, Janet Jackson. could have been the moment to really comprehend the scale of her triumphs and accomplishments.
Instead, the two biggest beneficiaries of this documentary are two men whose presence in Janet Jackson’s life are complicated. First and foremost, the project comes off as an extended tribute to and defense of her notorious father, Joseph Jackson. In the first hour, she calls him a “good-hearted guy [who] protected us,” and speaking vaguely to the longstanding rumors that he abused his wife and children, she says that “my parents disciplined us, but that’s how we as a people raise our kids—tyrants they were not.”
We then hear how he prevented her from going to college, demanded that she take a role on the TV series Fame, and made her record music she didn’t like on her first two albums, and how firing him as her manager was what enabled her to find her own voice on Control. But when Joseph dies in 2018, Janet expresses only gratitude for his guidance, crediting him for her work ethic. “It was because of my father…that I’ve had the career that I’ve had,” she says. “That’s what’s made my family so successful, his strength, his drive.”
Less predictably, Justin Timberlake also fares well. For all of the recent re-examination of his role in the 2004 halftime show and whether he supported Jackson sufficiently, Janet gives him a pass (though he does not, as was widely rumored, appear in the documentary). We see her receiving an offer from Timberlake to join him at his 2018 return to the Super Bowl, which she turns down but says they’re “good friends” who speak often. She says that when he came to her in the aftermath of the 2004 debacle and asked if he should speak up, she told him “I don’t want any drama for you…if I were you, I wouldn’t say anything.” Jackson’s refusal to play the victim throughout these four hours is admirable, but emphasizing these apologies over her own actions is a strange way to celebrate her.
The period at the end of Janet Jackson.’s title is significant. It echoes the punctuation of the janet. album, indicating a definitive statement. “I wanted people to see my family and myself, who we really are,” she says as the documentary nears its end, alongside a parade of stars (from Mariah Carey to Barry Bonds) singing her praises. “The real story, how everything really happened.” But an artist of this caliber deserves better, even—especially—when it means facing some hard truths. Even when it means giving up some of that control.
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