Saint Michael (G.O.A.T.)

Square One: Michael Jackson

Square One mounts a full-throated defense of Michael Jackson against the charges of pedophilia that plagued him in the latter part of his life and career. The centerpiece of the film lies in its debunking of the initial allegations made against Jackson in 1993. If those allegations can be disproven, the film seems to be arguing, then the subsequent charges against Jackson must be dismissed as well. To assist in this endeavor, filmmaker Danny Wu has assembled a series of never-before-aired statements from case witnesses, and new interviews with figures in Jackson’s inner circle, including his nephew and 3T band member Taj Jackson.

The 1993 case never made it to court. Instead, Jackson paid his accuser – Jordan Chandler – a sum of $15 million to stop the case in its tracks. The film suggests that the case originated from a bitter custody battle between Chandler’s parents. In an effort to attain full stewardship over his son as well as a hefty payout, the father drummed up false charges against Jackson and worked feverishly to coach his son to verify these allegations through false testimony.

The film damns many of the central players in this sad drama, as well as the circus players who roamed on its periphery. The non-stop media coverage of the case led to often misleading, and always sensationalist headlines.

A few interviews are offered that support the film’s hypothesis that Jackson was wrongfully accused, including conversations with the legal secretary for prosecuting attorney Barry Rothman and, curiously, a series of fans who visited Neverland Ranch.

The film also tackles additional controversies related to the tabloid frenzy surrounding Jackson, including the scrutiny he received from his rare skin condition and the findings from the five search warrants that were carried out on his properties.

Square One is clearly the work of a fan on a mission, but it’s produced with a lot urgency and passion. Viewers will have to decide for themselves if the insights contained in the film effectively disprove the initial accusation from 1993, or build a compelling case for the dismissal of the additional allegations that followed.

Directed by: Danny Wu
Uri’s tribute to Michael Jackson

Last month we drove out of his Knightsbridge hotel in a people-mover with midnight-tinted windows, and there were 2,000 people crowded across the pavement. Around 60 of the younger ones broke from the press and sprinted alongside us. I was concerned that someone could slip and fall under a wheel, but they were all so exuberantly happy. They were shouting out, “Michael, we love you!” Michael gestured for the car to slow down, and he edged his door open, leaning out of the car to touch the hands of his fans.

“We love you, Michael!” “I love you more,” he said. I heard him say it again and again during the next few days. “I love you more.”

When Michael walks over to a group of fans who have waited hours for a glimpse, you see some of them lock solid. They have messages for him, they want to say how much he has meant to them all through their lives, how his music has been their soundtrack, but all they can do is stare. Many bring handmade gifts. Embroidered cushions, framed paintings, poems, boxes, candles, national flags. He takes every one and holds it to his chest for a moment. He says, “Thank you. I love you,” again and again. He does not refuse any request for an autograph or a photograph. I walked with him for 200 yards through the pouring rain across an Oxford road and past barriers after his address to the privileged Union audience last month, to a huddle of drenched and shivering fans. They had not been able to get tickets, and they had turned up on a bitter night without any real hope of being close to Michael for more than a moment, but they (and not the curiosity-hunters in the Union building) were the real fans.

Michael truly loves his fans. When he tells them, he does not do it in the superficial way that most pop stars intend when they shout it from the stage. He means it this way – when Michael walked through the rain that night, he was on crutches, with two broken bones in a foot that was swaddled in bandages. By the time we got back to the limousine he was squeezing filthy, icy rainwater out of the bandages onto newspapers on the floor. I laid my hands on the aching flesh and let energy flow through me, to activate Michael’s own healing powers. He sat back with a calm expression on his face and his eyes closed, perfectly accepting of the possibility that healing can begin with positive thinking.

The fan’s gifts are displayed in Michael’s hotel suites. Wherever he’s staying – and he moves around a lot, even between places in the same city – his favourite presents are on display. And he has a lot of favourites. He uses objects almost as pledges, reminders of affection from people who can’t be with him, the way you might fill your wallet with photos of your children and folded postcards from old friends. On Michael’s walls there are pictures of his own children, of course, and photos of him with his family and friends, but the reverence with which the admirers’ gifts are arranged seems to say that his fans are his family too.

I saw how sincerely he felt this when two ingenious German über-fans broke into my home on my wedding day. Michael was to be best man, though by the time the ceremony was due to start neither he nor the rabbi, Shmuley Boteach, had turned up. My manager, Shipi, who is also my brother-in-law, had posted security guards all round the perimeter of the grounds. We were tolerating half a dozen paparazzi who were pointing lenses like cannon barrels over the privet hedge which screens the house from the Thames, and there were a few girls perched in the riverbank trees too, with nothing to see but the marquee and a helicopter. Once or twice the magician David Blaine floated outside for interviews – I do mean floated, and if you haven’t yet seen David Blaine levitate then you have a real shock in store.

Why I Know Michael Jackson is Innocent – uri geller

“The reason is simple: I know the full truth about Michael Jackson and the claims that he sexually abused a teenage boy. He told me the whole story, himself, holding back nothing, under deep hypnosis.

Until now I have discussed this evidence with no one apart from my family. The fact is that there are elements here which do not reflect well on either Michael or me. For this reason, I have held back from revealing all that I know, in the hope that it would never be necessary for me to speak.

My friendship with Michael began in the home of Mohamed al Fayed, about two years after the death of his son Dodi with Princess Diana in the Paris car crash. Mo and I were deep in conversation when a call was brought to him. It was one which couldnt be postponed if you don’t take Michael Jackson’s call, he might ring back in ten minutes… or he might never.”

“I own half of Sony’s publishing and I’m leaving them. And they… they’re very angry at me because of it.

And I… I just did good business you know?

…And Tommy Matola (Sony) is the devil.”