The key moment here is at the very end, when Mike is on the run from folks trying to capture him—detain him, constrain him, define him. The smile on his face as he infuriates King Eddie is more than just Bugs Bunnyish cleverness; it’s bliss. (He’s completely in his element here, a combo of Eshu, the Yoruba Trickster God and the mysterious magician from/for the [African] world.)  He tries to run away. Seemingly trapped, he then turns into sand, confounding his opponents. The moment works because since it’s Michael Jackson, you think he actually did that. Fifty years of morphing into any shape, every shape. A half-century of re-defining American and world entertainment. Michael showed us that magic wasn’t just possible in fantasy, but actually present, in the world, in us. He continued to produce it, on his own terms, and allowed us to bear witness so we could tell the tale of a man who spent an entire life transforming pain into pleasure.