In Theaters: This Is It

The documentary moves through a series of those numbers under construction, with footage of Jackson from about five different run-throughs often cut together; one memorable split screen shows footage of Jackson from three different rehearsals of the same song, a dancer alone with his body and the beat moving with such magnetism and grace that he's got us seeing triple. Rarely singing in full voice and yet still capable of generating chills (particularly during "Human Nature" and a sweet duet on "I Just Can't Stop Loving You"), the focus is more powerfully on the dancing, with Jackson moving his dancers through marks, tweaking their steps and coming up with on-the-spot cues. The opener focuses on the excitement of several auditioning dancers, most of whom are reduced to tears simply by the idea of sharing a stage with Jackson. Their caliber -- and that of his musicians, notably a female Australian guitarist who shreds like no one I've ever seen -- is a testament to Jackson's ability, at that late date, to attract the best in the world. It's fun to watch him school his musical director on the difference between a "sizzle" and a "simmer," and it's fun to watch the dancers in a sort of ecstasy on the floor, watching Jackson perform "Billie Jean" on stage, then shrug off the applause with, "Well, at least we get the feel of it."

Throughout the rehearsals the voice of Ortega comes booming from the behind the monitors, coaxing and cajoling Jackson, who remains a distant and often fragile presence, even when dominating a discussion or performing intently for no one in particular. There's something uneasy about that voice, and the way Jackson looks vaguely into the darkness to address it; the inevitable viewer projection, perhaps, of months' worth of speculation about the pressure Jackson was under to deliver. There aren't a lot of smiles from the star, but then this is serious business, this is putting together a career-capping show in three months. This is also, as it turns out, goodbye, and it's something of a relief not to have that grin -- once dazzling and beatific, then an armored, waxen mask -- invoked as a parting shot. What remains is evidence of his skill as a performer, patience as a professional and -- equally apt -- the question mark in his eyes that no shades on earth could hide.

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