Neither a concert film nor a documentary but a ghoulish “event” offered just in time for Halloween, “This is It” is sadly — and reprehensively, if you ask me — the movie equivalent to the National Enquirer’s infamous post-mortem shot of Elvis Presley.
Cynically billed as a tribute to Michael Jackson and a gift to his fans, this much-hyped rip-off resurrects the dying former King of Pop in a likely successful bid by the promoters of his abortive final concert tour, his relatives and his longtime enablers at Sony to cash in on Jackson’s post-mortem surge in popularity.
“This Is It” was hastily cobbled together from often badly photographed and recorded rehearsal footage never intended to be shown to an audience, hokey backstage scenes that were, and elaborate 3-D sequences that were shot for use in the concerts (and are shown here in 2-D).
Amid a considerable amount of filler, we have the painful sight and sound of Jackson days before his death of a drug overdose. He looks alarmingly frail, his impassive face appearing older than his 50 years. His once glorious voice, reduced to a hoarse whisper — when he speaks, there are often subtitles — frequently fails to hit notes, much less hold them.
At first, it seems the voice has returned for an elaborate re-staging of “Thriller” — and then it becomes clear he’s lip-synching to a decades-old soundtrack.
The greatest dancer of his time before a decade lost in tabloid hell, Jackson moves stiffly and lethargically, suggesting even a shadow of his former self in the movie’s only half-decent number, “Beat It.”
There’s no polite way of saying that his wizened appearance is alarming; he’s bone-thin and your eye is constantly drawn to a nose like none that occurs in nature. At one point, the weary-looking Jackson launches into a long harangue about having trouble hearing; his vocals are frequently drowned out by the orchestra.
Kenny Ortega, a longtime Jackson collaborator who was directing the stage production, also called “This Is It,” is credited as director of this morbid patch job.
Like a cinematic Dr. Frankenstein, he culls semi-usable footage from as many as three rehearsals (based on Jackson’s outfits) for a single number.
Jackson looks incongruous, to say the least, next to re-purposed footage of Humphrey Bogart and Rita Hayworth in a new black-and-white version of “Smooth Criminal.” The hokey environmental visuals accompanying “Earth Song” are even worse.
Could Jackson and his collaborators have whipped this show into shape for a triumphant comeback in London if he had lived? The evidence here says no, but we’ll never really know.
But I feel fairly confident that a perfectionist like Jackson would never want to be remembered by a shoddy piece of exploitation like “This Is It.”
lou.lumenick@nypost.com