Michael Jackson has dominated my life for the past few months. Even to begin to count the number of stories I’ve written about the King of Pop since his death in June would make my brain go gooey. I suspect I’m not alone in the brain-gooeyness department when it comes to MJ overexposure. My love of his music, and my respect for the man himself, has been colored and contextualized by the past months, and I really wasn’t sure how I would feel as I headed last night to the New York premiere of “> a href=”http://moviesblog.mtv.com/tag/michael-jacksons-this-is-it”> Michael Jackson’s This Is It .” Again, I suspect I’m not alone when it comes to a diffuse sort of trepidation about the documentary. Do I still care? Can I still listen to his music? Is this whole production simply an exercise in soul-sucking morbidity? After sitting through the 105 minute film, I can report that I certainly still care, that I can listen to his music and that for all the doc’s flaws – there are many – it’s a seriously important piece of pop culture history. Most importantly, it’s a lot of fun. Though “This Is It” never actually captures a concert – Jackson, of course, died before the shows could launch in London – this most definitely is a concert film, eschewing narrative in favor of just playing tunes. The entire theater seemed to be bopping and weaving during the songs – or maybe that was just me, in which case: awkward! But we get all the classics you’d want: “Thriller,” “Beat It,” “Wanna Be Startin’ Something,” “Smooth Criminal,” a bunch of Jackson 5 tracks and much more. What we also get is an idea of MJ’s creative process. For all that’s happened to the guy over the years, when you see him up on the stage obsessing over a piano arrangement or insisting which beat a song needs to end on, you can see who Jackson must have been in his ’80s heyday. On stage he’s scarily frail, he’s lost a step or two when it comes to dancing, but his voice is as melodious as ever. He knows exactly what he wants and has no qualms demanding it from the folks around him. And the folks around treat him with kid gloves, “Yes, Michael”-ing over and over, as if he’s a child or, put another way, the King of Pop. But there is a childlike quality to MJ during rehearsals. He’s goofy and jokey, competitive and insecure, defensive and unapologetic. When he complains about having to stretch his vocal chords, I wondered if he was speaking out of experience or self-doubt. Similarly, there was a moment when he appeared to forget the lyrics to a Jackson 5 tune and blamed the whole thing on a faulty earpiece. Strangest of all is what’s not present in “This Is It”: not once is there any acknowledgment that Michael Jackson is no longer alive. Forget about addressing the grim circumstances surrounding his death or airing what I understand was footage filmmakers captured as cast and crew reacted to his passing. But the barest context – even at the end, as the credits roll – seems not only appropriate but essential. Is that the glaring flaw in a glowing portrait of Jackson? Yes. Does it really matter, in the end? Not to me. I know he’s dead. I’ve spent four months writing about it, as you’ve probably spent four months reading about it. What I wanted from “This Is It” is something I know I’ll never actually get: a chance to watch the live show. The doc delivers the next best thing – a chance to see what he planned to unleash – and does what all first-rate art should do: leave you wanting, wishing for more.