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I didn't expect a documentary about a twenty-year-old court case to completely change my perspective on Michael Jackson. 

Like most people, I thought I knew the broad strokes of the King of Pop's scandal before sitting down to watch Netflix's new three-part docuseries, Michael Jackson: The Verdict . 

At 42, I am old enough to remember the 2005 trial where he faced charges for allegedly molesting 13-year-old Gavin Arvizo at his Neverland ranch estate in Los Olivos, California. Jackson was acquitted on all counts on June 13, 2005.

But time has a way of softening the sharpest allegations.

Over the last two decades, like most of the public, I fell into a comfortable state of cultural amnesia.

The details faded into a blurry backdrop of pop nostalgia. Thriller quietly crept back onto my Halloween playlist.

It was easy to compartmentalise because Jackson's music was everywhere. Everyone was listening to it. Everyone was singing along to it.

But The Verdict has completely snapped me out of it. 

Watch: Michael Jackson: The Verdict. Official Trailer. Netflix.

Confronting the series' archival footage today through an adult lens, and specifically through the lens of a parent, made me feel physically sick.

The docuseries has reopened an old wound, and the cultural landscape is split down a furious line. 

On one side, Jackson's intense fanbase is slamming the project as a biased hit piece designed to ride the coattails of the recent biopic, Michael, which grossed a massive US$900 million at the box office ($1.285 billion in Aussie dollars).

In contrast, other viewers and critics see it as a necessary, gritty reality check.

The documentary takes us straight into the courtroom archives. The details are a lot to process.

The series revisits Jackson's infamous 2003 interview with Martin Bashir, the British journalist best known for his 1995 sit-down with Princess Diana.

In the archival footage, Jackson is shown holding hands with a young cancer survivor. 

Seated on a couch with the young boy's head resting on his shoulder, Jackson casually offers up the fact that he and the boy regularly share a bed.

Then Bashir poses a direct question: how would people react if he invited his children's friends over for a sleepover and slept in the same bed as them?

Jackson doesn't hesitate.

"That's fine!" he insists, arguing that only "wacky" parents would object.

It is a chilling exchange because he wasn't trying to hide anything. It appeared to me that he genuinely didn't understand how grossly inappropriate his behaviour was. A total lack of basic boundaries.

The documentary overlays his whimsical voiceovers about tucking children into bed with the actual police footage of his home.

We see a private room concealed behind a "secret door" in his bedroom. Inside is a bed with a sparkly duvet cover.

The series presents further alleged evidence found at the property: adult magazines, books of nudes, and testimonies regarding a padlocked bedroom door. 

There are claims that Michael fed some children 'Jesus juice,' which court records allege was wine poured into soft drink cans. 

When I was nine years old in 1993, during the first wave of public claims, I couldn't comprehend any of this. Today, watching through grown-up eyes, I do feel a genuine wave of sadness for him.

He appears to be mentally unwell. Growing up under the allegedly abusive regime of his father, Joe Jackson, he was stripped of a normal youth. 

Neverland, named after the mythical world of Peter Pan, the boy who never grew up, was a literal manifestation of his arrested development. He seemed to want to buy back the childhood he was denied.

But while trauma might, in some cases, be used to explain allegations that have been made against someone, it can never excuse them. 

What hit me the hardest was watching the archival police footage of 13-year-old Gavin Arvizo recounting what he alleged happened to him. 

At that moment, I realised he was of a similar age to my son. 

It forced me to apply the ultimate parental litmus test. If Michael Jackson were alive today, would I ever let my sons go to a sleepover at his house? Absolutely not.

Yet, the docuseries shows how easily celebrity can blind us.

Jurors and court attendees interviewed in the series recalled people literally bopping and swaying in their seats when Jackson's music was played as evidence in the courtroom. 

The third and final episode builds to the outcome we all know, but have perhaps forgotten the weight of: Jackson was found not guilty on all counts in June 2005. 

That's where all legal stories end — usually.

But The Verdict wants us to shift our perspective entirely.

What message does this send to alleged victims who want to come forward?

Does fame negate the fairness we hope to see in every court? If an alleged perpetrator is loved enough, talented enough, or famous enough, will the victim's voice be drowned out by the noise of nostalgia?

Regardless of what you think, the picture presented on screen was abhorrent to watch.

And we can never look away again.

Feature Image: Getty.