Walking out of the theater, my wife said, “I don’t know if I’d have seen this film if Michael Jackson hadn’t died.”

I agreed. We’re not really pop fans; we’ve never owned a Michael Jackson album or CD. Not even “Thriller.”

Yet even back in the day (tuning in to Don Henley or Bruce Springsteen or Roxy Music) I never doubted that Michael Jackson was a phenomenon, that his string of catchy hits wouldn’t end anytime soon. Still, if M.J. were alive and his tour a rousing success, with a finished, much different version of “This Is It” to come, I’m not sure the film would have drawn me in.

Not to imply that we’re morbidly curious or celeb chasers. The idea that in this country celebrities are deemed more important than, say, carpenters continues to astound me. And yet I can recall my “moment of being” (where I was, doing what) only a handful of times upon hearing of some breathlessly reported infamous death. I remember John Lennon, the Challenger disaster, Princess Diana— and Michael Jackson.

I acknowledge that the spotlight on Jackson sometimes threw a harsh glare. He was one of music’s clearly tortured geniuses. But despite the mystery and the perplexing rumors, perhaps his talent does merit two hours of screen time. Maybe, sometimes, parting glances are well deserved.

Okay, so let’s forget M.J. for a moment. Let’s say there’s a concert film, any concert film—some guy up on stage trying his best to thrill an audience. If “This Is It” were that film, it would still be one of the best musical tributes I’ve ever seen. Passionate and insightful . . . one for the ages.

I’ve always considered Richard Lester’s “A Hard Day’s Night” (1964) the granddaddy of the modern musical tribute. Contrived? Sure. A concert film? Absolutely. Watch it tomorrow and you’ll glimpse The Beatles not only performing but also busy being The Beatles. The film, for me, captures the birth of a musical generation. It is quintessentially bottled time.

I believe that a concert film should be more than just a polished live performance. If the music is all we want, we can buy a ticket for third row center and have a blast. But for my money, a concert film, a “rockumentary,” should give us far more than the concert itself. (“The Last Waltz” gave us more; so did “Gimme Shelter,” “Stop Making Sense” and “Festival Express.”)

“This Is It” gives as well and gives in a way few people would have anticipated. It provides an intimate slice of life not meant for our eyes, a backstage pass to a wounded footnote in musical history. It captures the strength, the essence of a performer doing what he always knew he did best.

While the film is a homage to Jackson, it’s also part “Chorus Line,” offering tribute to many of those involved with the impending tour. Director Kenny Ortega has lovingly crafted a marvelously edited, appropriately CGtweaked masterpiece of performance art. Even if you’re not a Jackson fan, you can watch “This Is It” as a mesmerizing tribute to talent and dedication and a quest for musical perfection.

In the months, weeks and days before his death at age 50, Jackson sings and dances through a dazzling collection of songs, and Ortega isn’t shy showing us an occasionally reflective or obsessive Jackson stopping mid-note to chat or chastise or praise his performers.

In the end, so close to finding that perfection.

For Jackson fans, I can’t imagine “This Is It” not being the ultimate homage, the cinematic Holy Grail of an undeniably unique life. For the rest of us—certainly those who love music and cinema—it’s a marvelous achievement, a relevant time capsule, perhaps even an inspiration for those who likewise seek perfection, even at a cost.

The film is, or certainly will become, “A Hard Day’s Night” for a new generation. It, too, is quintessentially bottled time.