Years after their first encounter, Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder) is once again forced to team up with the demon Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) to save her daughter Astrid (Jenna Ortega).
The 1988 original is more of a cult classic than a masterpiece. Beetlejuice is fondly remembered for several important reasons: the extraordinary, incredibly emotive portrayal of a cartoon character in a real-life story delivered by Michael Keaton in the title role; the coronation of a teenage goth queen in Winona Ryder’s Lydia Deetz; and the true establishment – in only his second film – of the spooky cinematic powerhouse of Timothy Walter Burton, a director so distinctive that his name alone proclaims a certain sinister style and point of view.
The ingeniously named Beetlejuice Beetlejuice sees the director return to his roots. From the spooky opening credits and Danny Elfman’s score, where the camera once again pans over the sleepy New England town of Winter River, Connecticut, you know exactly where this is all going. As before, it’s all about Lydia, who now works as a “psychic mediator” on a paranormal reality TV show called “Ghost House” and is dating slimy TV producer Rory (Justin Theroux). But the black and white striped, evil ghoul named Betelgeuse haunts her dreams and she soon has a strong feeling of déjà vu.
Michael Keaton seems to have more energy than he did 35 years ago.
We as an audience feel this to some extent too – there is a nostalgic famous line reading from Michael Keaton, although not quite as outrageous as the one they had him say in The Flash – but to Burton’s credit, he’s trying to create a relatively fresh story here. The only problem is the moving parts: the script spends so much time introducing new characters and plot threads that it gets a little tangled in the narrative spiderweb.
There’s teenage daughter Astrid (Jenna Ortega, heir to Ryder’s gothic queen crown). There’s Jeremy (Arthur Conti), the cute boy she literally stumbles upon in Winter River. There’s Monica Bellucci’s Delores, Betelgeuse’s ex from hell, who enjoys a brilliant introduction to the details but not much else. There’s Willem Dafoe’s Wolf Jackson, a former TV actor turned cop in the afterlife who is so delightfully over-the-top that you want more. All are entertaining enough, but the short running time feels under-sized.
Luckily, the film has a secret weapon. Once the juice is released, it all makes sense. Michael Keaton, barely a day older in his panda-eyed demonic costume, seems, if anything, to have more energy than he did 35 years ago. He bounces off the walls of purgatory with hilarious enthusiasm, lifting everything around him.
The film is strongest when it remembers that it’s a Tim Burton film and it has the license to get weird. Although it feels slicker and less homemade than the 1988 vintage, there are still flashes of B-movie brilliance: a stop-motion animation sequence, some delightful shrunken-head prosthetic effects and two crazy birth scenes with the cruelest prosthetic baby this side of American sniperIt is moments like these where Burton really lets his freak flag fly, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice deserves his stripes.
Beetlejuice is entertaining, if a little messy. Beetlejuice is at its best when it lives up to the promise of the word “Burtonesque.” Michael Keaton was never a Beetlejuicier.
