In the thirty-six years that have passed since the release of 1988’s masterful dark comedy/horror flick Beetlejuice, not only has the cinema landscape changed entirely, but so has director Tim Burton’s filmmaking style and technique. How would a decades-later sequel even work, considering the majority of those containing a massive gap between entries almost always manage to miscalculate what worked so well about the original? A follow-up to one of my top five favorite films of all time has been in and out of the works since the late 80s, flirting with variations that included Beetlejuice in Love, and most infamously, Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian. Burton once returned to help develop the beloved Beetlejuice animated series, and Beetlejuice: The Musical recently took Broadway by storm. Finally, the ghost with the most himself has been resurrected from the dead, presenting a wholly original new collaboration between Burton and Michael Keaton, select returning cast members, fresh blood, a whimsical musical score from Danny Elfman, and a blast of a script from Wednesday series creators Miles Millar and Alfred Gough. What finally summoned the Handbook for the Recently Deceased and the denizens of Winter River, Connecticut from the never-ending depths of development hell is anyone’s guess. Whatever the case, the aptly-named Beetlejuice Beetlejuice becomes Burton’s second sequel ever, after Batman Returns. This nostalgic, cartoonish delight overflows with fresh ideas and hilariously zany laugh-out-loud comedic moments without ever retreading the same burial grounds as its timeless handmade predecessor.
We last communed with the strange and unusual Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder, Stranger Things, Edward Scissorhands) coexisting with her father, Charles, and stepmother, Delia (Catherine O’Hara, Schitt’s Creek, Best in Show), alongside the previous ghostly residents of their new home, Barbara and Adam. Betelgeuse (Keaton) was eaten by a giant sandworm, then left with a shrunken head in the eternal waiting room of the Afterlife. A whole hell of a lot has happened since then. For one, Barbara and Adam apparently found a “loophole” and crossed over outside the bounds of their claustrophobic mini-mansion, then exited stage left. Lydia now hosts a hugely successful reality series called Ghost House, Lydia’s bitter daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega, Scream VI, Netflix’s Wednesday), longs to be reunited with her recently-deceased father, and overly dramatic Delia has evolved from weird sculptures and obsessive home remodeling to embracing the outrageous world of performance art.
A major death brings together three generations of the Deetz family to mourn Charles, their patriarch. A fully hysterical tantrum later, Delia breaks the news that her beloved “horny handyman” has met his cruel fate. That Burton’s film somehow manages to create a plot-relevant reason not to see convicted sex offender Jeffrey Jones onscreen is a marvel in itself—taking the high road in honoring the character of Charles and his importance provides an organic reason for the Deetz clan to return to Winter River in the first place. Separating the character from the actor who once portrayed him definitely works in this case. Embracing a colorful retelling of Charles’s death, Delia recounts his passing… and it is hilariously weird. Playing with different mediums happens multiple times over in Burton’s newest, and each one is uniquely singular enough to matter.
Meanwhile, Betelgeuse or Beetlejuice, for convenience sake, haunts Lydia’s nightmares and bleeds into her waking life. We find Beetlejuice at a cushy desk job, now manager of the Afterlife Call Center. Once he realizes Charles has passed away, he sees the opportunity of an afterlife-time. If he can just manipulate someone into saying his name three times, Lydia Deetz could once again be his. As Beetlejuice schemes to have a bride, his former wife, a soul-sucking cultist named Delores (Monica Bellucci, Bram Stoker’s Dracula, The Passion of the Christ), staples herself back together to find him. Delores carves a path of carnage on her way back to Beetlejuice, drawing the attention of dead-actor-turned-officer of the Afterlife crime unit, Wolf Jackson (Willem Dafoe, Spider-Man, The Lighthouse). Lydia races to prevent her daughter from becoming entangled with Beetlejuice. Astrid instead gets heart eyes for cute teenager Jeremy (newcomer Arthur Conti) that she meets in town after accidentally crashing her bicycle into his treehouse. With Halloween approaching, all sides will soon converge. Desperation calls once more as the only ghost who can help needs someone to say his name three times.
From the soundtrack to the immaculate costuming and production design, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice does everything to feel old-school Tim Burton. This extends to the effects, which are almost entirely practical with minimal computer-generated imagery. The lovable character “Bob” with the shrunken head has to be seen to be believed. The strange world feels tangible and weirdly specific as a result. To spoil any of them would probably ruin whatever surprises we did not already see from the trailers. On almost every level, the stylistic visual flourishes are a joy to behold. So too, are the performances themselves. All three central females in the Deetz family have been brilliantly sketched out. Comedy legend Catherine O’Hara ends up being the MVP, leaning into Delia’s eccentricities through every line of her campy dialogue. Delia’s expanded role this time around gives O’Hara plenty to do, and also helps to flesh out Delia’s present relationship with Lydia. After hearing that Jenna Ortega had been positioned as Lydia’s daughter, it seemed to be perfect casting. Her character in Wednesday already had Burton’s fingerprints all over it, with the director claiming that Ortega was a huge part of what helped him feel comfortable in returning to the world of Beetlejuice. Thankfully, Ortega does not disappoint, especially in the scenes she shares with Ryder’s Lydia.
It probably would have been an easy route to make Lydia identical to her persona in the original, but stagnancy in a character who has been absent for over thirty years would not have made much sense. Ryder has been saddled with the single most important role of the film, carrying the dramatic weight on her shoulders as she slides into protective mother mode. Her obsessive boyfriend, Rory (Justin Theroux, HBO’s The Leftovers, American Psycho), whom Lydia admits to having met at a survivor’s retreat, allows Theroux free rein to play frightened in Burton’s sandbox of horrors. For the Afterlife side of things, Dafoe and Bellucci are clearly having a blast in their respective roles but, as expected, this is Michael Keaton’s ship to steer. Ahead of the film’s release, Keaton hammered down the fact that he still wanted Beetlejuice to have a screen time reminiscent of his sparing use back in 1988. Keaton famously only had seventeen minutes total time to play with, yet that character transcended and can be felt in almost every frame. Beetlejuice feels similarly important here, as we always expect him to pop up with a zany quip or snarky reply. His character seems noticeably less misogynistic, but his abrasive disgustingness still shows in spades. Keaton has chemistry with just about every character, making the finale that much more satisfying to watch unfold.
Tonally, this second installment is in line with both the movie and that underrated cartoon show. Thanks to the script, big character interactions and intimate moments are earned rather than an afterthought. Coming of age elements blend wonderfully with the fantastical horror, notably in scenes between Conti’s Jeremy and Ortega’s Astrid. An absolutely outrageous wedding serves as a musically-inclined climax that culminates every disparate plot thread. If we are lucky enough for a third entry, hopefully we won’t have to wait almost forty more years to see it. Returning back to this world once again feels just as timeless as it did before, made all the more rewarding by not replaying the original beat for beat. Sure, there is a choir funeral version of “Day-O,” revisiting the Maitland home in burial shroud mode, and a giant sandworm, but Beetlejuice never seems to be merely checking off boxes. In some ways, that aspect may disappoint fans who expect more direct continuations of the threads, or regurgitation of old jokes. For this viewer, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice does what any belated sequel truly should do: carve a path of its own to create an identity either entirely separate from what came before, or as a complementary accompaniment to it. “Nice fuckin’ model,” indeed.
Say his name… two times! Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is now haunting theaters everywhere!
