Directed by: Tim Burton
Distributed by: Warner Bros.
Written by Anna Harrison
65/100
In the golden age of sequels, prequels, spinoffs, and reboots, who better to return than the undead? After all, if you make your movie about the afterlife, it’s no big deal to kill off actors who have fallen from grace (or, you know, are convicted pedophiles), and so Tim Burton’s return to the world of “Beetlejuice” feels less contrived than some of his compatriots’ recent works. This is not to say that the 1988 “Beetlejuice” was begging for a sequel—far from it—but if you’re going to make an unnecessary follow-up film decades later, it helps to have an excuse, albeit a flimsy one.
We pick up with Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder) decades after the events of the first “Beetlejuice.” She’s adapted to the modern age by hosting a paranormal talk show, though the rest of the world remain skeptics—including Lydia’s teenaged daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega). After all, why believe that her mother can see ghosts if Lydia never sees Astrid’s dead father, Richard (Santiago Cabrera, whom I remember most fondly as Lancelot in BBC’s “Merlin” and is still really good looking)? But when tragedy brings the family—including Catherine O’Hara’s Delia Deetz—back to the small town where it all started because Alec Baldwin couldn’t brake properly in 1988, Astrid must come face-to-face with the supernatural.
As with the original “Beetlejuice,” the plot serves as no more than a vehicle to showcase Tim Burton’s true passion: weird shit. Does the return of Beetlejuice’s soul-sucking ex-wife, Delores (Monica Bellucci), have any impact on the plot whatsoever? Not really, but who can blame Burton for wanting to have his hot girlfriend stalk around in all black and kill dead people? Do we need to know why Lydia can’t see Richard’s ghost? Certainly not. Don’t worry about it. Look at the literal Soul Train instead, populated by grooving ghosts stuck in the 1970s. Tim Burton douses everything in enough Tim Burton sauce that little quibbles like plot consistency can be largely ignored. Just like the afterlife, things don’t make any sense here—but they don’t have to.
It’s a shame, then—again mirroring the original—that Beetlejuice himself is just… not that funny. Perhaps it’s because I watched “Beetlejuice” for the first time just over the weekend as a 25-year-old, and so have no nostalgia for it, but the man is just so repugnant that I cannot bring myself to laugh at a single one of his jokes. And no, this is not me getting on my puritanical, Gen Z high horse to scold everyone for writing a crass, misogynist of a character. That’s fine. But if you’re pitching this guy as a scene stealer, you’re going to need to write some better jokes than “horny.” Alas, Beetlejuice has not had much growth in the thirty-plus years since we saw him last, though his shrunken-head minions provide a good laugh every time they’re on screen. Give me more Catherine O’Hara or Burn Gorman as the local alcoholic priest, please.
But, hey—I’ll take Burton’s German expressionist and French New Wave riffs over the latest Netflix slop any day. There’s even an utterly delightful claymation portion that explains away the absence of Jeffery Jones in the sequel. If I have to contend with a few unfunny bits to enjoy some good, honest-to-God practical effects and some memorable production design in the movie theater (and maybe even get some rumination on mortality, kids, and our obsession with phones to boot), then that is a price I am more than willing to pay.
“Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” Trailer
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