Beetlejuice Beetlejuice review: loosey-goosey, but still quite juicy

Looking back, it’s hard to believe that Michael Keaton’s lecherous, opportunistic and manic undead businessman had only 15 minutes* of screen time in Beetlejuice; the original Tim Burton camp-goth joint that solidified both their careers.

So large looms his presence in the 1988 classic that you’d be forgiven for misremembering him as the protagonist (and after all, the film bears his monicker!). At the time Keaton was only really known for his role in family-fun flick Mr. Mom (1983), and it was his turn as the underworld’s favourite bio-exorcist that shifted his career to darker, weirder leading-man territory (Burton’s Batman was only a year later). All for the better, we can say confidently with over 30 years of hindsight.

But a film like Beetlejuice simply doesn’t work without its human/fleshbag characters: namely one Winona Ryder as Lydia Deetz, troubled teen goth and paranormal seer – it’s what makes the story grounded in a reality we can connect with, which sets up the foundational ‘house of cards’ for Keaton to knock down with child-like glee. Luckily, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice remembers this, and gives us a nice, meaty, human-led story before loosing the juice all over it.

_{*17.5 minutes, actually, if we’re going to split hairs over it.}

It’s show time (again)

In the 2024 sequel, the Deetz family is back: Ryder as Lydia, who works now as a reality TV personality sitting at the intersection of Elvira and Ghost Hunters, and Catherine O’Hara as her mother Delia, who’s an experimental artist not unlike Marina Abramovich (with just the slightest hangover of Schitt’s Creek matriarch Moira Rose). Ryder is visibly enjoying her return to Winter River immensely, as is O’Hara, and both nearly steal the show from Keaton’s surprisingly energetic performance, which at his age of 73 only becomes all the more impressive.

There is one notable missing member of the family, however: Lydia’s father Charles, formerly played by Jeffrey Jones. The choice to have him represented first as a Claymation facsimile and then, due to an unfortunate(ly hilarious) accident, a pair of shark-bitten legs, cleverly avoids having to acknowledge what happened to the actor. Yikes.

With that out of the way, there’s also an addition to family: Lydia’s daughter Astrid, played by Jenna Ortega (Wednesday) – who, with her dark hair, high cheekbones and gigantic eyes, was born to be a Burton muse. She frowns and dryly quips her way through the film as Lydia 2.0, bemoaning a perceived ‘selling out’ of her mother’s supernatural talents and mourning the loss of her father – the only ghost her mother can’t see. Ugh!

ScreenHub: Poor Things, Lisa Frankenstein and Del Toro keep the monster alive

Astrid’s frustrations lead her to seek solace elsewhere, which naturally comes in the form of a cute boy. Better yet, it’s a cute boy who reads Dostoyevsky, listens only to vinyl, and is similarly cynical about the world. It’s love at first bike-crashing-into-treehouse. Sigh.

Burton plays the hits (with remixes)

More than just a passing-of-the-torch narrative, which tends to be the norm for these nostalgic sequels, the choice to have Astrid despise her mother and search for her own adventure instead is a nice, refreshing choice. There’s plenty to play with in this sandbox, and stops the film from relying on ‘hey remember this thing you loved’ type beats … though there are still quite a few of those. The iconic Banana Boat (Day-O) song does feature, but not in the way you’d expect, and it just doesn’t feel right when the original did it so well. We don’t need to be reminded of how excellent that scene was – it’s burned into our brains forever!

Monica Bellucci and Willem Dafoe feature in roles that attempt to expand the inner-workings of the twisty, Centrelink*-esque underworld – Bellucci as a re-animated corpse and jilted lover hellbent on ghoulish revenge, and Dafoe as the gung-ho detective (well, actor who played a cop) chasing after her. Their fiery introductions quickly fizzle out, since neither of them pose any real threat to the narrative. Bellucci suffers from sexy-lamp syndrome, while Dafoe is kind of just … there.

Other things in the sequel are there purely to remind us of why the original was so good: Danny Elfman’s pulsating, cheekily demonic score (upgraded in glorious hi-def); the shrivel-head suit guys mindlessly doing admin work in hell’s offices; the matter-of-fact presentation of the Handbook for the Recently Deceased; the miniature model of Winter River that Betelgeuse uses as his portal to the world of the living; and Betelgeuse himself. Yes, we do indeed like all of these things.

_{*I honestly have spent so much time in Centrelink that I thought my head was going to shrivel up like Bob. Slap some black and white paint on that beige carpet and you’ve got Beetlejuice, baby.}

‘I’ve seen The Exorcist about 167 times, and it keeps getting funnier every single time I see it!’

A surprising element of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is just how gory it gets. Far gorier than the original, if I’m remembering correctly. In the original, Betelgeuse tells newly deceased couple Adam and Barbara (Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis) that he’s seen The Exorcist 167 times, and now we get to see just why he loves it so much. Without spoiling anything, there’s some really grotesque body horror going on here, and the choice to use a blend of practical effects like puppets and stop motion really sells it. That, to me, is the best example of the sequel embodying the spirit of its predecessor and enhancing it.

Though ultimately I didn’t find it to be as refreshing as the original (a near impossible task to begin with, so let’s forgive Burton for that), I enjoyed Beetlejuice Beetlejuice a lot and in many moments found myself snort-laughing at the tightly-written jokes and excellent lead performances. Oh, and there are at least two dance sequences. That makes it more than worth the cost of the movie ticket, I reckon.

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is now in cinemas.