By nostalgia grab standards, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is an adequate at best expansion. Tim Burton can’t resurrect the original’s immaculate gothy-silly energies, despite this being the filmmaker’s closest live-action return to form since Sweeny Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street. It’s not craveable in the way 1988’s Beetlejuice is required October viewing, nor does Burton channel the same kookily macabre magic. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice reopens the door to a beloved horror-comedy dimension, and there are highlights worth the second tour, but like many decades-later sequels, Burton’s chasing a high that he never catches.
Thirty-six years later, the Deetz family looks awfully different. Lydia (Winona Ryder) hosts a popular paranormal investigation show called “Ghost House with Lydia Deetz.” Delia (Catherine O’Hara) showcases her immersive artwork in a Soho gallery. Charles — well, Charles tragically dies while flying home from an overseas birdwatching trip (shark attack, ironically), and his funeral is what reunites Lydia and Delia. They return to Winter River with Lydia’s showbizzy producer boyfriend Rory (Justin Theroux), and Lydia’s frustrated daughter from a previous marriage, Astrid (Jenna Ortega). They don the old Maitland home in black drapes and organize a memorial gathering, but an unwanted, festering guest weasels his way back into Lydia’s life when she has nowhere else to turn for help.
Michael Keaton’s revival as Betelgeuse the “Bio-Exorcist” is a source of comfort throughout Beetlejuice Beetlejuice. The black-and-white stripes, the “Ecto Cooler Green” hair, the off-color remarks — Keaton loves this role, and it loves him back. Burton’s at his best when Betelgeuse controls momentum, whether regaling his shrunken-head employees with stories from his fleshy days, or torturing Lydia and Rory with a mini-Betel baby as horrific as the Twilight newborn. Old tricks like the “Monster Face” framed from behind catch a giggle, but writers Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, and Seth Grahame-Smith inject new blood (and guts) into the rotten-skinned prankster’s repertoire. The problem is, Betelgeuse is hardly the film’s sole focus — and his absences are deafening.
Burton eases into Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, which translates into a flatter first act. That’s not to diminish the marvelous Catherine O’Hara, who embraces Delia’s over-the-top gestures and indulgent dramatizations with gusto. Winona Ryder and Justin Theroux are stuck in their relationship bubble, Jenna Ortega has to project angsty teen traits, and there’s a lack of Winter’s River. Until Betelgeuse is summoned out of desperation by the Deetzs, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice lacks the creativity and vigor that audiences rave about in Beetlejuice. Even afterlife sequences in this period are visually dim, washed over in a muted darkness that doesn’t allow grotesque features to pop. That includes Monica Bellucci’s introduction as the soul-sucking antagonist staples herself together before a zombified custodian, drenched in a post-production coldness.
By contrast, once Beetlejuice Beetlejuice rediscovers its mojo, Burton vaguely resembles his old self. A slapstick stew of stop-motion, German Expressionism, and circus-like morbidity becomes present. The choice to keep sandworms arts-and-craftsy versus digital animation is an absurdist touch that works, and excellent practical gore rigs bring the afterlife’s waiting room inhabitants to life despite missing heads and severed limbs. From chimney-smoked Santas to piranha-bitten window tellers, with a special callout to Betelgeuse’s pea-headed minions, Burton’s special effects teams transport us back to 1988, where outrageous practical craftsmanship and production design solidified the Beetlejuice legacy. When Burton can channel his old self, like a transcendent musical sequence set to “MacArthur Park” that’s dripping in peak Burtonisms, he reminds us of the glory days — but consistency is the feature’s issue.
Back-and-forth the film flip-flops from disinterest to demanded attention. The highs are notable: Willem Dafoe steals the spotlight as Wolf Jackson, an unalive gumshoe who once was a B-movie action star. The lows cancel out such goodwill, when Burton loses control of subplots as they intertwine in Betelgeuse’s domain. Entire arcs read eerily familiar to the original’s screenplay, but then again, that’s the tingly attraction of nostalgic re-writing some thirty-plus years later. Burton isn’t here to chart new ground as much as he is to hilariously misquote Dostoevsky and let Bellucci steam up the screen as a corpse ex-bride. You’ll get your “Banana Boat (Day-O)” 2.0 choreography, DMV purgatory comparisons, and all the rancid Keaton sleaze fans of the original will hope to see — it’s just never as whimsically wretched.
Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is an alright continuation that’s disappointing for that very reason. It’s a shame to say the likes of Winona Ryder and Jenna Ortega don’t shine brighter when Burn Goreman makes the most of minuscule screen time. It’s entertaining enough and is better than no sequel, but isn’t something I’m clamoring to revisit anytime soon. Burton faces the impossible task of recreating one of his masterpieces anew — a film heralded as a unique oddity yet to be mirrored. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is an admirable effort for long enough stretches, but overall, exerts maximum effort just to stay close enough in pace to 1988’s wacky supernatural riot.
Movie Score: 3/5