Director Tim Burton's Beetlejuice Beetlejuice (2024 A.D.), written by Seth (Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter/Dark Shadows 2012) Grahame-Smith and Smallville's Miles Millar and Alfred Gough, has been a long time coming. A sequel, Beetlejuice in Love, was slated decades ago, and sometime thereafter, Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian, with both prospects descending into development hell.
In my estimation, Burton's Topper-ish hit should have spawned several sequels, beyond its evident, animated series and Broadway musical, before taking a well-deserved hiatus. Nevertheless, as it stands, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is a worthy, Bava-ridden, Halloween-based, second chapter, thanks in no small part to Michael Keaton's ebullient, titular (and essential) return.
Along with the crass, bio-pest-controller, we're reintroduced to Winona Ryder's Lydia Deetz, who's become the host of a TV, paranormal show. After the death of Lydia's dad (Jeffrey Jones' Charles, shown in flashback, "claymation" form), Lydia's downtrodden daughter, Jenna (Wednesday) Ortega's Astrid, unearths Beetlejuice's lore, and of course, whenever his name is three-times uttered, the spectral wisenheimer resumes his madcap assaults.
This time, however, the "ghost with the most" is plagued by a spectral ex-wife/witch, Monica Bellucci's spirit-devouring Delores (who resembles A Nightmare Before Christmas' Sally) and Willem Dafoe's scene-stealing Wolf Jackson, a second-tier action star who now corrals outlaw ghosts. The detective attempts to track down the exes, in that Delores is leaving too many depleted spirits in her path to reunite with her once betrothed, and as far as Beetlejuice goes, his rule-breaking shenanigans only worsen the situation.
Catherine O'Hara's Delia, Lydia's now super-artistic stepmom, re-enters (stealing as many scenes as Dafoe), supported by Justin Theroux's Rory, Lydia's producer and gentlemen friend; Santiago Cabrera's Richard, Lydia/Astrid's beloved, spectral husband/dad; Arthur Conti's scholarly Jeremy, Lydia's budding, secret-plagued boyfriend; Amy Nutall's quirky but neighborly Jane Butterfield; Burn Gorman's eloquent yet rubbery Father Damien (how's that for a nice classic-horror nod?); and Danny DeVito's netherworld custodian, who helps clinch the familiar, Burton-family brand.
There's little of the plot that requires dissection, since Beetlejuice 2 is not only rambunctious, but unpretentious in the way it connects its disorderly dots, with a fair share of amusing attention thrown on the three generations of Deetz women. That means, this Beetlejuice, like its predecessor, is unhampered by reflective angles or social commentary, sidestepping Burton's Dumbo (where the titular hero takes a back seat to circus condemnation) or Big Fish (where superfluous fibbing gets an inexplicable pass). This concoction (much like Burton's comedic, Dark Shadows redux) is designed for those who know the foundation, which stretches its impetuous hijinks for no other cause than the sheer pleasure of it.
Credit must also be given to the sequel's effects, which match the original's (not too CGI'd and therefore, not at all disconcerting). These surreal segments are embellished by Haris (A Haunting in Venice) Zambarloukis' photography, which captures the appropriate, Caligari-spiraled décor, and then there's Danny Elfman's score, which plays itself to the nostalgic tee, aligning the two movies for seamless, back-to-back viewings. (That "Day-O" is shared between the chapters only helps, though Jimmy Webb/Richard Harris' "MacArthur Park" seems the old, new, lip-synced novelty.)
Few would dispute that Beetlejuice is a classic (or at least an entry edging fast in that direction). While it's hard to say whether its follow-up will gain the same prestige, it's easy to say that it presses all the right, metaphysical buttons. See it and rest assured, you'll be spooked in the most satisfying, if not gumptious way.
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