With Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, Tim Burton Returns to Casual, Delightful Silliness

As a longtime aficionado of Burton’s oeuvre, I must admit that the last two decades have been a bit of a rollercoaster ride for this Tim Burton fanatic. But with “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” it seems that the master of the macabre has found his way back to his roots, and it’s nothing short of a delightful return to form.

In a different take, some filmmakers flourish when their viewers praise them highly. Conversely, others may react by unleashing their most reckless instincts, which seems to be the case with Tim Burton over the past two decades. His films have transitioned from wild, imaginative fantasies to more structured exercises in creativity. However, something appears to have changed within him with the release of “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice“, premiering at the 81st Venice International Film Festival (opening in theaters on Sept. 6). This sequel to Burton’s 1988 cult classic “Beetlejuice” doesn’t aim for greatness or even the usual excess of fantastical elements. Instead, Burton has opted to be playful and enjoy himself; “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is filled with light-hearted quips and kindergarten-style humor, yet it works surprisingly well. The movie takes you on a joyride through its chaotic magic carpet of mayhem, and features one sequence of twisted, elegant, and hilarious verse that’s reminiscent of Burton at his best. Despite his history of producing lukewarm spinoffs and live-action adaptations (Dark Shadows, Dumbo), fans have had to make do with less over the years.

As a seasoned film critic, I’d rephrase it like this: In this sequel, the narrative flow feels somewhat casual, yet its intricacies aren’t heavily weighted. The original teenage ghost whisperer, Lydia Deetz, portrayed brilliantly by Winona Ryder, who effortlessly revives her old goth kid persona, has grown into an adult with a thriving talk show. She delves into haunted houses and attempts to mediate between their owners and the recalcitrant spirits who stubbornly refuse to leave. Despite her professional success, Lydia grapples with profound neuroses, leaning heavily on her producer/boyfriend, Justin Theroux, to keep her composed.

Before Beetlejuice, the “mischievous spirit” as Lydia refers to him, makes an appearance, there’s a build-up of events. However, when he does appear, it’s like welcoming a worn-out, complaining old friend, one you keep around for amusement. Michael Keaton seems to have a soft spot for this character; once again, he infuses Beetlejuice with genuine affection, portraying his maniacal, depraved persona perfectly. His eyes are darkened by centuries of sleepless nights, showing the signs of a cunning trickster who thrives on devising new ways to torment unsuspecting humans. His five o’clock shadow seems to date back to the 5th century, and his hair appears unkempt, as if he styles it with a fork and an electric socket. He has a crude mind but a relatively tame tongue. (The film is rated PG-13.) He’s still resentful that his marriage to Lydia, who was a teenager at the time, was foiled over three decades ago; he constantly complains about being ignored by her since then. To add to his woes, he’s also being pursued by an ex-wife—more on her later. As he recounts their joyous wedding day in flowery subtitled Italian, we see it unfold in grainy-beautiful, low-budget black and white: “The ceremony was traditional: we drank each other’s blood, beheaded chickens, and sacrificed a goat.” What fun!

The movie “Beetlejuice” is brimming with whimsical details like that. (Written by Alfred Gough, Miles Millar, and Seth Grahame-Smith.) It includes classic Tim Burton-esque elements: you can imagine what transpires when Beetlejuice, pretending to be vulnerable, chooses to “reveal his innards.” Danny DeVito and Willem Dafoe make gruesome yet endearing appearances in minor roles. The visual design echoes that of the original film: the striped pop-art sandworm reappears; the twisted corridors leading to the afterlife retain their odd, German Expressionist perspectives. The movie’s highlight is an extravagant operatic scene set to Richard Harris’ rendition of what might be the worst song ever made, Jimmy Webb’s “MacArthur Park.” Essentially, with Burton’s knack for handling unusual elements like a fried eyeball, you can guess how he interprets the line “Never let you see me staring at the sun.”

Among other things, Monica Bellucci’s captivating portrayal of Delores stands out. This vengeful character, who was once entangled with Beetlejuice in a disastrous relationship long ago, is now given a chance to rebuild herself after centuries. With the aid of a staple gun, she meticulously puts herself back together, piece by piece. As she glides into the night in an exquisite black gown that accentuates her décolletage, she sets out to exact her revenge. The film could benefit from more scenes featuring Delores as they add a gothic-horror flair to the storyline. Her uniquely stapled face, reminiscent of a Japanese bowl repaired with gold, is a tribute not only to Boris Karloff’s original Frankenstein’s monster but also to Burton’s iconic creations like Frankenweenie and Corpse Bride’s Sally Finkelstein. Delores embodies the concept of “mad love” – flawed yet perfect in every aspect, a blend of dream and nightmare that one finds hard to resist. Tread carefully if you decide to cross her path.

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2024-08-28 21:06