Ghouls Jest, Hate, and Cry, for Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

1988 brought America Beetlejuice, an exploration of the changes coming to American society at the front of market modernization and the deep feelings of replacement and resentment small-town America felt towards their urbane contemporaries. Betelgeuse, the shape-shifting demonic psychopomp played by Michael Keaton immediately became a defining image of the decade. His campy capacity for chuckling indifference--much to the chagrin of high-collared and tight-buttoned society–became a hallmark of slight aesthetic rebellion. It would not be long before an animated series followed the tale of the young couple doomed to an annoying afterlife full of huge worms, shrunken heads, and forced singalongs. 2024’s Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is a rare sequel that goes above and beyond the themes of the original. 

Beetlejuice attended to the death of American normalcy, opening with a young couple crashing into a covered bridge, focusing on the impossible bureaucracy undergirding the “modern” afterlife, and planting change as the main enemy of humanity. Following the momentous deaths that open the film, the plot becomes a desperate fight for a return to normalcy. The townsfolk increasingly feel hostile towards an artistic couple that seeks to profit from their idyllic home; the Deetz’s attempt to domesticate their surroundings to exacting and high modern standards; and of course the empathetic Maitlands just want their lives back. Very relatable themes as young people post black squares and chant about fighting gentrification. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice stands the original on its head by envisioning life after death as a social opportunity. Where the former languishes in the imagined individuality of couples, seeing each partner as coming together to form a whole, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice asks how loss can bring individuals together.

Just as the characters travel through the Bardo, seeing every image of death–from a failed escape artist who is now a hand poking out of a see-through briefcase, to a topless torso squelching gouts of blood across the room every time he raises his voice–they and the audience engage in a gallivanting exploration of necessary change. Three generations of Deetz, completely self-interested and isolated from one another, find themselves at the end of their wits as loss piles up. Instead of revolving around breaking points, the film completely pivots on the reconciliations that only arise after the die has been cast.

Without spoiling a thrilling plot, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice completely outdoes the original. The iconic “Day-o” scene from the former is reimagined and embiggened, “MacArthur Park” by Richard Harris ties the plot together nicely, referencing the ultimate themes of eternal change, reciprocity, and the impossibility of recreating the past even as our heroes, including Wednesday Addams star Jenna Ortega giving the performance of her career opposite the impeccable Winona Ryder, delve deeper and deeper into the underworld in search of a past that’s dead and gone. MacArthur Parks' haunting refrain “Somebody left the cake out in the rain” stands for several themes in the film, the most obvious being acknowledging responsibility (who is somebody, after all) “And I’ll never have that recipe again” becomes a reflection on the impossibility of recreating the past. Where “Day-O”, the work end song, allowed Burton to challenge popular Christian portrayals of death, and reimagine the hardworked eighties as ending in a high note of absolution from responsibility, it is “MacArthur Park” that positions loss as a necessary point of personal reflection and an opportunity for release and advancement. It’s almost as if the strains of Lord Byron’s Manfred were baked into the text; here Betelgeuse’s climax equivocates to Manfred’s “Old man! 'tis not so difficult to die.”

 Tim Burton pulls expert performances out of the whole cast, especially Keaton. Betelgeuse is amped up to 13 in this film, and every moment until his introduction is charged with antici, say it, pation. Fans of Danny Elfman’s iconic score will be thrilled by the sound on Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, the ‘80s noise renaissance that started earlier this year with Lisa Frankenstein continues in spades here. I think the cinematography in this latest installment absolutely eclipses while reverently referencing the work of the original, standout shots include the first time the cast falls into the scale model of town that still haunts the attic of the Deetz manor. An aerial look at the updated Deetz manor with the village in the background speaks to the complete opposite perspective this film has on the difference between individual and town, as the town that almost grabbed opportunity through the ancient house on the hill sees not a vision of an unsuitable future but an unacceptable past in the Deetz home.

The replete wealth of the Deetzes comes as a comfortable source of comedy, not compromising their relatability. The incessant eccentricity they show is no longer a campy signal that we’re engaging in fiction; now it’s the obvious undergirding for what looks to be a family of lifestyle goths. Motivations that may have seemed muddled in the first film and subsequent animated series, which is one of the best-animated shows of the early 90s, are completely obvious now. Particularly with the aims of Betelgeuse, we finally get an explanation as to why marriage is so important to our favorite cinematic demon.

Is Beetlejuice Beetlejuice the film of the year? No, only because Lisa Frankenstein already exists and is perfect. But it’s the film of the season, and it earns something like a 9 out of 10 for me. Go see it while it’s in theatres, take some friends, dress up, and be prepared to laugh and cry and absolutely mourn change as it’s happening.