As a sequel, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is equal parts fun and frustrating—its chaotic energy feels like a hyperactive pup bouncing around without restraint. Thirty-six years after the first film’s events, the plot seems to dissolve into Tim Burton’s signature eccentricities. Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder), once a goth teenager, is now a supernatural talk show host with a producer boyfriend (Justin Theroux) and a teenage daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega), who finds her mom’s celebrity status to be a scam.
The premise remains familiar: Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton), the crude ghost and bio-exorcist, still haunts Lydia and longs to marry her. As the family reunites for a funeral, the story spirals into its usual quirky chaos: Astrid develops feelings for a boy with a secret, Lydia once again agrees to marry Betelgeuse in exchange for help, and the infamous sandworms return whenever the plot backs itself into a corner.
However, this time the film feels more congested with new characters who exist more for flair than function. There’s Willem Dafoe as a ghost detective, Rory as Lydia’s “woke” boyfriend, and Monica Bellucci as Delores, a stitched-together villain seeking revenge on her ex-husband Betelgeuse. Delores’ exaggerated introduction—a grotesque sequence involving body parts being stapled together—feels perversely playful, underscoring the film’s irreverence.
This irreverence is at the core of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice’s charm. Burton’s imagination runs wild, whether it’s a literal “soul train” carrying the dead to the afterlife or morbidly humorous scenes like Lydia’s late father turning up in the afterlife headless after a shark attack. The film thrives on its dark humor, but it often feels like it sacrifices emotional depth for visual gags. Serious themes like grief and love are sidelined in favor of slapstick antics, making the film’s world-building more about spectacle than soul.
As a genre film, though, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice shines. Tim Burton’s commitment to practical effects, old-school animation, and whimsical set designs defies the heavily digital landscapes of modern fantasy cinema. The film feels like a love letter to a bygone era of filmmaking, resisting the polished VFX of today in favor of a nostalgic, hands-on aesthetic. It’s a refreshing reminder of the kind of inventive, analog creativity that predates the CGI-dominated blockbusters of today.
Astrid’s disdain for her mother’s retro charm serves as a meta-commentary on the generational divide, as she embodies a tech-savvy, modern skeptic. It’s a playful nod to the tension between today’s digital age and Burton’s steadfast commitment to 1980s-style storytelling. Ortega and Ryder’s dynamic reflects this contrast, with Lydia’s old-school eccentricity clashing against Astrid’s modern skepticism. In the end, Burton’s decision to bring a 1980s franchise into 2024 feels more like an act of self-expression than a critique of current cinema trends.
For some, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice’s childlike irreverence might feel silly. But for others, it captures the innocence and imaginative spirit that many lose in the transition from childhood to adulthood. It’s a celebration of the joy and chaos that come with being true to one’s creative vision, reminding us of the playful magic that cinema can still offer.
