Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

I approach each long delayed sequel of a beloved classic with trepidation.  Most are weak attempts to recapture the old magic, often employing what has come to be called "fan service" (I hate these 21st century neologisms) to bring our middle aged asses back to the theater.  Hey, in these dire times I'm happy to help the struggling theater chains.  I even dropped some $$ for popcorn when I saw our movie d'jour one rainy Friday night last month.  Anyhow, for every TOP GUN: MAVERICK there have been several  COMING 2 AMERICAs or MATRIX RESURRECTIONs.  

Director Tim Burton, whose legacy has been tarnished of late, finally came back to helm a follow-up to 1988's widely adored BEETLEJUICE.  This year's BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE (no prizes for guessing what the next in the trilogy will be called) starts off hesitantly, a bit wobbly.  Having Lydia (Winona Ryder) as the host of a reality show called Ghost House is a good idea, but Alfred Gough and Miles Millar's script doesn't really develop it.  It is one of many plot threads suffering neglect.

Another is the even better idea of having Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton) being stalked by his old soul sucking ex-wife Delores (Monica Belluci).  This should have been the film's focus, but instead it also spends time with Lydia's bitter daughter Astrid (Jenna Ortega), who thinks mom's visions of the dead are bunk.  There's even a meet cute for Astrid and a local teen named Jeremy (Arthur Conti), though how their relationship ultimately turns out should bring a smile to those who like their comedy black.

And dark BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE really is.  Moreso than the original.  It surprised me at times.  For the original film, Burton deftly balanced folksy humor with the macabre.  This time it is full throttle horror comedy, and that's OK by me.  It just takes the film a while to hit its stride.  The early scenes feel somewhat awkward, even with Danny DeVito contributing a cameo as an afterlife janitor.  Somewhere about midway, when two worlds collide, things pick up.  Then that third act really hits the gas and doesn't take a breath.  As over the top as hoped.  

I don't want to go into too much detail about the film's ingenious bits.  Many are really inspired.  Like the Soul Train.  And Bob.  And Wolf Jackson, a ghost detective/former action movie star played with infectious brio by Willem Dafoe. There is plenty of comic gore, mostly via  beautifully rendered practical effects. 

You might wonder why Jeffery Jones did not return as Lydia's father Charles.  I'll let you discover why on your own, though it's no secret that part of the reason is the actor's unfortunate latter day status as a sex offender.  The film comes up with creative, gross, and not always successful methods to reveal Charles' fate.  The cartoon sequence fell flat for me.

Winona is mostly just there, looking confused. I hope she's OK these days (remember her antics onstage several years back when Stranger Things won an award?).  Catherine O'Hara delivers another amusingly eccentric turn as Delia, Lydia's loopy mother.  Ortega is appealing but plays the familiar sarcastic teenager notes.  Justin Theroux, as Lydia's wimpy TV producer boyfriend, runs hot and cold.

But Keaton? Back in form.  Another socko performance.  Truly invested, as hilarious as ever.