By Keri O’Shea
Everyone seems to remember the first time they saw Beetlejuice.
I’d say it’s just one of those films which sticks with you, through its zany plot, its manic energy and wit; Beetlejuice is a rite of passage almost, something to recommend to your friends. I remember someone being allowed to get the film out of the long-gone Palace Video in my home town, making them the first in our class at school: said kid became instantly cool, especially when they’d watched the film enough times to be able to parrot its catchphrases. (If I remember rightly, they later got a detention for shouting “Nice fucking model!” in the playground.) Beetlejuice was definitely the film to see: I watched it with friends after class one evening, and I had never seen anything like it. I’d go so far as to say it warped my sense of humour forever: come on, how could you watch a film where characters humorously pull their faces off, pop their eyes out, get possessed by the spirit of the Banana Boat song, visit undead hookers, and of course there’s the dead guy who wants to marry a teenager – and not end up a little weird? Naturally, thankfully, I laughed all the way through. Perhaps the best tribute I can pay to it is to say that, even as an adult some twenty-plus years later, I still grin all the way through, every time I watch it, and I have seen this film many, many times. It appeals to a younger audience, but it works brilliantly for older audiences too.
Maybe you have to be a little older to appreciate one of the things it does so well, though, and it is this: Beetlejuice completely decimates received wisdom on death. And we have a hell of a lot of received wisdom on death: even if you grow up only tangentially aware of religion, then you will have somewhere in your mind the notion that when we die, we continue existing in some form, either in Heaven, or in Hell. If you get to the point where you reject this idea, you are still aware of the archetypes, and you can trot them out if need be.
Burton not only ditches these archetypes, but gives us an entirely new afterlife mythos. It’s smart, it’s bold and it’s unique. When the unfortunate newlyweds Adam and Barbara go to their watery graves, they slowly, but surely come to realise that the afterlife isn’t what they thought it would be. “Are we halfway to Heaven or halfway to Hell?” asks Barbara; well, neither, actually. The afterlife is in fact a bureaucracy, with a user’s manual, paperwork, case workers and very definite rules. This isn’t some serene, aspirational place where you instantaneously unite with your loved ones and enjoy eternity together. Far from it. One thing’s for sure in all of this: “Being dead really doesn’t make things any easier”.
Adam and Barbara come to appreciate this truism sooner rather than later, when they’re forced to share their home – the home they can’t leave, for fear of those damn sand worms – with the Deetz family, a bunch of renegade yuppies up from New York for some ‘peace and quiet’. As ‘artist’ Delia spraypaints her way through the house with her guru Otho in tow, the Maitlands start to get desperate. They can’t share eternity with these people. They do their best to scare ’em off, but as the living don’t generally see the dead, all of their (highly) creative efforts are in vain. Still, in the highly-organised afterlife they find themselves in, there are freelancers who might be able to help. Against the advice given to them by their case worker, they decide to employ a bio-exorcist – to get rid of the living. All you have to do is call his name three times…
Casting Michael Keaton as ‘the ghost with the most’ was an absolutely inspired choice: can you seriously, seriously imagine anyone else playing the character of Betelgeuse, or ‘Beetlejuice’, with as much glee? Beetlejuice is a true original, unsurpassed and a joy to watch as he sleazes it up. It’s no coincidence that a lot of his hijinks are accompanied by circus music, or resemble circus acts – he’s as much a demented clown as he is a ghost in any conventional sense, though of course, it’s not as if this film really holds much truck with convention at the best of times. It’s notable that the film really belongs to Keaton, even though he’s not actually on screen for that much of the film. Less is more maybe, because when he is around, he’s a paragon of demented, chaotic energy. If one word could sum up this movie it would be ‘mischief’. Keaton is key to that mischief. The whole film is filled with playfulness, though, which may be one more reason it made such a big impact on me, and others, as kids. It has the jokes, the pratfalls, the daft physical humour, but it also has something of that childlike ‘Wouldn’t it be cool if you could…’ as it flouts physical rules, from doors which magically open when they’re drawn on a wall, to the ability to lop off your head but still walk around.
So, Keaton steals the show, but all the casting in this film is spot on: Geena Davis and Alec Baldwin are sweet and likeable as the straight-laced Maitlands and Catherine O’Hara and Jeffrey Jones as the Deetzes are easy to poke fun at without just being stooges. I can’t go any further without talking about Winona Ryder as Lydia Deetz, though, can I?
With the exception of a redemptive performance in Black Swan, it feels like we don’t see that much of Ms. Ryder these days – or at least she’s not routinely in the types of films I end up seeing – and she’s no doubt had her share of problems, but back in the late eighties and early nineties, she appeared in some superb films in some superb roles, Beetlejuice being one of them (and who doesn’t love Heathers?) Her portrayal of Lydia Deetz is pitched perfectly, has a great balance of vulnerability and dark humour, and I wouldn’t mind betting that Lydia is one of the most famous goth girls in existence. When I was a kid I didn’t just like Lydia, I wanted to be Lydia, and I bet a lot of you ladies reading felt just the same. She meant it could be cool to be weird. Hard as it is to believe now that, for my sins, I have to go to work in smart/casual dress and long since gave up dyeing my hair unnatural shades of red or black, but Lydia was a big influence on my preferred aesthetic, back in the day. And I have to admit, I still go a bundle on the pale skin, dark hair and sardonic one liners. In Lydia, Burton created a classic character, and again, chose exactly the right actress to play her.
Beetlejuice came right at the start of Tim Burton’s career: a Pee Wee Herman movie (?) and his short films aside, this was the first proper cinematic foray into the world of his imagination, and being so early on, Beetlejuice came to be before Burton’s quirks became tropes. As much as I love Tim Burton, always will, his visual style and subject matter have become a tad…stale to me in recent years, and I’ve found myself questioning some of the directorial choices he’s made. So, it’s been refreshing to revisit an early movie like this one to get the benefit of his distinctive creativity, when it felt like just that. The Tim Burton aesthetic was in development in Beetlejuice, but it wasn’t as set in stone: there’s a bit more variety at play here, so you get the recognisable visual tics (like that love of black and white stripes) but there’s lots of colour and experimentation with the appearance of characters on screen. The Burton obsession with outsiders is here, but it’s understated. The fascination with morbidity is here of course, but plays out in a novel, unexpected way.
For me, everything here just works. It’s lively, it’s funny, it’s well-written and it’s aged pretty damn well, right down to the special effects: I’d say that this is Burton’s finest moment, and it’s stood the test of time for good reason. This is one film which definitely deserves the cult status it has garnered over the past twenty-five years; it’s one of the most original, enjoyable pieces of storytelling ever to be committed to celluloid. Thank-you, Tim Burton and thank-you, Beetlejuice: trust me, there’s absolutely no more fun way to be sent strange…
