Tim Burton’s Beetlejuice was something of a revelation in its time. His second feature film played like a dusty ghost train, a live-action cartoon bursting with visual gags, offbeat humor, and Danny Elfman’s infectious score. In 1988, it was rare for a family film to be so gleefully macabre, and even rarer for a young Hollywood director—raised on a diet of monster movies and comic books—to be given the budget for something so bizarre.
Watching Beetlejuice again, nearly four decades later, the film now feels more quaint than outrageous. Cozy, but tame. The small-town setting, B-movie homages, and deliberately lo-fi practical effects (papier-mâché monsters, stop-motion skeletons, inflatable tentacles) give it a scrappy charm, but its once-subversive edge has softened over time.
Still, it gave us Michael Keaton as the horny, prankster poltergeist, and for that, the world remains grateful. It gave us Geena Davis, Winona Ryder, and a visual style that would become Burton’s signature. The film clearly still resonates, enough that a sequel—almost 40 years later—feels justified.
Davis and Alec Baldwin, the sweet couple from the original, are absent. But Winona Ryder, Keaton, Catherine O’Hara, and Burton himself return, along with Elfman’s unmistakable music.
This time, Delia Deetz (O’Hara) is newly widowed as her husband Charles was written out of the movie. Actor Jeffrey Jones was 2002 arrested for possession of child pornography and soliciting a minor to pose for explicit photos.
Her daughter Lydia, meanwhile, has grown up to be a TV psychic, speaking to the dead for entertainment, much to the delight of her smarmy producer, Rory (Justin Theroux), who pressures her to marry him.
The family returns to Winter River for Charles Deetz’s funeral, and, like clockwork, one of them slips into the afterlife—which remains an amusingly bureaucratic mess. And just like before, Beetlejuice offers his assistance in smuggling the lost soul back to the land of the living—for a price.
The first film didn’t have much in the way of plot either. It thrived on its energy, its eccentricity, and Keaton’s unpredictable performance. That formula remains unchanged here. There’s room for a musical gag or two, including a Donna Summer disco version of “MacArthur Park” and a punchline involving the TV show Soul Train. The film also crams in familiar faces from the afterlife: Danny DeVito pops up as a janitor, Willem Dafoe plays a long-dead action star, and Monica Bellucci oozes menace as Delores—the supernatural “soul-sucker” who was once married to Beetlejuice.
The best scene comes early, when Bellucci’s character, whose body has been ripped apart, slowly staples herself back together with eerie precision. She’s so stunning that even a deep scar running across her face feels like a fashion statement. It’s a wonder Burton doesn’t do more with her (especially considering they’re now a couple). The same goes for Dafoe, who is underused but entertaining in his brief screen time.
But it’s still fun to see the Deetz family again, and Keaton—toned down for modern audiences, but still a force of nature. The special effects are sharper, though they retain a deliberate cheesiness when necessary.
Is it essential? Not really. But Beetlejuice Beetlejuice delivers enough visual flair, nostalgia, and eccentric charm to make the return trip worthwhile.
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Amazing film. Very funny!