Beetlejuice Beetlejuice

Tropic Sprockets by Ian Brockway

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In 1988, Tim Burton’s madcap Halloween fantasy “Beetlejuice” came on the screen with a flourish and frenzy of dazzling color and quirk. It had a melancholic but surrealistic sensibility that Tim Burton fashioned into his own style, employing elements from Charles Addams, Edgar Allan Poe, and Steven Spielberg with a bit of Dr. Seuss.

Though Burton borrowed from many artists, he had his own unique vision, and the film was a hit. To top it off, “Beetlejuice” starred Michael Keaton as a wisecracking undead creature who ridiculed everything under the sun, from social conventions to horror film history.

In many ways, the film went further than “Ghostbusters” (1984) in its sheer silliness and free ranging ideas.

Now here is its sequel that covers much the same territory. Micheal Keaton is here again, as is Winona Ryder reprising her classic role as Lydia, now forced to summon Betelgeuse to protect her daughter (Jenna Ortega) from the undead.

While there is little surprise and less spontaneity, the film is buoyed by Keaton the iconic Bio-Exorcist from the original outing. With his ever-recognizable white makeup, Keaton passably maintains the belly-laughs with his skull-driven sarcasm. Jenna Ortega boosts the story too, giving it some poignancy as the frustrated outsider who is overwhelmed by the Goth trappings of her mother and grandparents. That being said despite the repartee, the All Hallow’s hijinks feel a little morose and a bit less inspired, from an undead janitor who listens to Jimmy Buffett on a Walkman, to a hall of shrunken heads in a bureaucratic afterlife agency.

The previous characters (Catherine O’Hara and Winona Ryder) feel as if they are projecting themselves as colorforms, acting in second gear. The real energy of the film comes from the rapid effects: there is a rousing disco subway scene and then a surreal wedding. These frenzied segments carry some vitality, reminiscent of dreams and dreaming.

Yet when the film is concerned with narrative elements it becomes bogged down with cheerless spooks. Monica Bellucci, as striking as she is, feels pedestrian as a Morticia-Vampira-Zombie. There just isn’t much for her to do. Ryder runs around in a sable outfit with Keaton grimacing from behind, and while it’s good to see them, the frights fall a little flat.

The plot is lack-luster but the mania of the effects containing the claymation texture of vintage Burton is this film’s crucial sorcery and its singular saving grace.

Write Ian at ianfree11@yahoo.com