Beetlejuice (1988)
Grab your Handbook for the Recently Deceased—it’s Tim Burton’s batshit comedy/horror, Beetlejuice. Tonally, this is perfection for most Hallowe’en hang-outs—pretty much nailing the seasonal scares of lighter fare such as The Addams Family features, but neatly negating their softness with an edgier, more off-kilter vibe. Beetlejuice has been on the periphery of my Hallowe’en party picks for years, but this particular mini-marathon set the necessary standard, spirit, and represented the specific eighties/nineties era I was looking to delve into, and chain together complimentary movies.
I feel as if I’ve had the necessary, rigorous training in the quirky, nonsensical humour of Burton all my life—from Pee-wee Herman to his Batman films. Here, charming newlyweds, Adam and Barbara Maitland, take an unfortunate tumble off a bridge in their car and perish, but in lieu of a peaceful, endless slumber, they find themselves negotiating a bureaucratic afterlife full of peculiar waiting rooms and paperwork—where even in death, poor souls are subject to arbitrary, administrative red-tape. Making matters worse for the previously happy couple, a pretentious family of oddball artists move in, and disrespectfully begin to rejig the Maitlands’ previously happy home. Seemingly only the madcap, loony antics of the smutty and salacious “bio-exorcist,” Betelgeuse can shoo the invasive tenants. I often consider the film’s smart satire. Its attractive theme of the villainous business-minded, versus the kind and thoughtful creatives speaks to me—as does the deader-inside-than-the-actually-deceased living ignoring the valuable, innate qualities of the strange and unusual to their own detriment.
It’s an all star affair. Geena Davis—just two years after Cronenberg’s The Fly, is in lovely form, and in light of the recent Alec Baldwin fiasco, my viewing was coloured slightly darker, but I still love their endearing relationship as the tragically drowned Maitlands. I mean, wouldn’t it be a right laugh—although in death, to assume scary guises, and frighten folks with your better half? I appreciate how maternal Geena is to Winona here as Lydia, and the shot of her unsettling, mournful crumbling as the aged Barbara in her wedding gown has never left me in all these years. There’s an overt romanticism here too, as recognised and honoured by prolific alt-country troubadour, Ryan Adams—once upon a time beau of serial-dater, Winona circa his Heartbreaker/Gold heyday, who wrote a song entitled, “This House is Not for Sale,” about the events and characters in the film. “My whole life is a dark room; one big, dark room,” oozes goth princess, Winona Ryder—just 15 when filming in ‘87, and 17 on the film’s release in ‘88, lookin’ like something between Edgar Allan Poe’s daughter, Robert Smith, and precious Mr Echo, Ian McCulloch, or perhaps one of the Jesus and Mary Chain.
The possibly insane (certainly insanely talented) Home Alone mum and Christopher Guest improv regular, Catherine O’Hara’s vibrant visage—paprika hair, scarlet lips, and coruscating blue eyes, pops throughout. Dick Cavett and Robert Goulet each have brief executive producer cameos. Problematic performer number two—after the doom-laden Baldwin, is the pedo-principal from Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, who pops up periodically to harsh our mellow.
That brings us to the oddity that is Michael Keaton. Cruising Dante’s air-conditioned “Inferno Room” full of hookers, we’re ceremoniously introduced to the most eligible bachelor since Valentino; the cockroach-eating pervert, Betelgeuse—I can only assume this original spelling caused a ruckus in the marketing department as no one could pronounce it. I could see Keaton doing a full stand-up show as Betelgeuse, but it would more than likely go sideways like a Bobcat Goldthwait special where you quickly get sick of the shtick. In my youth, I found the anticipatory mystique surrounding the character of Betelgeuse fascinating. I recall waiting to see him, and relished all of his disgusting appearances. I vividly remember the moment where he honks himself and hollers, “Nice fucking model!” as it was always cut for television.
Only a visionary could imagine the otherworldly quirks of Harry Belafonte tunes working so well here. Beginning with his “Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)” accompaniment to the table possession, and eternally sealed by the levitating Lydia dancing—now inseparably and iconically accompanied by Belafonte’s “Jump in the Line (Shake, Senora).” These calypso tunes are shrewdly scattered throughout, much like Cat Stevens was in Harold and Maude. Speaking of Hal Ashby’s peculiar and profound picture, the deathly appearances of the Maitlands even echo Harold’s faux suicides, revealing what was, I’m sure, an influence on Burton.
Where else could you possibly witness an attractive, suicidal, green Miss Argentina receptionist, a charred (literally smoking) Marlboro red shaky man, a run over flat guy, a little preacher with an alien head, skeleton office workers, a shrunken headed chap, a blue lady with separate legs and torso, a three fingered typist, a dumb dead football player, and a very dumb dead football player?
The crackers dénouement is lifted tenfold by Danny Elfman’s grandiose, raucous score—elevating the kooky picture on more occasions than I could count. The way that opening tableau tracking shot seamlessly and mysteriously merges into the giant tarantula trick miniature is an example of the meticulous skill and dexterous design at hand—from finger candles, to mirror gags, and levitation rigs—even the way Catherine O’Hara’s sculptures mirror and match Winona Ryder’s fringe feels intentional. In retrospect, although the shoddy rear projection of the sandworm segments plays kitschy in 2023, it’s somehow softened by the charm of the crude, yet appealing handmade stop motion animation.
Beetlejuice Drinking Game
Now, please join hands, and enjoy (responsibly) this doom and gloom Beetlejuice drinkalong. Simply sup thine pint, or bevoir of choice when…
- Goth angst is expressed—predominantly by Lydia
- Somebody says, “Betelgeuse”
- Calypso music plays
- A Sandworm appears
- The Handbook for the Recently Deceased is seen, or consulted
- Afterworld admin—the bureaucratic red-tape of the hereafter is negotiated
Scarious Artists 