Tim Burton – ‘Beetlejuice’
Having been creatively stifled for several decades, reserved as a space for niche filmmakers to experiment, in the 1980s, the horror genre went mainstream, becoming a frenetic form of storytelling where directors could flex their creative muscles. In the space of just ten years, however, the genre had almost gone through a complete cycle, with classic movies like Friday the 13th and A Nightmare On Elm Street being followed by favourites that dismantled horror, like Sam Raimi’s Evil Dead II and Tim Burton’s iconic comedy flick Beetlejuice.
The first of Burton’s films to be emblazoned with his iconic creative approach, Beetlejuice was preceded only by a legion of 1970s short films, Disney’s 1984 project Frankenweenie, and the popular comedy Pee-wee’s Big Adventure from 1985. Still, nestled within this early creative oeuvre was the gothic 1982 monochrome stop-motion short Vincent, a predecessor to the director’s style that would germinate in the coming decade.
Much like Vincent, constructed with jagged sets that sang from the same hymn sheet as the German Expressionist films of the 1920s, Beetlejuice, too, is a marvel of visual aesthetics, with every inch of Burton’s world feeling lovingly built by hand, as if the entire story is taking place in a cursed storybook. Even before we get to the eccentric otherworld where the titular character resides, the base of the story in Winter River, Connecticut, already feels mischievously mystical.
Though a sprawling fantasy tale, much of the action takes place at the home of Adam (Alec Baldwin) and Barbara Maitland (Geena Davis), or what was their home, with the duo now living as ghosts in their own home after failing to survive a car crash. Though, soon after accepting their fate, their peace is disturbed by the arrival of a new family from New York City who obnoxiously goes about redesigning the house.
The Deetz family, including father Charles (Jeffrey Jones), second wife Delia (Catherine O’Hara) and their daughter Lydia (Winona Ryder), are polar opposites of the humble Maitlands, carrying an air of unbearable pomposity as they turn the house into a piece of modern art. Unhappy with the sudden appearance of the Deetz family, Adam and Barbara go about travelling to the afterlife to find a way to drive them out so they can reclaim the house for themselves.
The unlikely solution is Betelgeuse (Michael Keaton), a mischievous ghost who agrees to help the duo to drive out their unwanted guests but who also has some ulterior motives that mean chaos for the Maitlands. It is Keaton’s character who, too, bottles the essence of the film, carrying all its innovative charm and mischievousness, well carrying out Burton’s creative vision that bristles with cinematic promise.
A manic character that has become a staple of contemporary Halloween costumes, Keaton is given a handy head start when it comes to giving personality to his title character, with Burton and the makeup and costume department making him look like a compelling snake oil salesman from beyond the grave. With the sharp striped suit of a Mod and the swagger of a wise-cracking womaniser, Betelgeuse (whose name is pronounced ‘Beetlejuice’), is a fun and frenetic ringmaster who stretches the logic of the world to his chaotic will.
Thanks to the screenplay from Michael McDowell, Larry Wilson, and Warren Skaaren, Keaton’s character resonates through the celluloid, being a meta antihero who exists in a world of his own. Electrifying each scene he appears in, Keaton effortlessly elevates the performances of those around him, elevating the profiles of Baldwin, Davis and Ryder, who were still very much in the infancy of their careers.
Breathing with the same eccentricity of 1980s horror movies, Beetlejuice shares more similarities to the camp gothic TV shows of the 1960s, such as The Addams Family and The Munsters. Whilst vibing with the homemade aesthetic and eccentric comedy of both shows, Burton’s film also owes much to Jim Sharman’s 1975 horror musical The Rocky Horror Picture Show, with many fans of the beloved favourite also being charmed by Beetlejuice’s camp cabaret persuasion.
No scene better illustrates this than the iconic moment in which the Deetz family and their guests become possessed by an invisible entity and are forced to dance to ‘Day-O (The Banana Boat Song)’ by Harry Belafonte around their dining table. With fantastic physical performances from all involved, the moment encapsulates the witty frivolity of Burton’s movie, fit with structured dance moves that have since been replicated in countless fan recitals.
Indeed, the collective sense of frenetic zany cabaret is what makes Beetlejuice such a beloved film and Burton such a treasured filmmaker. Every detail of the 1988 flick feels like the product of a team of artists who truly cared about how the film was presented and interpreted, from Robert Short’s quality creature effects to the bouncy soundtrack from Danny Elfman, which bounces with spritely mischief.
An expression of individualism that would capture the imaginations of thousands of like-minded fans from across the world, Beetlejuice is an iconic example of just how barmy and liberating Hollywood studios were willing to be in the 1980s.
