Beetlejuice Was Early Tim Burton That Went Full-On Strange To Mostly Endearing Results

We all know the tricks of the trade of Tim Burton movies at this point. Until recently, Johnny Depp and Helena Bonham-Carter were guaranteed to show up in some capacity and the majority of his 21st-century output consists of remakes of already existing movies. And of course, the visual aesthetic that lands somewhere between gothic and quirky that's seen in nearly all of his work is perhaps his most defining trait as a filmmaker. But back in 1988, Burton had only directed one movie (as well as a slew of short films), so I'm sure seeing his morbid sensibilities very much front and center in the film Beetlejuice was very much a shock to many. Burton was coming out of the gate swinging and not putting aside any of his idiosyncrasies, that was for sure.

For Adam (Alec Baldwin) and Barabara Maitland (Geena Davis), their relaxing life in a Connecticut house comes to an abrupt end when they're killed in a car accident that leaves them as ghosts unable to travel beyond their house. With the two no longer being alive, their home is soon taken over by a family of rich individuals that get on Adam and Barbara's nerves, save for perturbed teenage daughter Lydia (Winona Rider). In an effort to rid the new residents of their domicile, Adam and Barbara try to scare them away (as ghosts are prone to do), but have little success. But salvation may be found in a dead individual known for taking care of pesky living folks...a fellow by the name of Beetlejuice (Michael Keaton).

Now, years of hearing about Beetlejuice by way of pop culture references left me thinking Beetlejuice was like the comic sidekick to our main characters, someone akin to Robin Williams Genie, if you will. Instead, to my surprise, Beetlejuice is actually more of an outright antagonist, a pest used only as a last resort by the characters, and even then they quickly regret calling him into their lives. Yes, you're supposed to laugh at a number of his manic antics, but it became quickly apparent to me that Beetlejuice was like the Raptors in Jurassic Park or Freddy Kruger in A Nightmare In Elm Street, an antagonistic creation who became popular enough with audiences to become something they idolized and revered in a way usually saved for strictly good guys.

Michael Keaton is obviously having a blast playing this guy, whose reminiscent of early versions of Daffy Duck, all high-wire energy without any sense of boundaries or anyone else's needs. Most of the other characters that aren't Lydia are mostly one-note archetypes that aren't necessarily bad, they're just disposable. It's apparent that the main goal of Tim Burton and company here was not to create fully fleshed out characters but rather fulfill any crazy idea about the afterlife that popped into their heads. If you could make a Wiki back in 1988, I'm sure the folks behind this movie could have had more than enough backstory to fill out twenty Wiki's.

Sometimes, that slavish devotion to overly weird set pieces is fun, other times it feels like they're just beating a one-joke horse to death. Beetlejuice's climactic mayhem is a positive example of what happens when the go-for-broke nature of the production is working like gangbusters and then there are broad jokes about stuck-up arty farty types or waiting in line at places like the DMV that feel far less inventive compared to the more imaginative aspects of the film. Basically, this entire movie is basically a feature-length exercise in stylized indulgence, for better or for worse.

Luckily, just enough of Beetlejuice is entertaining enough to mostly justify this type of structure. There's not much substance on the meat of the bones of this thing, and it's not quite funny enough the entire time to fully excuse that lack of depth, but it's hard not to root for Beetlejuice as a movie if only because of how throoguhly everyone is tossing themselves head first into its own unique brand of strangeness that Tim Burton would handily turn into routine in his 21st century efforts. But back in 1988, this was a kind of cinematic identity that defined unique and Beetlejuice still stands up as a better example of what happens when Burton's sensibilities are mostly working.