I had my doubts when they announced Beetlejuice Beetlejuice to be the opening film of the 81st Venice Film Festival. Did anyone ask for this sequel? Is there any evidence that Tim Burton’s still got it? Should anyone attempt to recapture lightening in a bottle after more than 35 years? Well, color me surprised. Quirky, joyous, vibrantly macabre, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice managed to recreate the original’s winning mix of innocent, childlike wonder and morbidly mad imagination. It’s the most enjoyable opener Venice has seen in years and the best thing Burton has done in… decades? It put a big, stupid smile on my face.
If there was any question as to whether we’d want to revisit Winter River, it’s emphatically answered within seconds as the camera once again glides over the eerie suburban landscape accompanied by Danny Elfman’s iconic, ominous score. Only this time we don’t land on the Maitland’s (adorably portrayed in 1988 by Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis), who we’ve learned have “moved on”, but rather on Lydia Deetz (Winona Ryder), who has used her ability to see the dead to become a famous TV personality. When her father dies in a freaky accident, Lydia’s stepmother Delia (Catherine O’Hara) gathers the family for a funeral at their old, haunted home. That’s when Lydia’s estranged daughter Astrid (Jenna Ortega) learns about the house’s fabled attic and the demon named Beetlejuice (Michael Keaton) that has been trying to marry her mother for 30 years. Shenanigans ensue both in the world of the living and in afterlife when Astrid falls for a local boy who’s not what he appears to be and Beetlejuice’s ex Delores (Monica Bellucci) comes back from the dead to hunt him down.
Clocking in at 104 minutes, the film is a goofily slick affair jam-packed with jokes and spectacles. Sure, they won’t be teaching Alfred Gough and Miles Millar’s script in screenwriting class but, for all its wisecracking, at times expositional dialogue, the story does find a clever way to weave the numerous set pieces seamlessly together for one fast-paced, satisfying ride. It’s in its pure, undistracted intent to be silly and to entertain that the film most reminded me of the original, or 80’s films in general. Of course it doesn’t hurt to see many of the stars reprise their roles and have such fun doing it.
As was the case back then, Keaton doesn’t actually have that much screen time, but Beetlejuice remains the character that jump-starts the whole thing. And you can just tell he’s having the time of his life overacting up a storm again. More than Batman or Birdman, there’s an ease and palpable relish with which Keaton embodies this centuries-old macho ghoul that still catch you off guard. Comedy legend O’Hara may be in her 70’s but God, the way she can make any offhand remark fly is unmatched. Delia the kooky avant-garde artist has a lot to say about her husband’s death and it’s a blast to see O’Hara deliver those one-liners with a casualness that lets you know that she knows she’s nailed them. I also very much enjoyed seeing Lydia Deetz and Wednesday Addams – two generations of Burton’s goth girls – on screen together. Ryder isn’t always great in comedies but her rapport with Burton probably helped shape this delightfully loose performance. Oh and there’s Bellucci as the cold-blooded soul-sucker who, with her diva-licious side-eyes and pouts, is giving the gays everything they want.
Of course, no one is having more fun than Burton himself. After a series of massive Disney misfires, he’s got his creative juices flowing again by going back to his roots. All the ghosts and undead corpses notwithstanding, nothing he’s put out has felt so wildly alive in a long time. The production, makeup, costume and creatures design, the music, the cinematography and editing, all the elements come together to convey a sense of play that’s as genuine as it is infectious. While this is hardly challenging or groundbreaking cinema, Venice could have done a lot worse than opening with a film that’s so well crafted and relentlessly entertaining. A total hoot.
Meanwhile, on the other end of the decibel scale, the Giornate degli Autori sidebar (sometimes known as „Venice Days”) also opened today with Japanese writer/director Kohei Igarashi’s third feature Super Happy Forever. Featherlight, poetic and achingly romantic, it has none of the razzle-dazzle of Beetlejuice, but sends ripples through your mind with such a delicate touch you don’t even know what hit you.
We meet the protagonist Sano (Hiroki Sano) at a seaside hotel. Despite the glorious summer weather and ocean view, the young man seems dispirited, almost stupefied. He barely responds to his buddy Miyata’s attempts at levity, can’t be bothered by anything other than finding this one red cap that he apparently lost years ago. As we begin to wonder what’s wrong with this guy, the two friends chance upon Miyata’s acquaintances from a self-help seminar that’s all about appreciating the serendipities in life and being super happy forever. That’s when we learn how Sano met his wife Nagi (Nairu Yamamoto) through the luckiest coincidence of his life, and how Nagi has died.
Structured in two parts, the narrative of Super Happy Forever bleeds at the halfway mark into the past, where we meet the sweet-natured, somewhat oblivious girl Nagi as she arrives at the same seaside hotel and meets the shy, thoughtful boy Sano. The chemistry is instant, and since they must go back to their respective lives the next day, they decide to spend what hours they have left together. Nothing terribly dramatic happens between these two people who are simply, imperceptibly falling in love. Little do they know that memories of this hot summer day will prove so special they’ll spend lifetimes retracing every detail.
Something I’ve read recently describes this film well: Every love story is a ghost story. The place where it all began may still be there but the person is no longer. Mementos disappear, evidence of what once was expires. But we continue to be haunted by the shadows and echoes of love, feelings that come rushing back triggered by a mere word, a tune, a red cap. Igarashi has composed a film of remembrance that’s more about finding a mood than building a plot. And I think he nailed the mood. As through a chemical reaction, the film’s languid, ponderous first half and breezy, hopeful second morph into a beautifully melancholic whole that spells out nothing, but on an visceral, human level, communicates everything.
That was the first day for me at the 81st Venice Film Festival. A dynamite Tim Burton comedy and a quiet Japanese charmer – you gotta love the spectrum of cinema. Starting tomorrow, the race for the Golden Lion begins as we get to the competition films, so check back to see if some of the most high-profile titiles of the festival turn out to be actual winners.
