Don’t worry if you don’t remember (or have never seen) Tim Burton’s brilliant Beetlejuice, because book writers Scott Brown & Anthony King retain only the bare bones of Michael McDowell & Larry Wilson’s original screen story, drastically reshuffling plot points and character relationships. But Lydia (Isabella Esler) is still a lonely, afterlife-obsessed teen who befriends Adam (Will Burton) and Barbara (Britney Coleman), a klutzy couple of recently-deceased ghosts. Together, they unwittingly unleash a foul-mouthed demon named Beetlejuice (Justin Collette), whose name must be uttered thrice before he can molest mortals.
The requisite minimum of iconic onscreen moments are reproduced — from the possessed partygoers’ “Day-O” dance to the shrunken-headed hunter in the Netherworld — but an equal number of quotable monologues are omitted entirely, and there’s nary an aural homage to Danny Elfman’s unforgettable score. Eddie Perfect’s songs are a mix of angsty pop power-ballads and hard-rock pastiche, leaning on Hamilton-lite patter. The tunes aren’t especially memorable, no matter how insistently they are reprised, but they make a perfect platform for Perfect’s profane and pun-peppered lyrics, which work in tandem with the sharp, snarky script to skewer audiences’ expectations.
Apart from the frequent F-bombs, the musical’s tone and mythology seem more influenced by Universal Orlando’s old Beetlejuice’s Graveyard Revue show or the Saturday-morning cartoon series than by Burton’s gothic vision. However, novel interpolations such as the new motivation behind Beetlejuice’s manipulations, as well as the reasons behind Lydia’s gloom, add unexpected emotional depth for both fans of the film and newcomers alike … even if I couldn’t make heads or tails of the cosmological rules by the conclusion.
The fact that Beetlejuice: The Musical proves to be a devilish delight despite its deviations from the source material and middling music is largely attributable to three factors. First, Alex Timbers’ breakneck direction, in cooperation with Connor Gallagher’s phantasmagorical choreography, imbues the show a manic energy that doesn’t allow viewers time to analyze the logical lapses. Second, William Ivey Long’s imaginative costume designs and Michael Curry’s monstrous puppets, framed against David Korins’ pop-up-book sets, perfectly evoke the essence of Tim Burton’s eerie aesthetic.
Most importantly, Beetlejuice’s cast shamelessly embraces these over-the-top shenanigans, displaying obvious delight at being inside a live-action Scooby Doo episode, and their enthusiasm is instantly infectious. From Collette’s titular poltergeist (who is both ickier and more endearing than Michael Keaton’s spook) and the extraordinary young Esler’s wily heroine (more Jenna “Wednesday Addams” Ortega than Winona Ryder), each actor remakes these familiar characters as their own, rather than simply standing in the shadows of their silver screen originators. A special shout-out goes to opening night understudy Lexie Dorsett Sharp for stealing scenes as dotty Delia, normally played by Kate Marilley.
It may not have delivered all the fan service I expected, and I’m frankly mystified how the soundtrack became a social media sensation. But I’m thrilled that Beetlejuice finally washed the lingering aftertaste of flavorless film-musicals out of my mouth, and ended this Broadway touring season on a deliciously naughty note.
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This article appears in Jun 28 – Jul 4, 2023.