Beetlejuice | 2

Visually, Burton makes a conscious decision to limit CGI in favor of practical puppetry, stop-motion sandworms, and prosthetic makeup. The afterlife’s expansion—including a “Soul Train” (literal train made of souls) and a bureaucratic labyrinth—retains the claustrophobic, felt-and-glue texture of the original. This aesthetic choice resists the “smooth” nostalgia of Marvel’s digital de-aging.

When summoned, Betelgeuse is initially pathetic—desperate for relevance, his magic rusty, his pop culture references outdated (he mocks “influencers” with a 1980s stand-up cadence). The film’s central joke is that he hasn’t changed, but the world has. His attempts at chaos are met with digital indifference. It is only when Lydia offers him not marriage (the original plot) but a chance to feel “alive” again through a final, high-stakes rescue that Betelgeuse regains his edge. The sequel argues that anarchy without an audience is merely sadness. His redemption is not moral but functional: he becomes useful again, which for a trickster is the only form of intimacy. beetlejuice 2

The original film ends with Lydia becoming a surrogate daughter to the Maitlands, embracing the weird. In the sequel, she has monetized that weirdness into a paranormal reality TV show, Ghost House . This is a sharp critique of the 2020s content economy: the goth girl who saw the dead has become a performative medium, haunted not by Beetlejuice but by impostor syndrome and the ghost of her estranged daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega). Visually, Burton makes a conscious decision to limit