AISLE SAY New York

BEETLEJUICE

Book by Scott Brown and Anthony King
Music and Lyrics by Eddie Perfect
Directed by Alex Timbers
Winter Garden Theatre
Official Website

Reviewed by David Spencer

I guess the best way of assessing Beetlejuice is to offer that it’s far better than it has a right to be. This because it is an almost relentlessly noisy affair, and because the score, by Eddie Perfect, is, predictably for a rock writer with no theatrical breeding, self-consciously about its theatrical venue and wise-assly meta about its characters and agenda, all of which is the enemy of sincerity. But then, so is Beetlejuice, in the person of School of Rock’s Alex Brightman. So all those wrong things add up to a package that kind of hangs together.

            The book, by Scott Brown and Anthony King reinvents the—dare I call it an origin story, even though it ends conclusively? (I guess I’m thinking of the animated series)—well, the how-it-happens anyway, which is not too surprising, because in the film, Michael Keaton’s Beetlejuice is only onscreen (onscream?) for about 20 minutes; whereas he’d have to be more of a constant presence in a musical; not to mention the need to create a show whose special effects, eye-popping though some may be (and the design is all very much rooted in original film director Tim Burton's template), are technically within the bounds of live theatre. Plot-wise, the musical follows a fairly sappy family-issues outline: renegade daughter Lydia (Sophia Anne Caruso) is distant from her father (Adam Dannheiser) because he’s married a trophy wife (Leslie Kritzer) before either one of them has properly come to terms with the passing of her mom/his first wife. But snappiness is the perfect target for Beetlejuice to skewer. Plus there’s the very sweet, very dead young married couple, former owners of the house, who died there (Kerry Butler and Rob McClure), as the friendly ghosts in the attic.

            For all that Beetlejuice is a movieland theme park musical, it’s a more honest one than, say, Pretty Woman, because the storytelling universe is so brazenly a theme park itself (and delivered with shameless abandon by director Alex Timbers). You can’t condemn it for being true to its own cynicism. It is what it is. And if you know what it is, you know whether you’ll like it.

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