REVIEW BY EMMA PARFITT
EDITED BY MYA HELOU
Green and purple lights glide across the audience of the Regent Theatre. Bright hues refract from mirrors, pulsing onto the curtain. A large neon sign reading ‘Betelgeuse, Betelgeuse’ points to a gap in the curtain where haze, lit in bright green, leeches onto the stage. It’s an enticing sneak peek into the strange and unusual world we are about to venture into. The thundering drums underscoring the eerie, ghostly music fade and anticipation grips the auditorium. It’s showtime.
Tim Burton’s iconic 1988 film Beetlejuice took pop culture by storm. There is something grotesquely alluring about the comedic approach that it takes to the inherently un-funny idea of death (and other themes that are also fundamentally very serious), whilst still holding onto its horror elements. Beetlejuice’s bizarre, horrific and hilarious way of seeing life and death wormed its way into the cultural psyche and has never really left. Thus, it makes sense that when Beetlejuice: The Musical burst onto the Broadway scene in 2019, it gained its own cult following to rival that of the original movie.
Musical theatre’s Beetlejuice, with book by Scott Brown and Anthony King and directed by Alex Timbers, stays true to the key themes and aesthetic of the film, but as Beetlejuice unabashedly tells us from the get-go, it does make some bold departures from the source material. Lydia Deetz mourns the loss of her beloved mom before Beetlejuice comes crashing in, warning us that this is a show about death. Immediately proving this point, the Maitlands, Barbara and Adam, barely have time to sing a song about all the things they want to do at some point, but not yet, when a freak electrical accident leaves them dead and trapped in their house. Lydia, who just wants to go back home where she feels connected to her mom, befriends the Maitlands as they somewhat pathetically try to claim back their house from Lydia’s metaphorically absent father Charles who wants to make it the centre of a gated community. In tow is Delia, who he employs to be Lydia’s ‘life coach’ and who also happens to be his fiancé. The haunting efforts only make matters worse, finally convincing the increasingly desperate Lydia to summon Beetlejuice. What ensues is a mishmash of motivations and manipulations leading to a journey that traverses the world of the living, the dead and somewhere in between.
I remember the original cast album releasing when I was at that Lydia Deetz-adjacent high school age. Contemporary musicals like Hamilton and Dear Evan Hansen had started to leak into the mainstream and suddenly listening to showtunes was just a little less of a weird and obnoxious thing to do. The entire soundtrack made it into my coveted everyday playlist; Alex Brightman’s Tony Awards performance of ‘The Whole Being Dead Thing’ sandwormed its way into my brain and slime tutorials of Sophia Anne Caruso did the rounds on social media. I have keenly waited for Beetlejuice’s arrival onto Australian shores since. Six years later, Beetlejuice: The Musical has taken Melbourne by storm in an unprecedented way. It’s one of the hottest tickets in town; the show that is on everyone’s lips. That is largely because of the name that everyone’s been saying: Eddie Perfect, Eddie Perfect, Eddie Perfect.
Eddie Perfect’s music and lyrics for Beetlejuice made their way from Brunswick to Broadway in spectacular fashion. In this production, to the delight of his hometown, he makes his debut as Beetlejuice himself. This has sent Melbourne positively spiralling into Beetlejuice-mania and the whole city has been abuzz with pride. The cultural phenomenon that Beetlejuice has ignited in Melbourne makes it abundantly clear: this Melbourne season is not only a show, but a homecoming for Beetlejuice.
Perfect’s music is nothing short of genius. It traverses genre, with jazzy melodies, reggaeton beats, rock-concert moments and the classic tap-danceable musical theatre style combining into something truly its own. Each character is given the chance to shine, and Perfect is a master at writing music that lends a unique voice to the characters. The lyrics are so satisfying, from Beetlejuice’s incessantly on-the-nose call-outs of the audience to Lydia’s heart-wrenching ballads to Adam and Barbara’s panicked patters in ‘Ready Set, Not Yet.’ It is hit after hit after hit. There is no denying that this is one of the defining contemporary musical theatre soundtracks of our time.
Unsurprisingly, Perfect holds this audience in the palm of his hand and he knows it. He tears the fourth wall to the ground from the moment he materialises onstage, riffing off the crowd’s enthusiastic responses to his deliveries. Any stand-up comic would be envious of his confident connection to the crowd, who hang on to his every word and cackle at his every joke, no matter how gross. This forms a robust core for his swagger-filled Beetlejuice persona. His Beetlejuice is every bit as sleazy and uncomfortable as you could expect, and he balances this terrifically with the humour and occasional vulnerability of the character that garners sympathy even for this most unlikeable of characters. He holds his own vocally too, delivering exceptional humour in his songs. We can only hope that his vocal chords, which deliver unwavering grit, don’t meet the Netherworld too soon, because seeing Perfect perform his own songs in his hometown makes for something hellishly special.
Whilst this may be touted as Perfect’s show, there is somebody else it belongs to. Karis Oka is no newbie to the mainstage, but her embodiment of Lydia Deetz is a star being born. Stepping into Lydia’s (knee high buckle leather) boots is no easy task – the character is held so close to the hearts of a generation, especially of young women, who feel seen in her. Oka takes Lydia and breathes new life into her, giving an eternal performance that is a thrill, a wonder and a roller-coaster to witness. Her Lydia is filled to the brim with determination, guts and agency – she flips the traditional power dynamics on their head as she becomes the one to revere and fear. Whilst she brings the bright vocal quality that has come to be synonymous with the role, the choices she makes along the way show that Oka has made Lydia her own, through and through, and she has done it with care. There’s a touching softness to her voice until she lets it rip with a belt to die for at the perfect moment. Oka takes us on a gorgeously nuanced journey through the emotions of remembering loved ones we’ve lost; the pain and anger, but also the joy that comes with treasuring and sharing memories. Her ‘Dead Mom’ is life affirming, and she leads us on a journey that broke my heart and put it back together again more than once. She is an absolute force when it comes to storytelling, and never at the expensive of vocals that are nothing less than jaw-dropping. With her sensitive and genuine performance, she grounds this show.
These leads are flanked by a wonderfully talented supporting cast of eclectic characters played with exceptional skill and variety. Elise McCann and Rob Johnson as the Maitlands are wonderfully dorky, cringe and oh so very middle-class-suburban-and-white. Perhaps the Maitlands, given their inherent boringness, were the characters I would least expect to single out for physicality in a show packed to the rafters with physical skill that insult the flexibility of us meagre mortals. However, McCann and Johnson’s boring couple mannerisms stand out in consistency, commitment and hard-to-watch accuracy. They have the vocal prowess to back it up too, and sound silky-smooth together. Erin Clare absolutely nailed the irony of pathetically out-of-touch wannabe life coach Delia to hilarious effect, particularly in ‘No Reason’, and had great chemistry with Tom Wren’s Charles. Wren’s over-dramatic delivery of such blunt lines as “I’m not comfortable with feelings” allude to the show that Charles puts on to get through his grief, allowing wonderful contrast in the moments he shows his vulnerability.
Whilst it felt like this show was still finding its pace and rhythm in the dialogue-heavy scenes – which at times felt low towards the start of the show – extreme high after extreme high is reached, especially with the appearance of the ensemble. They light up the stage with energy, individuality, satisfying harmonies and some hilarious featured moments and physics-defying energy. Their flawless execution of Connor Gallagher’s dynamic, high-octane and comedic choreography is a sight to behold, and they sound incredible to boot. The sound mix, however, struggled to keep up with them, with it sometimes being difficult to hear the lead cast.
One of the greatest triumphs of this show is its outstanding technical achievement. The attention to detail is evident – props to technical director Cameron Flint and a very on-the-ball stage management and operation team. There are many nods to the musical’s cinematic origins with projections guiding transitions, cartoony spirals and stripes throughout the set (David Korins) and costumes (William Ivey Long) with lavishly contrasting colours and shapes. That’s not to mention the jaw-dropping, larger-than-life puppets (Michael Curry) which are a real feast for the eyes, commanding the space and moving fantastically. Kenneth Posner’s lighting really takes Beetlejuice to another world, with highly saturated colours forming a palette that it is so extraordinarily bold that it can only be described as trademark Beetlejuice. Care, precision and bravery underpin the technical choices of this production, and it creates real magic. It becomes its own character, with some hilariously placed sound effects and pointedly pathetic amounts of haze garnering many a laugh. Beetlejuice is an absolutely popping party of projections, puppets and pyrotechnics that transform this show into a spectacular.
When Beetlejuice tells us “the Maitlands are the real enemy of this story,” we laugh because it seems absurd, but it comes with a substantial realisation. The real enemy of Beetlejuice isn’t Lydia’s tragically emotionally-unavailable Dad, or the disastrously phony Delia, or even the extorting, torturing, lying, underage-bride-marrying Beetlejuice. The enemy of Beetlejuice is normal. That is the allure – it gives a home to the strange and unusual parts of ourselves that we try to make invisible. It’s something that unites the Lydias and the Maitlands of the world, and everyone in between. That, to me, truly captures the essence of theatre.
Beetlejuice: The Musical embraces its strangeness and unusualness at every crazed twist and turn. It injects self-aware over-the-top hilarity into every facet, from the songs to the performances to the technical elements, creating a ghoulishly good celebration of musical theatre. Maybe, at the end of the day, it is just a really funny horror musical with catchy tunes. Or maybe it is a heartfelt call to embrace the strange, unusual, chaotic, difficult and imperfect parts of ourselves.
Seek a little strange and unusual, and you will find life beyond all comprehension.
Beetlejuice: The Musical is currently playing at the Regent Theatre, Melbourne.
EMMA PARFITT (she/her) is the Dialog’s head editor and has written Dialog reviews alongside studying towards her science degree for the past two years. She is a production manager, stage manager and producer on the Melbourne indie theatre scene and a veteran of student theatre at Union House Theatre.
MYA HELOU (they/them) is an English and Theatre Studies major whose love of theatre was fostered by Shakespeare and classical Greek tragedies. They will take every opportunity to discuss either.
The Dialog is supported by Union House Theatre.
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