This year, Elisa is once again covering the Venice Film Festival for The Film Experience, writing a daily diary of her cinematic experiences from the Lido. The two opening films that inaugurated the 81st edition—one from the main competition and the other from the Orizzonti section—create a surprising and unexpected dialogue.
BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE (2024). Credit: Warner Bros Entertainment Inc)
by Elisa Giudici
BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE by Tim Burton
Gossip has revealed that much has changed recently in Tim Burton's personal life. He has a new woman by his side, both personally and professionally and a young muse who perfectly embodies his signature gothic aesthetic. Surprisingly, this shift has had a positive impact on Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, the sequel that, 36 years after the original, finds a legitimate reason to exist. It’s moderately entertaining, offers some successful sequences, and proves itself more than worthy of opening the 81st Venice Film Festival...
It’s immediately evident that Miles Millar and Alfred Gough, the duo behind Burton's recent hit Netflix series Wednesday, are the creative forces behind this film. The return of Beetlejuice carries that series same gothic and detached sensibilities, along with the same lighthearted exploration of a morbid fascination with death, what comes after, and how it shapes the most bizarre, strongest, and truest romantic relationships. In truth, Millar and Gough borrow so heavily from the series, that Astrid’s (Jenna Ortega) narrative arc, who plays teenage daughter of the original film’s protagonist, mirrors that of Wednesday Addams (also, of course, Jenna Ortega).
However, compared to the past, Burton shows less indulgence in glorifying the odd and proud teenager. Lydia (Winona Ryder), once a symbol of fierce independence, is now portrayed as a woman trapped in a codependent relationship that’s anything but romantic. At least she hasn’t abandoned her gothic wardrobe. The true moral center of the film shifts to the former quasi-villain, Delia (Catherine O'Hara). Finding amusement in her teenage granddaughter O'Hara returns to this iconic role with fresh energy, giving Lydia a taste of her own adolescent medicine. This renewed vitality stems both from her deep engagement with the character and from Burton's apparent ease with such roles—whether it’s Beetlejuice himself or Willem Dafoe’s character, an ex-actor turned faux policeman of the afterlife. O'Hara, Michael Keaton (and Danny DeVito in a brief cameo) steal the show, effortlessly delivering scenes filled with song, dance, and well-timed double entendres. Meanwhile, Ortega, Ryder, and Monica Bellucci, who plays a villain in just a few scenes, are surprisingly sidelined.
Catherine O'Hara in BEETLEJUICE BEETLEJUICE (2024). Credit: Warner Bros Entertainment Inc.)
There’s even a bold and romantic moment where Burton hints that, deep down, Lydia’s true great love might be Beetlejuice. She calls on him whenever she’s in trouble, shares a deep spiritual connection, and in one dream sequence, she even gives birth to a son in the form of a killer puppet—a creation that Beetlejuice himself adores as an artistic expression. This isn’t entirely surprising, considering that both the film’s climax and ending are, to some extent, dream sequences. However, the film eventually shifts back to a more contemporary narrative focus, highlighting three generations of extraordinary women who have been abandoned—or put in danger—by the men in their lives.
The film’s commentary on influencers comes across as slightly 'okay Boomer,' paling in comparison to the sharp satire of the original. Still, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice manages to surprise in a good way. It’s especially refreshing to see Burton the director brimming with energy and creative verve, 36 years ago after the original. His fascination with death and the afterlife has evolved from morbid curiosity to a more playful exploration. Behind the doors of the afterlife, we no longer find lost souls exorcised by the living and doomed to die a second time in despair. Instead, there’s a "soul train," in both spirit and music.
FEELING BETTER. Photo credit: Matteo Graia
NONOSTANTE (FEELING BETTER) by Valerio Mastandrea
Anyone who regularly watches Italian cinema is well-acquainted with the face of Valerio Mastandrea, a prominent and charismatic figure in the industry. In every role he plays, he exudes a certain underlying melancholy, a trait that often reflects the spirit of many inhabitants of Rome, the Italian capital.
It's no surprise, then, that his second directorial effort, Feeling Better, is a romantic melodrama set within the walls of a hospital ward. Here, the lifeless bodies of the protagonists reside while their souls wander aimlessly. The "despites" (nonostante as in the original title) in the film are at a crossroads: if they die, they vanish forever; if they survive, they forget the years spent in the company of their fellow patients' spirits.
Like Burton's work, this film also deals in ghosts, but with a distinctly European approach. Feeling Better has little in common with contemporary Italian cinema and uses ghosts, much like Burton does, albeit in an Italian hospital setting instead of a gothic one. As unlikely as the relationships may seem, love hides within them, becoming a catalyst for positive change, a change worth embracing. This feeling could last forever, but the hospital setting turns "forever" into "for all the time that remains."
FEELING BETTER - actors Valerio Mastandrea and Dolores Fonzi pictured. (Photo credit: Matteo Graia)
Nonostante opens and closes with elegant, rhythmic, dreamlike sequences that suggest a film capable of finding rhythm and verve even in intense dramatic moments. Unfortunately, this impression is misleading. Mastandrea’s Achilles' heel as a director is his tendency to impose a slow-down on the viewer, mirroring the heaviness of the drama he's also acting. The more the film loses its pace, the more the protagonists' inner despair is reflected, dragging the film down along with the viewer's patience.
In his second directorial outing, Mastandrea shows a desire to create something deeply personal, something distinctly his own, removed from current trends. The hope is that, if he continues directing, he will learn to separate melancholic subject matter from an equally mournful approach. Maybe he'll one day understand, like Burton, that a touch of pizzazz can bring unexpected energy to key scenes, creating contrasts that enrich the narrative.