If “Betelgeuse” is like “that hauling-man” living “down the interstate” in the countryside, then Lydia Deetz is “the cool voice of reason”. A funky death-rock urchin– so acerbic, and cynically-luminescent with a flecked-head of all world-weary “pomp and circumstance”, wondering “what cats, have come out” to sit on the fence, tonight. She kept the original movie, “grounded” with the lugubrious disdain of “about the coolest teenager, I know” as any suggestion, any sales-pitch, would have to face her eyes, mooning upward and soaking-up your jittery, unpolished message. Your face could only “krinkle-up” as your canvassing efforts “loose all composure”. And how that’s a question– “what would Lydia, think?” and if you can’t justify, beneath her disinterested gaze– than it’s all over for your pathetic efforts “at canvassing”. . . . .
So do the character “justice”, okay? I could see her up in her attic, or “punk-rock bedroom” and editing her own music videos on a computer, clicking away with a sepulchral hand “as white as bone” and keeping-up “a self-published collection” of online-material, art and poetry and a sour thread under “the comments page” at her favorite horror forums. Her trunk “of the strange & unusual”– old record covers, dog-eared paperbacks, and a galaxy of Mike n’ Ike candy– packages of Twizzlers “like a bandoleer of bullets” and various pagan & Wicca jewelry as life is “an indifferent pose”.
“Cowabunga, comrade”. Bubblegum and California doomsday with a dark, twisted Jim Morrison vibe as you’d better impress this character with a self-respecting sequel. Or the actress won’t come back. I could see her wiping a rag across the counter at an underground coffee shop, serving up danishes on plates and otherwise, relishing over bitter, black coffee as rich and twitchy as her ravenous soul– “here we are now, entertain us!” as this had “better be good”.
Her second job– working at “Build-a-Bear” down at the mall, a business that’s “all sunshine and jelly-beans” as she mordantly frowns, behind the counter. For each custom Teddy Bear, you’re supposed to instill “a heart-ritual”, spin-around, stamp your feet, and bless the toy. More like, Lydia would take out a VooDoo doll and wave it, over the toy “to give it unnatural life”. Thusly, fired– she’d go down to the food court “and meet some real freaks”. . . . .
I could see “Edward Scissorhands” dicing-up a platter of pizza, with his shears– snipping away with toppings and condiments in a hair-net like a withdrawn wretch, and “not very handy” when a customer asks for more napkins. Their eyes, meet– a ballet of tortured, sensitive spirits as the orange neon sign spits, “on and off” above like a Tom Waits song against all-American crassness, like lonely puppet-figures on a maladroit stage.
Children’s theater? Make that “rated-PG” for “pretty good start” on a sequel.