A false rumor has been circulating for the last day or two THAT THEY WOULD BE MAKING BEETLEJUICE WITHOUT ME.
Oh no, but listen to the insectile-screech of “the little guy” protesting that he won’t have his dream crushed. Such is the tale of “the little guy” as I may yet give my movie studio overlords a pause. Strange things are afoot in St. Louis, wonderful things like Dr. Frankenstein’s bizarre laboratory of UNDEAD SEQUELS.
Onwards to 30 years later. . . . . can we pull it off?
I say Beetlejuice should have a lot of screen-time, with a thicker exploration of the weird & wonderful netherworld like haunted t.v. signals and defunct “Dollar Store” plastic knock-off’s that’s true to the world of white, blue-collar squalor.
Where the highway meets– not far, yonder your local Wal-Mart, junk yard, waffle-house, and carnival. Beetlejuice lives in the hills of south St. Louis county– and we must do the character justice in this vaunted region of podunk majesty, like spangled rhine-stone cowboys.
To see it is to believe it, to know it is to love it. Coming soon to a completed screenplay near you. From tea party misfits to firecrackers going off in apartment complex parking lots, thy name is chaos– thy name is America– thy name is BEETLEJUICE!
Like other buzz-words 5 years behind the times, “DON’T GO THERE” but we will as Beetlejuice goes and busts-a-move! Lydia will be there to roll her eyes with ethereal sarcasm “keeping it real”. Ooops, did it again.
So check in, we’ll be back soon or else Beetlejuice isn’t working behind the counter at fast-food. Rather, he’s running-fast from the gorping mouths of sand-worms as the after-life comes with a certain grim ecology. . . . . . like poetic-justice and THE FINAL WORD ON FUNNY.