Live Review: Beetlejuice The Musical @ Regent Theatre, Melbourne

In full disclosure, this is a show about death.

Braving the cold, Melbournians descended upon the Regent Theatre on Saturday night for a journey to the Netherworld and back at the Australian premiere of Beetlejuice: The Musical.

Beetlejuice: The Musical follows the recently deceased Maitlands, a wholesome couple struggling to haunt the new inhabitants of their former home. Desperate for help, they summon Beetlejuice, a deviously sleazy demon, by saying his name three times.

Among the new residents is Lydia Deetz, a self-proclaimed “strange and unusual” emo teenager grieving the death of her mother and grappling with her emotionally distant father. Delighted to find the house is haunted, Lydia joins forces with the dearly departed to scare away her family.

What follows is pure paranormal pandemonium, as Beetlejuice unleashes his own maniacal plans involving exorcism, an attempted arranged marriage, and a giant sandworm. Amid the madness, Lydia confronts her grief and, in the process, rediscovers a sense of connection with a little help from the living and the dead.

But let’s rewind. In 1988, Tim Burton directed a film that helped establish his signature visual style: a gothic, whimsical blend of comedy and horror that would define much of his career. The Academy Award-winning Beetlejuice quickly became a cult classic with Michael Keaton’s chaotic portrayal of the title character cementing Beetlejuice as one of cinema’s most memorable antiheroes.

Fast forward three decades, and book writers Scott Brown and Anthony King, along with Melbourne-born composer and lyricist Eddie Perfect, have reimagined the dark comedy for the stage with a gutsy, irreverent musical adaptation.

Known for his role on Ten's Offspring, Perfect is to Beetlejuice what Lin-Manuel Miranda is to Hamilton. Having composed the music and lyrics, Perfect now steps into the title role for the first time, marking a theatrical homecoming after the show’s Tony-nominated Broadway run. The result is a version that expands the emotional core of the story and places the deliciously deranged villain at the forefront, amplifying his antics with original music, mayhem, and a whole lot of stripes.

Act I opens in a gloomy graveyard, distinctly Burtonesque. Mourners have gathered for the funeral of Emily Deetz. Cut from the 1988 script, Lydia’s mother is reintroduced in the stage version not as a living character but as an emotional presence whose absence shapes Lydia’s grief and adds depth to her motivations. Born to play Lydia, Japanese-Australian Karis Oka brings an authentically edgy demeanour to the character. Her performance of Dead Mom is a heartbreaking mix of vulnerability and defiance, striking a delicate balance between pain and rebellion.

But Beetlejuice is, at its core, a two-hander. While Lydia is the emotional heart of the show, Beetlejuice is its unhinged master of ceremonies. Together, Oka and Perfect feed off each other’s chaos, creating a dynamic that’s both absurd and oddly touching.

The production wastes no time making its intentions clear. Early on, Beetlejuice quips, “And such a bold departure from the original source material,” a winking acknowledgment of the musical’s self-awareness. He then launches into The Whole ‘Being Dead’ Thing, a hilariously obnoxious number and one of the night’s standout moments. Acting as our “guide to the other side,” Beetlejuice breaks the fourth wall with gleeful abandon. Channelling a gravelly, Harvey Fierstein-esque growl, Perfect’s Beetlejuice is an unfiltered, hangover-inducing cocktail of desperation and magnetism.

What follows is a fever dream, a fast-paced reimagining of the story that leans into clichés, double entendres, and jokes so rapid-fire that by the time you've finished laughing, you've missed eight others. In its musical form, the production takes bold narrative liberties, introducing new characters and reworking relationships, while prioritising emotional arcs. The result is a story that feels more emotionally developed than the film.

The Melbourne production not only diverges from the film but also differs from the Broadway version. The doomed Maitlands (Rob Johnson and Elise McCann) meet their untimely deaths by electrocution, a twist that sets this version apart from its stage predecessor. Meanwhile, Delia is reinvented as a life coach played by the scene-stealing Erin Clare.

Act II dials up the chaos as the stakes are raised, and we finally visit the Netherworld. The act’s loudest applause goes to Miss Argentina (Angelique Cassimatis), whose number, What I Know Now, is a clear audience favourite. The choreography in this sequence, along with the explosive energy of That Beautiful Sound, delivers two of the largest and most unhinged dance numbers in the show.

Musically, the audience is served a smorgasbord of genres, from calypso to gospel, with unexpected bursts of death metal, jazz, and lounge. In anyone else’s hands, it would give you whiplash, but with Perfect at the helm, it amplifies the show’s manic energy while still landing every emotional beat. Other standout numbers include Fright of Their Lives, the playful duet Say My Name, and, of course, Harry Belafonte’s Day-O, which might just be the most absurd musical number this town has ever seen, complete with possession and a dancing roast pig.

The sets do much of the heavy lifting, as scenic designer David Korins immerses the audience in a topsy-turvy Burtonesque world, transforming the Regent Theatre into a fantastical funhouse. The haunted house at the story’s centre evolves from the quaint Maitland home to the exaggerated Deetz redesign and, finally, Beetlejuice’s eerie lair.

Packed with visual Easter eggs and obscure Burton references, the set leans into the director’s aesthetic with warped angles and rich Claymation textures. While the set twists reality, the special effects deliriously demolish it. Sparks fly, bodies levitate, and a towering sandworm barrels through like a punchline from the Netherworld.

Veteran designer William Ivey Long broadens the show’s outlandish visual language through costume. Inspired by Burtonesque iconography, the designs feel ripped from a sketchbook, DIY in spirit, as if sewn by the characters themselves. Lydia’s gothic thrift-store aesthetic, Beetlejuice’s anarchic black-and-white stripes, and Delia’s pop-art couture all contribute to the strange, stylised world.

While the musical does an exceptional job of expanding on themes of loss and identity, it stumbles by sidelining the Maitlands in favour of a repaired relationship between Lydia and Charles, ultimately diminishing the impact of the Maitlands as surrogate parents. Where the show does succeed is in deepening Beetlejuice’s character, transforming him from a self-serving troublemaker into a more empathetic figure, even offering a redemptive twist.

At its heart, Beetlejuice The Musical is a story about the desire to be seen, both physically and emotionally. Yes, it’s outrageously macabre and leans into campy spectacle, but beneath the chaos, it invites us to consider the afterlife, offering a whimsical yet poignant reflection on how we navigate life, the importance of family, and the spaces we call home. You come for the madness, but stay because it means something.