You need not be a diehard Juicehead to recall the incantation.
Even those with hazy memories of 1988’s “Beetlejuice” know that in order to summon the titular ghoul, the chant does not stop at two. That lends additional intrigue to this year’s Venice Film Festival opener, which arrives 36 years after the initial volley as a fan-service bonanza and implicit series midpoint. So Juiceheads rejoice, because “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” goes all-in on the legacy front, offering everything you want and less, playing as a Burton buffet that leaves you stuffed if not quite satisfied, and in no real hurry to go back for thirds.