Why Vermont called Beetlejuice back for more
The Green Mountain State is famously friendly, so what drew Tim Burton to film his comedy horror sequel Beetlejuice Beetlejuice in the land of Ben & Jerry?
As one travels up the east of the USA, it’s safe to say that things become more liberal as you go. From the humid conservatism of Florida, via the political swamp of Washington DC, through the anything-goes (as long as you can afford it) of New York, and the liberal academia of leafy Massachusetts… until you reach Vermont, where both conformity, and the country itself, are almost on their way out. Perhaps that’s why Tim Burton – hardly a name synonymous with fitting in – chose to return here instead of opting for a sound stage in order to film the exterior scenes of Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, the long-awaited sequel to, well, Beetlejuice. It was in Vermont, just outside the small town of East Corinth, that the original was filmed, too – including the cartoon-like gothic house erected on a hill especially for the movie. The original film has such a cult following that during shooting for the sequel, Vermont police were investigating two thefts: one of a large lamppost topped with a distinctive pumpkin decoration, and the other an abstract art piece taken from the vicinity of a cemetery. I have come here to understand what attracted the director to the state, and why it gives its visitors a wholly alternative take on Americana.
Image: A view across Lake Champlain, which lies between New York State and Vermont
After a five-hour drive from Boston, through increasingly green, hilly vistas, I arrive at the state capital, Burlington. This isn’t the American city of your imagination, all skyscrapers, steam[1]ing manholes and traffic chaos. Instead, especially in the heat of a lazy summer day, it has the air of somewhere like Stratford-upon-Avon or York. Perched on the edge of Lake Champlain, it’s a township built for quality of life, with the outdoors, gastronomy, and culture all given a serious crack of the whip. Most importantly though, this is a state known for its breweries. I happen to be in town on the weekend of the Vermont Brewers Festival. I savour an appropriately sensible number of samples as a spectacular sunset embraces the lakeside location. A wander down the historic Church Street Marketplace the following morning sees me stumble across a long queue – my first clue to the Burlington Bagel Bakery, whose sesame seed and cream cheese bagels become a fixture of the next few mornings. In an attempt to blow away the cobwebs, I join Captain Tom Peterson for a scenic lake cruise (cruiselakechamplain.com), as we take in flora, fauna, flotsam and jetsam of the idyllic lake from the deck of his 36-foot cabin cruiser. I finish my day in the Pizzeria Verita Italian restaurant, (pizzeriaverita.com) followed by a nightcap at The Wallflower Collective – a buzzy NYC-esque hipster bar with prices to match. On to Montpelier. Still recovering from flash floods, this is anytown America with a twist. It appears to be inhabited by those who have sought the alternative life – artists and free thinkers. The restaurants, cafes and an excellent record shop lend themselves to this clientele, where a high standard of fare comes garnished with a dash of hippiedom, and something almost equalling Canadian-level friendliness (we are, after all, an hour from the border). No visit to Vermont would be complete without two things: an outdoor sport and some very specific ice cream. After a 30-mile drive up some winding mountain roads – and back down the other side – I jump into a kayak. Four miles, a scenic river paddle, and 18 mosquito bites later, it’s time to replenish those calories at what is probably the closest real life can get you to Willy Wonka’s factory (benjerry.com). Waterbury is where Ben Cohen and Jerry Greenfield decided to give the ice cream business a whirl, and a tour of their factory tells their story. The company’s USP encapsulates the Vermont outlook: community-minded, idealistic but with a sense of fun and anti-establishment spirit.
I end my visit in East Corinth, the sky moody and the humidity all-consuming. Very Tim Burton. The town is a single road, but still, that eerie shade of American Gothic hangs over it. The general store offers the two staples – deli and ammunition – and the hill still gives off an ominous air. The atmosphere is so loaded that I’m almost scared to say Beetlejuice three times, lest he burst out of the ground and ruin this lush, green, and kooky world that’s often over[1]looked in favour of the neighbouring states. In fact, I could spend an eternity here…
