Review: BEETLEJUICE at Denver Center For The Performing Arts

The lobby was littered with pubescents dressed in black-and-white striped suits, hair slicked green, and makeup that sunk their eyes into their skulls. Beetlejuice has certainly found its fanbase among the 13–17-year-olds and the grownups who lovingly chaperone them. Sure, there are other fans, but not as many with the social confidence to stride the streets of downtown Denver in full musical theatre regalia. Did the musical live up to the acclaim of its young aficionados? For the most part, yes. Its greatest trick isn't raising the dead, it's resurrecting the unabashed enthusiasm that first draws people into musical theatre.

The production isn't without its shortcomings. The scenic design feels somewhat anemic compared to the Broadway production, whose towering two-story house has been replaced by angled flats that leave the massive Buell stage feeling strangely vacant. Curtains slide stage left and right to reveal the attic, Charles' bedroom, Delia's dressing room, and other locations, often leaving half the stage dormant. The result occasionally feels less like a cohesive theatrical world and more like a series of quick-cut film scenes awkwardly translated to the stage.

The performances, too, occasionally feel like shadows on the cave wall of their originators. Ryan Stajmiger's Beetlejuice inevitably invites comparison to Alex Brightman, while Kaitlyn Feely's Barbara occasionally sounds a bit thin in the role's upper register. But dwelling on those comparisons ultimately misses the point. Stajmiger looks like he's having an absolute blast onstage, and that joy proves infectious. He tears through the evening with gleeful abandon, delighting in every terrible joke, fourth-wall break, and opportunity to torment the audience. Likewise, I stopped caring about Feely's occasionally slight soprano because she turned out to be the funniest physical comedian onstage, throwing herself wholeheartedly into Barbara's increasingly unhinged existence.

The emotional center of the production belongs to Leianna Weaver's Lydia. Weaver's initial monotone delivery makes Lydia feel like a space alien dropped into the middle of the show's cartoonish world before gradually revealing the warmth and vulnerability that make Lydia its beating heart. Her performance is fully embodied, emotionally honest, and vocally assured, making even the score's biggest moments feel effortless.

Perhaps the greatest strength, however, belongs to the show itself. I'm not intimately familiar with the source material, so I can't speak to its adaptation, but Beetlejuice's dramaturgy feels remarkably tight. The jokes remain genuinely funny despite its 2018 release, the macabre humor never tips into cruelty, and every delightfully strange character is afforded a satisfying, often surprising conclusion. Most importantly, the musical seems to genuinely love its characters. They exist not merely to fulfill narrative functions or deliver punchlines, but as weird, heartfelt people worthy of our affection.

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