Chris McCoy — Theater Critic

In retrospect, Beetlejuice was a harbinger of “cozy” horror, and this production leans into it. This being Broadway, Lydia’s mother is now fridged instead of just divorced. The teenager’s pining for her dead mother sands a little bit of the Gen X cynicism off of Lydia’s angst. Beetlejuice, however, remains the crass pervert from the afterlife that never met a fourth wall he didn’t break. I occasionally wondered if the manic proceedings onstage would make any sense at all to someone who has no fond memories of a possessed Catherine O’Hara singing calypso.