Tessa Nelson — Theater Critic

Maybe it’s time for a Monty Python resurgence. For a few hours, Spamalot transported me away from the infinite troubles of today’s world and into one that was infinitely sillier. I left the theatre feeling a little like I do at the end of a massage: slightly dazed, pleasantly loose, and like my soul had shaken free of something that had been holding it too tightly.

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.

The production gives real weight to the over-policing of young Black men—through Knuck’s storyline, Brown’s choreography, Peter Nigrini’s projections (which include images of historical figures such as Amadou Diallo), and Roz White’s emotionally real and commanding performance as Miss Liza Jane, a black mentor figure who has borne witness to the struggle. These elements make the danger feel immediate and historically grounded. And yet, by allowing Jersey to evade any meaningful reckoning with her own complicity, the musical ultimately undercuts that work. The result edges toward what Peter Brook described as “deadly theatre”—a production that gestures at serious ideas, renders them beautifully, and then leaves them fundamentally unchanged.