McDermott and Crouch’s sets and costumes achieve both hilarity and charm. (Morticia’s decolletage stops precisely short of her nipples, while the cast moves from the fog-draped exterior of the family’s gothic pile, with prominent moon, to the heavy furnishings of gloomy interiors.) They are staunchly abetted by Basil Twist’s polymorphously perverse puppets and Natasha Katz’s cheeky lighting. The whole show is a menage a trois of the ghastly, the ghostly and the side-splitting. And you know what? Unlike in most current musicals, the songs really shine: Melody, too, has risen from the dead.