Michael Keaton, Winona Ryder and Jenna Ortega star in a sequel that's not a 'Beetlejuice' movie but has just enough Burton flavor.

By Owen Gleiberman

In 1988, “Beetlejuice” was a comedy, a ghost story, a high-camp horror flick, and a macabre funhouse ride, all fueled by a new breed of palm-buzzer freak-show goofiness. I first saw it during a sneak preview on Saturday night, before anyone else knew anything about it, and by the time it was over, it was clear that its director, Tim Burton, was going to be a superstar, presiding over his own strangely fiery world of creepy satire.

Burton, 26, had already directed “Pee-wee's Big Adventure,” but “Beetlejuice” was in some ways a rambling cartoon, but it had a power. You could say that “Beetlejuice” was a vibe. The vision of the afterlife as a waiting room of waxwork horrors; the moment when those shrimp leap off the plate in the spectacular “Day-O” musical demonic possession sequence; and Michael Keaton’s wild, gibbering, Groucho-Marx-meets-dripping-forlorn performance as Beetlejuice, the sleazy bio-exorcist — the film channeled a spirit that was not just mad, but hilariously insane.