When the original Beetlejuice hit theaters back in 1988, it was unlike anything we’d seen. Tim Burton’s Gothic, bizarre, and strangely heartwarming vision of the afterlife, paired with Michael Keaton’s tour de force performance as the eccentric “bio-exorcist,” was a one-of-a-kind experience that captured the imaginations of GenXers like me. Beetlejuice wasn’t just a movie; it was a cultural moment. From the quirky Danny Elfman score to Winona Ryder’s iconic portrayal of the morose Lydia Deetz, the film was full of offbeat charm, a dark sense of humor, and just enough chaos to make it all feel like some freakish fever dream.

So, when news of a sequel, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, hit the headlines, my excitement was immediate. Thirty-five years later, we would finally see what kind of mayhem our favorite poltergeist had been cooking up. And with Keaton back in the stripes, Tim Burton in the director’s chair, and even Winona Ryder reprising her role, it seemed like everything was lining up for something amazing. But here’s the thing about nostalgia: it’s a double-edged sword. It can make you eager for a return to the good old days, but it also comes with expectations—sometimes impossibly high ones.

I won’t sugarcoat it. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice is a fun ride, but it’s also one that doesn’t quite know when to hit the brakes. The sequel has its moments, and for fans of the original, it’s filled with plenty of Easter eggs, callbacks, and Keaton doing his wild, fast-talking Beetlejuice schtick that we all know and love. But somewhere along the way, the movie loses the balance that made the first one so special. Instead of the eerie, quirky chaos of the original, this one leans into straight-up ridiculousness—and not always in a good way.

Let’s start with the positives. Michael Keaton hasn’t missed a beat as Beetlejuice. It’s like he never left the role, slipping back into the character with the same unhinged energy and vulgar humor that made him such a memorable antihero in the first place. You can tell Keaton’s having a blast, and as an audience member, that infectious energy goes a long way. His quick-witted, over-the-top performance is one of the highlights of the movie, and he gets plenty of moments to shine.

Then there’s the world-building. One of the best things about the original Beetlejuice was the vision of the afterlife—a bureaucratic, surreal nightmare that felt both frightening and hilarious. Beetlejuice Beetlejuice takes that and cranks it up to 11, expanding on the ghostly realm with even more strange creatures, bizarre environments, and mind-bending visuals. The movie doesn’t lack creativity, and there’s a lot of eye candy for fans of Tim Burton’s whimsical, Gothic style. It’s as visually eccentric as you’d hope, and that’s a big part of the charm.

Seeing familiar faces again—Ryder’s Lydia, for one—is a nostalgic treat. Lydia is older, more jaded, and still wonderfully weird. The supporting cast, including some new additions to the Beetlejuice universe, brings a lot of fun to the table. And, of course, Danny Elfman’s score is right there, setting the tone in that weird, whimsical way only Elfman can.

But, and it’s a big “but,” while Beetlejuice Beetlejuice excels in visuals and nostalgia, it falters in tone. The first Beetlejuice was ridiculous, sure, but it was a controlled kind of madness. It balanced its spooky silliness with heart and wit. The sequel, though, seems to think that more is always better—more jokes, more chaos, more slapstick. And while some of it works, a lot of it just feels like noise. The movie is so eager to go for the laugh, the gag, or the over-the-top moment that it loses sight of the more subtle humor and charm that made the original such a classic.

I was hoping for the kind of ridiculousness that made the original so special. The first Beetlejuice had moments of slapstick absurdity, but it always felt like it was grounded in a real emotional core. There was something deeply relatable about the Maitlands, the recently deceased couple trying to navigate the afterlife while dealing with the obnoxious living. And Lydia—well, Lydia was every disaffected teen who felt like the world just didn’t get them. It gave the movie an undercurrent of sincerity that made the absurdity hit harder.

In Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, however, that emotional grounding is mostly absent. It’s all spectacle, all the time. The stakes don’t feel as personal, and the characters—while fun—don’t have the same emotional depth. The ridiculousness of the first film had layers. The ridiculousness here feels more like a series of rapid-fire gags, and while some land, many feel like they’re trying too hard to recapture that lightning in a bottle.

To be fair, the movie does succeed in bringing Beetlejuice back into the cultural zeitgeist. There are plenty of laughs, and fans of the original will find a lot to love in terms of fan service. But at the same time, it feels like a missed opportunity to evolve the story and characters in a more meaningful way. The original had a scrappy, almost anarchic charm to it. The sequel feels more like a polished theme park ride—fun, sure, but missing that rebellious spirit that made the first film resonate so profoundly with my generation.

In the end, Beetlejuice Beetlejuice isn’t a bad movie. It’s just not the sequel I was hoping for. It’s fun, wild, and has enough visual spectacle to keep you entertained, but it lacks the heart and wit that made the original such a classic. Michael Keaton is as great as ever, and the world-building is top-notch, but the film falls into the trap of thinking that bigger and louder automatically means better.

As a fan of the original, I enjoyed the ride, but I couldn’t help but feel like it missed the mark. It’s like catching up with an old friend who’s still fun but has lost a bit of their edge. It’s worth watching, especially for fans of the first, but temper your expectations. It’s a fun, ridiculous romp—just not the kind of ridiculous that made me fall in love with Beetlejuice in the first place.