Now and again, I come across an image slightly different from what usually draws my attention. It will usually represent a once familiar tune that no longer plays, but the memory of the dance it inspired will rattle through my body. Sometimes it creates discomfort, and at other times, joy.

In the film, Beetlejuice is dead, or at least he’s supposed to be. He’s obnoxious, crude, and ineffective at work, and yet he’s entertaining and provokes an almost compulsive desire to keep watching to see how he could possibly offend again, which he does right up until the end.