Beetlejuice (1988) is one of those movies where everybody thinks they've seen it more times than they actually have, and both dads discovered exactly that when they sat down with Tim Burton's PG-rated fever dream about dead suburbanites, haunted real estate, and a bio-exorcist with boundary issues. Steve picked this one, and it's personal. He was 8 when his parents took him and his brother to see it in theaters, and he credits Beetlejuice and Gremlins as the one-two punch that turned him into a horror kid. Nic's relationship with the film is fuzzier. He saw it young but suspects the Saturday morning cartoon warped his memories, much the way the Ghostbusters cartoon convinced a generation that Slimer was a main character. Revisiting Tim Burton after covering Pee-wee's Big Adventure earlier in the run, both dads are struck by what a bigger budget ($15 million, same as Wall Street) let Burton do with practical effects, puppetry, and that unmistakable Danny Elfman score. Nic pauses to note that Danny Elfman is the most perfectly named man in show business. If his name were Craig Winchester, none of this works. The conversation lingers on Michael Keaton, and rightly so. The makeup was largely his idea. A huge chunk of his lines were improvised. Nic calls the performance a cross between Freddy Krueger, the Heath Ledger Joker, and Ace Ventura, and honestly that tracks. There's a loving sidebar about the single PG-rated F-bomb (and accompanying crotch honk), which Nic reports his 5-year-old niece has faithfully committed to memory and recited back to her father in full. The MPAA giveth, and children taketh away. Both dads light up over the Banana Boat Song dinner party sequence and the way it builds from confusion to pure joy, only to completely backfire as a scare tactic. Steve confesses an early crush on Winona Ryder's goth Lydia that he traces directly to the first girl he dated in high school. And a brief, pointed observation about Jeffrey Jones lands with the kind of silence that says more than the joke did. Catherine O'Hara, meanwhile, gets nothing but love. Her "indoor outhouse" line, the Deo dinner party kickoff, and the immortal "they're dead, it's a little late to be neurotic" all get their flowers. Not everything holds up under the magnifying glass. The pacing drags in stretches. The shrunken head effect at the end is the weakest in the movie. The extras at Miss Shannon's School for Girls are, by both dads' estimation, not a single one of them under 45. But the stuff that works still works beautifully, and as Steve puts it, this is one of those movies that sticks with you so indelibly that it's just always there in the back of your mind. Six-and-a-half out of ten from the dads, and a reminder that there's still no better entry-level horror than the movies that started it all.