It’s hard to overstate the cultural impact of Tim Burton’s 1988 film “Beetlejuice.” In fact, it feels as if Michael Keaton’s wild-haired “bio-exorcist” has been around forever, especially to a segment of millennials who grew up with the zany horror comedy. The film was a critical and commercial success, spawning an animated series and, later, a Broadway musical. And now, 36 years after “Beetlejuice” made Winona Ryder a star, a sequel, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” is finally hitting theaters.

The idea of ​​a sequel to the hit film has been around for a long time, with scripts commissioned for “Beetlejuice in Love” and “Beetlejuice Goes Hawaiian.” But it’s taken three decades for anything to happen, and the current cultural moment demands a legal sequel, given the appetite for all things nostalgic.

“Beetlejuice” picks up where we started, in Winter River, Connecticut (and the afterlife, of course). Ryder’s iconic character, Lydia Deetz, who defined Gen X’s quirky goth cool with her jagged bangs and dark humor, is now a working mom. She hosts a paranormal TV show called “Ghost House” and, karmically, is struggling to raise a grumpy teenage daughter, Astrid (Jenna Ortega), who rolls her eyes at Mom’s new boyfriend, her producer, Rory (Justin Theroux), who is obsessed with the sensitive talk of therapy.

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The Deetz women, including Lydia’s mother-in-law, conceptual artist Delia (Catherine O’Hara), reunite in Winter River after Lydia’s father dies. (Charles Deetz, played in the original film by Jeffrey Jones, is depicted in a particularly gruesome claymation death scene following a plane crash and shark attack, and his character wanders the afterlife with his head and shoulders severed.)

If the original film is a zany family comedy about death and real estate, Beetlejuice tries to go a little further, seeking to find emotional resonance in what it means to connect with the dead. Astrid is a cynic who refuses to believe in ghosts, but when she gets the chance to visit the afterlife, she jumps at it, simply because she misses her deceased father (Santiago Cabrera). Lydia, tormented by ghost visions and sensing Beetlejuice’s presence nearby, needs to make peace with her hauntings.

Speaking of the old boy, he has his own problems down there, namely an ex-wife (Monica Bellucci) who stalks him around his workplace with dirty looks. Bellucci’s elegant but minor role is indicative of some of the systemic problems plaguing “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice,” namely, too many celebrities. Some roles are nothing more than glorified cameos (Danny DeVito), while others seem forced in and distract from the main plot (Willem Dafoe as a dead actor turned film noir detective).

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After a first hour that feels somewhat forced and overly contrived, “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” holds its ground for a brief moment in the middle, and we get to see some of the weird and wonderful chemistry Ryder and Keaton still have as these characters. The film then descends into a frenzied, harried chaos, as Burton and his “Wednesday” screenwriters Alfred Gough and Miles Millar (Seth Grahame-Smith has a story by credit) throw familiar characters, monsters and settings into a blender and let it rip. Sandworms! Singing! Disco!

Watching “Beetlejuice Beetlejuice” is not an unpleasant experience, as it maintains a familiar irreverent tone and a beautifully morbid and imaginative look. The underworld is particularly well-crafted, and Burton’s mix of CGI and practical effects retains some of the charm of the original.

Some qualities are undeniable, like Keaton’s mastery of the character and O’Hara’s unique wit. Ryder has the biggest acting job, transforming her character from teenager to mother, but she finds her groove in the second half of the film.

But there’s something a little bland and manufactured about this version, which lacks the same twisted, hyper-realistic suburban aesthetic that production designer Bo Welch brought to the original, as well as Burton’s “Edward Scissorhands.” It doesn’t feel like a one-off, hand-crafted object, but rather a Hot Topic product mass-produced for a new generation. It’s a busy, chaotic jumble of recycled materials that simply leaves us wondering why we bothered bringing this project back from the dead in the first place.

Walsh is a film critic for the Tribune News Service.

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This article was originally published in the Los Angeles Times.