'Room 237' illuminates the spell cast by Kubrick and 'The Shining'

Jack Nicholson in The Shining

Most people that know me know that The Shining is one of my favorite movies of all time. Its infamous carpet pattern is even the case for my iPad mini.

I've always loved the film on its own terms as a piece of entertainment but it can be enjoyed on so many deeper, more complex levels as well.

This intense, obsessive brand of fandom is brilliantly realized in the unforgettable 2012 documentary Room 237 (the title refers to a mystical room in the Overlook Hotel), which explores various theories (some conspiratorial) about what this mercurial horror film really means.

Room 237 might be maddening to some people, even those who have a cursory interest in Stanley Kubrick's 1980 film. But for a Shining junkie like me, it has a dreamlike quality and an earnestness that is worth applauding.

For years, The Shining has been dismissed as one of Kubrick's lesser achievements, his bid for the mainstream. But more recently, like so many of his works, it has grown in stature. Jack Nicholson's incredibly physical, even possessed, performance is one of his best. The camerawork is sublime and breathtaking, as is the production design. But what makes The Shining endure as a masterpiece is it's hidden messages, and, some would argue, hidden agenda.

For instance, the movie has several glaring continuity errors, which for a director as legendarily perfectionist and meticulous as Kubrick, just doesn't make any sense.

So what if those "mistakes" were intentional, an attempt to implant subliminal messages into a viewer's mind? We'll never know, but part of the fun of the movie is trying to figure out what the truth is.

Room 237 largely focuses on three widely held theories about the film. They're presented by fanatics wisely heard only in voice-over, with images from the film (and a variety of other movies, including some of Kubrick's) to illustrate their points.

The American Indian theory: I had actually heard this one (I don't remember where or when) before I saw the documentary and it seems very plausible to me. The premise is that the movie version of The Shining is really an allegory about the white settlers' slaughtering of Native Americans.

The movie is very upfront about the Overlook Hotel being built on an Indian burial ground (in Room 237, the elevator full of blood is said to be carrying the remains of Indians). There are plenty of American Indian accouterments in and around the Overlook and there are plenty of passing references to the Gold Rush and the American migration west.

The moon landing theory: This is easily the most outrageous but still one of the more entertaining ideas about the film. The theory is that Stanley Kubrick helped stage and shoot the "fake" Apollo moon landing. Now, believers in this premise want to be clear that they're not saying we never landed on the moon, just that the footage we see of Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin is fake.

The movie is supposed to be full of clues from Kubrick in an attempt to reveal his role in the hoax. Look closely and you'll see Danny wearing an Apollo 11 sweater. There are plenty of other moments you can choose to read into here -- but I don't give this one much weight.

The World War II/Holocaust theory: This concept intrigues me the most. Kubrick was reportedly fascinated by the Holocaust for both historical and cultural reasons. He had wanted to make a film about it but found the subject matter too overwhelming and bowed out once Spielberg made Schindler's List. Still, he did an extraordinary amount of research on the topic and the film is rich in symbolism. Jack Nicholson's character uses a German typewriter, the ubiquitous use of the number 42, and so many more details from the film seem to conjure up a very specific, fascistic version of evil.

Of course all of these theories could be somewhat or entirely true, but they could also be total figments of a particularly obsessive imagination. For instance, a lot of time is spent dwelling on a window that seems architecturally impossible, but then again most films present us with inconsistencies such as these and we don't give them a second thought.

Kubrick films are so unique in this way, because he was such a mysterious, hermetic figure and he spoke very little publicly about the meaning and intent behind his films. He left an impressive, and varied body of work behind but not so many films that they can't all be digested. And it's because of this that fans can really plunge deep into his work and even find connective tissue between works that seem so wildly disparate as Full Metal Jacket, Barry Lyndon, 2001 and Eyes Wide Shut.

The point is The Shining is a movie you can play with forever and ever and ever...

'Fruitvale Station' is more relevant now than ever before

Fruitvale Station

In the wake of the controversial police shooting death of 18-year-old Michael Brown, an unarmed African-American from Ferguson, Missouri, a lot folks are drawing parallels between his story and that of slain teen Trayvon Martin.

However, an even more similar scenario might arguably be that of Oscar Grant, a young man who was killed on New Year's Day in 2009.

Not unlike Brown, Grant was an imperfect person who may have been involved in activities that would warrant an arrest.

But the fact remains that Grant didn't need to die for his sins, which were largely innocuous.

Last year, Grant was the subject of one of the most compelling, moving and sadly overlooked movies of the summer season: Ryan Coogler's Fruitvale Station.

Starring Michael B. Jordan, in an Oscar-caliber performance that should cement his status as a leading man for years to come, as Grant -- the movie retraces the Oakland man's final hours before he was tragically slain by an overzealous BART officer.

The movie is a taut masterpiece. Clocking it at under 90 minutes, not a single scene or moment is wasted and for me, it is a compelling testament to the importance of human life, and more specifically every human life.

See, Oscar Grant was no saint. The movie suggests he was a drug dealer and, at best, an inconsistent presence as a father to his young daughter. And yet the film also suggests he was bright, warm, charming, thoughtful and sincere.

Over the course of Coogler's incredibly realistic film, you get to know Grant and even care about him. You come to understand that he matters to people. His girlfriend, his friends, his daughter and his family all are connected to him, even if sometimes he drives them nuts sometimes.

Michael B. Jordan in Fruitvale Station

And so when the film reaches its inevitable, tragic conclusion -- it floors you. I am not ashamed to admit this film had me sobbing on first viewing.

It's so rare that a film, or any work of art, makes you really feel what it's like to lose someone. I've been lucky in that regard.

I've never lost anyone incredibly close to me. I can't imagine what that's like. But Fruitvale Station makes that feeling accessible and real.

This should not deter anyone form seeing the film. Like I've written before, challenging movies are often the best ones, and we shouldn't be afraid to experience a film because its subject matter might be difficult or emotionally intimidating.

As the nation watches the Michael Brown story unfold in Ferguson, it might be worth a revisit of this remarkable film and its subject matter -- the late Oscar Grant. Just like Brown, Grant was vilified and marginalized by a small but vociferous group of people who sought to justify his death. And yet when you look at the facts of the case, and the story which is presented by the film Fruitvale Station, the proof is incontrovertible that Grant did not need or deserve to die.

We still don't know all the facts about Michael Brown's demise and it may be premature to turn him into some kind of martyr of gun violence or a symbol of a racially insensitive criminal justice system. All we can do in the short term is watch the developments out of Ferguson and listen and judge for ourselves.

But we should also all not forget that he was someone's son, someone's brother or nephew -- a person of value who brought joy and love into the lives of someone. And so we should never be glib or detached from his demise. Because every life matters.

Robin Williams RIP: What I'll remember is his remarkable range

Robin Williams

In the wake of shocking and sad news that Oscar winner and comedic icon Robin Williams has died from an apparent suicide at just 63 years old, there has been an incredible outpouring of memories and grief all over social media.

From his famous inspirational lines from Dead Poets Society to shots from the touching denouement of Aladdin, it's been both a little overwhelming and very cathartic.

Like so many great performers whose careers have spanned decades, it became easy to take Robin Williams for granted.

For my generation he was an institution.

I was born during Mork & Mindy's initial television run and like so many people my age I grew up on hilarious movies like Mrs. Doubtfire and The Birdcage.

And while Williams will likely first and foremost be remembered for his work in the world of comedy -- I think his true brilliance was showcased in his darker, more dramatic work.

This is hardly an original observation, and I imagine as the media and culture watchers continue to delve into the depths of Williams' personal battles with drug and alcohol addiction, as well as depression, it may become fashionable to see his more serious roles as a glimpse at the real him.

Robin Williams as Peter Pan in Hook

I wouldn't dare speculate about the man's inner demons but I will say that the range he displayed in his more complex roles in films like The Fisher King, Awakenings, and One Hour Photo, offer a master class in modulation and emotion for any up-and-coming actor.

As terrible as this tragic loss is, his passing presents an opportunity for us all to look back on his considerable body work and maybe rediscover some under-appreciated gems.

For instance, I have always been a fan and defender of Robert Altman's 1980 interpretation of Popeye, which starred Williams in the title role.

It was his first major film role and he delivers a fully committed, gracefully physical performance devoid of his usual manic shtick.

Another favorite of mine is Hook, not because it's a flawless cinematic achievement (even its director Steven Spielberg has distanced himself from it) but because it was one of the first movies I really had a visceral connection with as a child -- and so I will always have a special place in my heart for it.

And even though some of his late career work became increasingly sentimental or silly, he was always hard to dislike because he seemed like a big, albeit extremely hairy, kid (why he was a natural to play a grown up Peter Pan). He seemed like he loved what he did, which is probably why the circumstances of his death feel so incredibly hard to swallow.

He was someone who I think still had more shades to show of his persona. He showed a great flair for dark satire in the under-seen, savagely funny black comedy World's Greatest Dad, and I would have loved to see him play more against-type roles like he did in Christopher Nolan's wildly underrated Insomnia.

In that film, he more than holds his own alongside a powerhouse dramatic actor like Al Pacino, and he is utterly convincing and scary as a truly depraved villain.

Today, like so many people, I am stocking up my Netflix queue with Williams films I've either never seen or feel I need to see again. There really was no one else like him and I don't think there ever will be again.

'Guardians of the Galaxy: Why I mostly love/kinda hate Marvel films

Guardians of the Galaxy

Marvel movies are starting to reach the same level of audience expectations of Pixar movies. They are almost always good if not downright terrific, and they keep performing at historic rates at the box office.

Yet I have very mixed feelings about the dominance of these superhero films. And I'm saying this as someone who really enjoys most of them.

Tonight I saw Marvel's latest adventure: Guardians of the Galaxy, and, naturally, it's another winner.

It's charming and funny, with just enough original ideas up its sleeve to seem relatively fresh.

It's still not my favorite popcorn movie of the summer season, that still remains Dawn of the Planet of the Apes, which is a far more sophisticated film. But that said, Guardians of the Galaxy is a visually inventive romp, which makes a legit movie star out of Parks and Recreation favorite Chris Pratt.

So why I am griping? Here's the thing -- Marvel movies always have one foot planted firmly in the world of comic book fanboys. I have read my share of comic books but I will never be as immersed as some are in the lore and history of the universe of heroes and villains which have populated the medium for decades. And my guess is a substantial portion of the viewing audiences for the films feels the same way.

And yet, every Marvel movie insists on blatantly laying the groundwork for -- the next Marvel movie. I never forget I am watching the makings of a franchise, not a truly artistic cinematic endeavor.

When I think of the Marvel films that I enjoy I always think: I loved the characters, but I hated the plot. Or in some cases, what plot? Or worse I can't even remember what all those battles were about in the first place.

Chris Pratt in Guardians of the Galaxy

Now say what you will about DC Comics' movies, but I have never seen a Batman or Superman film I couldn't follow or that lost me in the minutiae of its screenplay.

Not unlike The Avengers, Guardians of the Galaxy spends an inordinate amount of its already somewhat overlong screen time fussing over its "MacGuffin" -- a very powerful orb, coveted by a humorless villain (at least The Avengers had the slimy but lovable Loki), which generates the now prototypical CGI light show we've come to expect from every third act of a Marvel superhero movie.

Sometimes I feel like these movies are so preoccupied with stuffing their margins with comic book "stuff" that their strong point -- the human/character element -- inevitably takes a back seat to the massive action set pieces. I had the same problem with the slightly overrated Captain America sequel, which jettisoned its most interesting ideas in the last lap for a whole lot of punching.

Call me a grumpy old man -- but I miss movies with real people in relatively realistic situations. I fear that the Marvel movies, as they continue to rake in the cash and attract A-list talent (they can even get an Oscar winner like Benicio Del Toro to appear in a fairly thankless walk-on role), will slowly replace coherent narratives with real things at stake.

Don't get me wrong -- I love a fun throwaway movie with a light touch. But I never once felt moved or scared while watching Guardians of the Galaxy. I laughed, I was entertained -- but it didn't make me think, about anything.

Then again, it's summer season. And maybe it's asking too much to be mentally stimulated by a Marvel film. I did enjoy Guardians of the Galaxy for what it was. The use of 70s pop hits as a running motif was delightful, as was the constant injection of humor and cynicism into the proceedings. I had a blast watching the movie and would gladly see this team's next adventure.

But I just hope they'll be more earthbound options to choose from as well.

Re-'Enter the Dragon': Pop classic showcases Bruce Lee's charm

Enter the Dragon

This weekend I had the pleasure of revisiting a 1970s action classic, Bruce Lee's Enter the Dragon, in the way it should be seen -- at a midnight movie screening, surrounded by mostly die hard fans.

Lee is unique in the pantheon of iconic Hollywood stars who died shocking deaths at an incredibly young age. Unlike say James Dean or Marilyn Monroe, Lee's appeal seems to be more universal -- crossing cultural boundaries lines like no one other than probably Michael Jackson.

It's hard to pinpoint exactly why so many cultures -- and African-Americans in particular -- have such a deep affinity for all things Lee.

He was unquestionably one of the coolest action stars of his or any era, and the fact that he was a martial arts master in real life only adds to his mystique.

Despite making a handful of features, and co-starring on the little-seen superhero series The Green Hornet, 1973's Enter the Dragon is, as far as I know, the only fully realized mainstream starring role he ever had. And while the movie may not be profound in terms of its writing or story, it is a marvelous piece of pop entertainment.

I always like to view a slightly older film in the context in which it was released. And watching the movie now it was hard not see some Watergate-era parallels in the now 41-year-old film.

The villain of the piece, the creepy and deadly Mr. Han bares more than a passing resemblance to Richard Nixon. The intentionally racially diverse cast solidified what has now become the "browning" of the action genre. And it signaled, before Jaws and Star Wars, a renewed embrace of escapism in the movies.

For the uninitiated, Bruce Lee plays something akin to a Chinese James Bond in the movie. He is a martial arts instructor by day but in the evening he slips into super suave looking designer suits and has a laconic cool all guys envy.

He is dispatched to a mysterious island run by Han which hosts an annual fighting tournament which is really a front for a bizarre mix of prostitution and the opium trade.

None of that really matters though. Especially when you have Bruce Lee (and his incredibly perfect physique), John Saxon doing his smarmy ladies man routine and the late Jim Kelly playing his hilariously dated super-dude with a gigantic afro to match. For some reason his "You come right out of a comic book" line makes me laugh like no other unintentionally funny movie line.

But the movie is a comic book in some ways, and it really shows how exciting and almost magical Bruce Lee's appeal is to kids. There is a wonderfully charming scene earlier in the film, where Lee's character outwits a brute who is picking on a young boy. He tricks the bully into boarding a small boat which he deftly detached from the main vessel he's on and hands the rope holding the jerk to a bunch of giggling kids. It's a throwaway moment that perfectly encapsulates the charm of this remarkable man.

Bruce Lee in action

Bruce Lee died at the tender age of 32, and it's hard to know what Hollywood would have done with such a unique performer had he continued to evolve within the studio system. The movies have historically been horrendous at portraying nuanced characters of Asian descent, and Lee is a fascinating exception to many stereotypical representations of the past and present.

He isn't dubbed in the film. He is allowed moments of humor, pathos and ferocity. Again, his performance and the film itself isn't exactly Oscar worthy, but it holds up, which is far more than one can say for many actions films of its time.

Sadly, of course, we will never know what would have become of Bruce Lee. All we can do now is sit back and marvel at what a graceful, and effortlessly charismatic a movie star he was -- and be grateful, that for one, short period in time, someone had the good sense to capture it on film for posterity.

'True Romance' tells me more about Quentin Tarantino than love

I've always thought I hated True Romance.

The first time I saw it I was so repulsed by an extended violent sequence where Patricia Arquette's character 'Alabama' gets beaten by a thug played by James Gandolfini that I had to turn the movie off and take a breather before coming back to it.

The second time I saw it I found myself totally turned off by the self-referential, incredibly unrealistic nature of Quentin Tarantino's script. I am a huge Tarantino fan but, to me, he is the Kanye West of filmmakers -- seemingly not-self-aware to an absurd degree. He has no qualms about trumpeting his own brilliance, especially in the screenwriting department.

The movie also felt redundant to me -- we've all seen a ton of doomed couple-on-the-run movies. Even the film's opening score seems like a deliberate rip-off of Terrence Malick's far superior film Badlands. And this movie can't hold a candle to Wild at Heart or Bonnie and Clyde.

But this time I got it. The movie is meant to be both a rip-off and an homage, and even though Tarantino didn't direct the film (the late Tony Scott did), it's in a way his most personal and revealing film because it unabashedly revels in his fanboy obsessions (from comic books to Sonny Chiba kung fu movies) without any detachment or irony. If you want to hear Doctor Zhivago and Charles Bronson name-checked for no reason, this is the movie for you.

In a weird way, I've come to appreciate this more after recently viewing what I have come to believe is Tarantino's most underrated movie, Jackie Brown. An interesting attempt to show maturity and range, that 1997 movie proved that Tarantino is capable of writing plausible, sympathetic characters who are older than him, who have a different socio-economic experience than him and who operate in a world he could never be a part of. It's a remarkable feat, and so entertaining that I can forgive his predilection for over-using the n-word.

True Romance makes no effort to be accessible in that way. It feels like a story Tarantino had been cooking up for years and its full of these little vignettes that he obviously stuffed in out of sheer exuberance. One of the flaws of the movie is it routinely introduces and dispatches some its most interesting characters. It's overstuffed, it's over-stylized and yet it is definitely not boring.

Take for instance one of the most famous scenes in the film, and the one I loved even after my first viewing of the movie. Christopher Walken plays a Cicilian mobster terrorizing and interrogating Dennis Hopper, who plays Christian Slater's blue collar beat cop dad. The taboo topic of racial mixing and African ancestry comes up and the byplay between these two legendary character actors is sublime. Tarantino has always had a preoccupation with race, but it's a curious, sincere interest -- he doesn't seem to want to just culturally appropriate (which is why the pseudo-white homeboy character played by Gary Oldman in True Romance is clearly a figure to be ridiculed). He seems both attracted to and in awe of black swagger.

Pam Grier in Jackie Brown

This has never been pronounced than in Jackie Brown, although Django Unchained certainly has a strong badass heart to it as well. The movie was marketed as a throwback blaxploitation film, but it's really a tribute to the prodigious talents of Pam Grier. Tarantino, self-servingly, has patted himself on the back for having the guts to cast her in a lead role.

And yet, he did do a phenomenal thing by launching a newfound cultural awareness of this black American icon. And he wrote a terrific role for her, at turns sexy and scared, strong and weathered. Grier was robbed of an Academy Award nomination that year. I can't even remember who ultimately won the Oscar which speaks volumes about the '97 field.

Still, it's not a movie of depth. In fact, I would argue none of Tarantino's movies are. They're just some of the most wildly entertaining movies I've ever seen. Although I must admit I don't recall ever having a profound emotional response to any of them. That's not necessarily a good or a bad thing. Although I do wonder if he is capable of making a movie that could move or touch me.

True Romance is easily his most superficial confection. Even the Kill Bill movies had the concept of Uma Thurman's heroic Bride reuniting with her estranged daughter. There is nothing this movie has to offer in terms of insight or human interaction. It's pure kinetic violence and script-writing flights of fancy from start to finish.

Like every film buff, I am eagerly anticipating Tarantino's next opus, the Western movie The Hateful Eight. I am sure it will be a rollicking good time, violent, profane and amusing as hell. But I am very curious if it will show the emotional resonance glimpsed every so briefly in the Melanie Laurent character from Inglourious Basterds. I guess we'll just have to wait and see.

In the meantime I will continue to appreciate his pop culture obsessed wonderland, populated with a colorful rogue's gallery or weirdos and sociopaths. There's no one else like him in the movies -- and that's what I love about him most.

Oh, and Helen Hunt won. Talk among yourselves.

'Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice!': 20 reasons it's a classic

Beetlejuice

Last night I had the great pleasure to enjoy a bonafide classic movie, Beetlejuice, at an outdoor screening at Brooklyn Bridge Park.

The crowd was packed with people of all different ages and cultural backgrounds and I was happy the audience was free of hipster ironic snark.

People still love this movie. It resonates. It's wildly entertaining and full of laughs. When film buffs think fondly of Tim Burton -- they think of Beetlejuice. And with good reason.

Back in 1988 he seemed to be full of original ideas, dynamic visuals and a voice that was truly unique and new to mainstream cinema.

Of course now Burton's aesthetic has been oft-imitated and even unintentionally parodied by the man himself. We are now accustomed to the self-consciously quirky, effects-driven supernatural comedy. And what was sweet and surprising about the 1988 original will likely be cynically reproduced in the movie's long delayed and yet, highly anticipated sequel.

Despite the downward spiral of Burton's career and the ups and downs of the fresh-faced stars of Beetlejuice over the years, I still enjoy the movie for its simple pleasures. It's a brisk movie, packed with funny and fascinating ideas (The Handbook for the Recently Deceased, for one). And it's a movie that, despite its themes of death, is full of life and joy. Quite simply, it's one of my favorite movies of all time. Here are a few reasons why.

1) The Harry Belafonte songs: I have no idea whose inspiration it was to include the legendary civil rights icon and Calypso singer's hits in this movie (the DVD is criminally devoid of special features) but it was a masterstroke. They are both infectious and random, which kind of sums up the spirit of the movie.

2) There are rules: I love a comedy or really any movie that sets up a fantasy world with rules. Like Inception for instance. You can have your flights of fancy -- but there are still guidelines you have to follow, just like in real life. So I enjoy the concept that Beetlejuice can't say (or apparently even write) his own name. Or that you have to say his name three times. It's all in good fun.

3) The cutest couple ever: It's really hard to portray a happy couple in a movie without making me cringe. It's just more interesting to show a couple in turmoil or trauma. But this movie pulls off the impossible. It presents a thoroughly adorable, happy marriage that is not a bore. Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis are super sweet and sympathetic. You root for these guys.

4) Winona Ryder: Speaking of cute, how amazing was Winona Ryder? With this film, Heathers and to a lesser degree Edward Scissorhands, she cemented her status as the dream girl for a whole generation of outcasts. She really was a terrific actress with a lot range (see Bram Stoker's Dracula and The Age of Innocence) and sadly her career seems to have stalled. The shoplifting incident was an embarrassment, but plenty of male stars have been forgiven for worse.

5) The New York art scene jokes: I didn't appreciate this aspect of the movie at all when I first saw it but now that I've been living in NYC for nearly 10 years I really get a kick out of the movie's disdain for pompous, upper-class arty types. Sure, the movie paints city folk with a broad brush, but when your palette includes the incomparable Catherine O'Hara, it's hard to complain.

6) Sylvia Sidney: Tim Burton recruited this legendary actress, born in 1910, to play a chain-smoking badass called Juno who serves as Baldwin and Davis' after life case-worker. Although she only appears in a few scenes, her feisty, no-nonsense wit is one of the highlights of the movie.

7) Incidental humor: I appreciate all the odd "aside" jokes. Like the barber mumbling to himself about a haircut gone wrong or Alec Baldwin first misreading the Handbook as a guide for the "recently diseased." So many comedies nowadays seem to be a series of set pieces, I prefer movies like this one which have a rhythm all their own.

8) The Danny Elfman music: The Belafonte music is the best, but Danny Elfman's score is also a real treat. His early collaborations with Burton are on par with the most iconic work Bernard Herrmann did for Alfred Hitchcock. This is one of the movies where I get goosebumps when the credits start just because the music gets me so amped.

9) Beetlejuice, his entrance and pretty much everything else: I have sang the praises of Michael Keaton endlessly and his performance as the titular hero (who is actually really the villain of the piece) is arguably his most iconic. I love how the movie builds anticipation for his arrival and then reveals him brilliantly in a scene that plays almost like something out of a cartoon (complete with exaggerated sound effects). It's all so wacky, in the best way.

"Jump In the Line"

10) The Beetlejuice ad: One of Keaton and Burton's most brilliant conceits is that Beetlejuice the character has the same scruples and lack of subtlety as a sleazy used car salesman, although his profession is "bio-exorcism." Perhaps my favorite scene in the movie -- for its pure madness -- is his "commercial" that seems tailor-made for the protagonists' viewing.

11) Beetlejuice's powers: The Beetlejuice character seems to be able to shapeshift, make people disappear and possess people -- just to name a few of his skills. The movie makes no effort to explain how he has these abilities, and that is, I think, part of why the character has become so iconic and oddly lovable.

12) Iconic look: In fact, although the Beetlejuice character doesn't have a ton of screen time, so much about him has become iconic. For instance, when Robin Thicke appeared in a black and white striped suit alongside Miley Cyrus' unfortunate 'twerking' -- all of America seemed to collectively make a connection with the Keaton role. Not too shabby for a 26-year-old movie.

13) It's not dated: Even the effects, which have a surreal, Salvador Dali-esque quality about them don't distract me like they do in other '80s movies. And the use of real puppets and make-up (this is of course pre-CGI) give the visuals a tangible, accessible feeling.

14) Cameo roles: Dick Cavett and Robert Goulet are actually both really effective in small roles as Catherine O'Hara's agent and a big shot real estate developer, respectively. They work well because they're playing actual characters instead of knowing riffs on their real life personas, which is almost always my favorite kind of cameo (an exception to the rule being Bill Murray as "himself").

15) It scared me as a kid: I have a special place in my heart for movies that freaked me out when I was little (A Nightmare on Elm Street anyone?) and this movie was one of my last vivid memories of a nightmare-inducing filmgoing experience. It was the scene where Beetlejuice turns into a snake that got me. I definitely remember having to sleep in my parent's bed after seeing this one.

16) 'Sand Worms': Apparently giant killer snakes are just a fact of life in the after-life. How terrifying is that. Again, these visually striking, striped creatures are never really explained. We get the sense, from the Beetlejuice character at least, that they are a big nuisance, but why are they there in the first place? Who knows.

17) The movie's look: For a director so associated with goth, Burton has always had a great eye for color. The vibrant palette of the small town setting is an incredible contrast to the macabre look of Beetlejuice's haunts. The movie has a sweet, positive affinity for the ghost community. It's clear we're supposed to identify with the dead couple and the spirits in the movie seems like fun people to be around.

18) Crude when it wants to be: But while the movie is whimsical at times, it also has a lot of appropriately crude or nasty humor. For instance, I like it when Ryder's character assumes the ghost moans she's hearing are actually her parents having sex. And I enjoy Beetlejuice's constant attempts to grope Geena Davis. It's definitely not politically correct but who cares?

19) It's totally bizarre ending: Speaking of 'who cares' -- the ending has this devil may care quality that I've always loved. Even though Winona Ryder's character now lives in a sort of shared custody situation with a dead couple and her actual parents, she seems totally well-adjusted and happy. And her final lip-synched performance of Belafonte's "Jump in the Line" with a chorus of dead footballers players behind her, is one of my favorite movie moments of all time.

20) It's totally bizarre ending, part II: Beetlejuice in the waiting room. Also one of the funniest scenes I've ever seen. It's so ridiculously silly and yet along with the white and black suit, the titular character's tiny-headed fate is one of the most memorable moments in the film.