Broadway’s Beetlejuice Problem: Resurrection or Rehearsed Exit?

Beetlejuice is back from the dead. Again. But this time he’s only here for 13 weeks — which on Broadway is less a resurrection and more a seasonal cameo. It’s the kind of limited engagement that feels less like a bold comeback and more like a hedged bet: a brand refresh disguised as a safety net. Think of it as the theatrical equivalent of pumpkin spice — fun for a season, but nobody’s drinking it in February.

To be fair, Beetlejuice: The Musical has always been a scrappy survivor. It opened in 2019 to lukewarm reviews but quickly built a cult following — powered by TikTok edits, meme energy, and fans who could belt “Day-O” in full cosplay. Its first run found life by branding itself not as Broadway prestige but as Broadway camp, leaning into its weirdness with unapologetic flair. That’s smart branding. It worked once, it worked twice… and now we’re on round three.

This third engagement comes with new lyrics and a marketing push that frames it as a resurrection event. The posters are tweaked, the taglines refreshed, the narrative packaged as a musical that refuses to stay buried. From a branding perspective, it’s clever: nostalgia + novelty in one coffin-shaped bow.

But here’s the problem — Broadway itself is in trouble. Ticket prices are higher than ever, audiences are thinner post-pandemic, and producers are risk-averse to the point of paralysis. Instead of incubating new work or betting on bold originals, the default strategy is “safe” shows: jukebox musicals, movie IP, or revivals. And when those flounder (Diana, Bad Cinderella), they close so fast you’d miss them if you blinked. Which is fine if you’re trying to save money on Playbills, but terrible if you’re trying to run a cultural institution.

Which brings us back to the number 13. A 13-week run is not confidence — it’s crisis management. It creates scarcity, sure, but it also caps risk. You can market it as a special event, get fans to rush the box office, and leave before the grosses collapse. It’s Broadway’s version of ghosting: vanish before anyone notices the relationship wasn’t working. Or to put it another way: Broadway is basically saying, “I’m not afraid of commitment — I just don’t think you’re the one I want to do eight shows a week with.”

And let’s zoom out for a second. Broadway economics are starting to look suspiciously like airline pricing: unpredictable, inflated, and designed to make you feel vaguely cheated. One person in row H might pay $79, the person next to them pays $329, and both of them are still charged $12 for a watery Chardonnay at intermission. Airlines and Broadway share the same business model: squeeze every cent out of fewer customers while pretending it’s still a luxury experience. Spoiler: it’s not. It’s Spirit Airlines in a tuxedo.

There’s also a bigger branding issue here. Limited runs dressed up as “special engagements” might buy time, but they don’t solve the systemic problem: mid-level shows aren’t built to last in the current climate. If Broadway is leaning on Beetlejuice’s TikTok fandom to paper over attendance issues, it’s not a strategy. It’s a séance.

Because here’s the uncomfortable truth: Broadway didn’t say, “It’s showtime!” It said, “It’s showtime… until Christmas, and then we’ll see how the grosses look.” That’s not resurrection. That’s survival — and survival isn’t the kind of branding you can sell forever. Or, to put it bluntly, Broadway is playing a very expensive game of dress-up and hoping we don’t notice the seams splitting.