MEAL AND DINING ROOM SHOW, The Beetle House, Los Angeles, October 16, 2024.
My history with the Beetle House is admittedly fraught. My first experience with the unlicensed Tim Burton–themed dining chain took place in New York. A friend and I stopped by on a quiet night when Betelgeuse was the only costumed character on duty. Our party of two became a party of three—which was fun until we had to put aside our boy talk for a full hour of banter about sandworms. Back in Los Angeles, I swung by the Hollywood location during a night out; upon my arrival, I was told that the actors had already gone home. (Granted, it was 1:30 a.m. on a Thursday.) A recent viewing of this summer’s Beetlejuice Beetlejuice inspired me to haunt La Brea once more in the hopes of a more satisfying supernatural encounter—and I’m happy to report that the spirits moved me.
An evening at this creepy cabaret is no casual affair. While you can pop in for a sip at the bar, reservations for tables book up fast—and sharing a quick bite with pals isn’t an option. All diners must shell out $65 for a three-course meal. Of course, you’re paying for not just food but also the opportunity to rub shoulders with a series of ghostly hosts, ranging from Burton’s lovable freaks and slasher villains to original characters. The menu and novelty are enough to make the splurge worth it at least once, even if you don’t own an array of Beetlejuice mini backpacks.
Step onto the Beetle House patio, and the establishment’s motto is immediately clear: This is Halloween. Our host sported black horns, shimmering purple face paint, and a gorgeous gothic gown as she ushered us into a hallway lined with spooky fan art. Inside, the decor was primarily Nightmare Before Christmas–oriented: an Oogie Boogie statue loomed in a corner, while smaller figurines of Jack and Sally could be spotted across the room.
As it should at any good themed restaurant, the menu boasted an array of colorfully named items. Carnivores could dig into the “Edward Burger Hands” (topped off with an ornamental pair of scissors), while vegetarians could choose the “Deetz No Meatz” alternative—and so on. I opted for the Rougarou, a Cajun chicken and beignets dish, followed by a main course of salmon—I mean, sea monster—with miso sauce and mashed potatoes.
As I waited for these to arrive, my tummy’s grumbling was soon obscured by the rumbling of thunder. Sweeney Todd emerged onto a central “stage” area—not to offer his services as a barber, but to serenade us with a rousing rendition of the Hall and Oates song “Maneater.” Hot on his heels was murderous doll Chucky, ready to regale us with his breakdancing skills. (This sight alone is reason enough to start planning your visit.)
The entertainment worked its magic: before we knew it, our plates had materialized before us. The portions were more filling than they initially seemed; evidently, sea monster meat contains a lot of nutrients.
The show continued. Character karaoke, always featuring a vaguely eerie song, seemed to be a staple (Jack Skellington belting Oingo Boingo’s “Dead Man’s Party” and Sally giving her all for Radiohead’s “Creep” were highlights). Yet there were surprises too, such as original character Raven the Occult Stylist calling upon audience members to demonstrate his mind-reading powers. How could he tell that I was picturing a bat?
Between performances, the characters wandered around, taking photos and making conversation as a DJ spun topical tunes. Raven stopped by our table to perform playing-card sorcery. Chucky gave us fist bumps, and the Pumpkin King puzzled over our disposable camera. The balance between showmanship and one-on-one interaction was perfect—we had all the time we needed to chat and chow down while immersing ourselves in the atmosphere. My only complaint? The titular “Bio-Exorcist” was nowhere to be found. Guess I’ll have to come knocking again, for dinner and quite the show.
