The premise is a staple of teen romance: separate hero and heroine so that there's plenty of yearning but no danger of any squelchy business. The difference here is that the young couple are allowed a brief but memorable moment of on-screen passion; and the thing that comes between them is death. Swayze, he of the acting ability of a corpse, is ideal as the murdered yuppie who learns how to use his ghostly powers to foil a dastardly plot; Moore, as the grieving girlfriend, displays the animation of a dishcloth. Luckily, Whoopi Goldberg is on hand to ham it up gloriously in abetting the lovers with her newly discovered psychic powers. But the real credit for turning a minor mystic romance into one of the most enjoyable movies of the year rests on an excellent script by Bruce Joel Rubin, and on the surprisingly sure direction of Jerry Zucker. He borrows a roving camera from Sam Raimi, a penchant for shooting into and through solid matter from David Lynch; and the dissolves between scenes cleverly echo Swayze's ability to walk through walls.