Movie Review: Ghostbusters

You don’t have to be a misogynist to hate Ghostbusters, but it helps.

Director Paul Feig’s all-female reboot of 1984’s all-male Ghostbusters comes to cinemas this week riding a proton stream of backlash as misguided as it is distasteful.

If you’re unfamiliar, allow me to mansplain: dude-bros angry about the feminisation of an ‘80s comedy franchise have vented their rage by downvoting its trailer on YouTube and skewing its average score on IMDB, which is the extent to which their influence on the gaping maw of the web extends.

Their loss. If they can’t enjoy the company of stars Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon and Leslie Jones - four of the funniest people on the planet - well, there is just no cure for their malfunction.

(And let that be the end of giving their argument any oxygen. Honestly, turning the empowering remake of Ghostbusters – originally a joyful, universally beloved, politically benign flick – into the centrepiece for a malevolent culture schism is like using Vacation as the impetus for a class war: maybe stupid?)

Wiig plays Erin Gilbert, a quantum physicist whose career in the staid world of serious academia is ruined by old frenemy Abby Yates (McCarthy), after she republishes their out-of-print book suggesting ghosts are real. Yates wants the attention, seeking additional funding for the ‘ghost catching’ weaponry being developed by her colleague Jillian Holtzman (McKinnon) at their off-brand New York university.

When the three of them encounter an honest-to-goodness otherworldly spirit, they go private, bringing on board NY-savvy subway worker Patty Tolan (Jones) and dunderheaded Aussie receptionist Kevin (Chris Hemsworth). The news outlets start calling them the ‘Ghostbusters’, and their phone begins ringing off the hook with sightings of ghosts in need of busting. It’s as if they were given instructions from some beautiful, haunting refrain, perhaps from a parallel universe…

Feig, best known for developing the iconic TV show Freaks & Geeks (which introduced us to Seth Rogen, James Franco and Jason Segel, among others) and directing raunchy McCarthy showcases Bridesmaids, The Heat and Spy, has a way with comic ensembles, and Ghostbusters is no exception.

Wiig and McCarthy are, by now, well-known quantities, and they stay in their lanes to reassuringly funny effect. McKinnon and Jones, long-time Saturday Night Live scene-stealers, will likely be the names on most lips exiting the cinema. Jones (who is actually dialling it back to about a ‘7’ here) is a high-energy performer who nonetheless grounds the film with her sweetness and Cheshire cat grin. McKinnon, on the other hand, is some kind of something; a ravenous, be-goggled science geek with a shock of blonde hair who gets her own John Woo-style shoot-out with the undead. Now that’s an action figure.

They’re ably supported by Hemsworth (underplaying the doltishness), Neil Casey (an eloquent improviser playing a loner who summons ghosts to our Earthly plane for the apocalyptic “fourth cataclysm”) and a bunch of other recognisable faces. Each of them slide smoothly into Feig and co-writer Katie Dippold’s script, which requires them to balance metaphysical technobabble with naturalistic-seeming joke runs.

The ’84 original asked that of its actors as well, with the sardonic Bill Murray and dry Harold Ramis leading the way, in a rebuke to the era’s set-piece heavy comedies. That much of the first cast – save the late Ramis – offer cameos as a means of offering their blessing, suggests they see the tribute too. (Dan Aykroyd, another of its early stars and instigating writers, produces.)

Of course, that’s not to say the old Ghostbusters has been officially superseded. Not quite. There’s still no matching its collision of cheeky wit, (then-)groundbreaking special effects and warm sense of place. (The ‘New York’ of this reboot feels like a CGI soundstage.) The new one has nothing to match this moving aside, or this genuine moment of horror. Ultimately, there’s no re-perfecting the wheel.

However, Feig and his leading ladies do right by its legacy and produce something that can at least stand beside it. Feig’s weakness on previous projects has been flatly-composed action sequences. (Spy, particularly, could have used some of Edgar Wright’s frenetic verve to adequately spoof the James Bond series.) He turns that around, aided by his biggest ever budget, also recapturing the slightly menacing spook of its predecessor with his ghostly villains.

There are valid criticisms to be made of Ghostbusters. It’s not some untouchably perfect blockbuster; like many tentpoles, it comes with creaks and groans of over-familiarity. Some have even pointed out that this feminist Ghostbusters is not quite as progressive when it comes to matters of race or sexuality. (Feig admitted to the Daily Beast that Holtzman’s queerness had to be reduced to subtext.)

That said, as far as remakes of cherished properties go, it’s hard to think of one that sidesteps disaster as effortlessly and fruitfully as Feig’s. It is what the classic Ghostbusters was: a damn good time at the movies.

4/5

In cinemas July 14. Rated PG for mild supernatural themes and coarse language; some scenes may scare young children.