Stop The Ghostbusters Hate: The Remake Is Full Of "Playful Allusions & Warm Nostalgia"

GHOSTBUSTERS

There’s a recurring gag in Ghostbusters where the newly-assembled crew of spectre-hunters post online videos of their recent supernatural sightings, and then make the mistake of reading the comments. “Ain’t no bitches gonna hunt no ghosts,” goes the first; a winking nod to the fact that Paul Feig’s remake of Ghostbusters has become famous — or infamous, depending on the rakish angle of your fedora — for daring to star women in the lead roles.

The resultant macho-angst outrage has become the definitive story of this remake; the troll-mobilising blowback — the tentpole-blockbuster is, apparently, a last bastion of pure masculinity; a hill to die upon — the kind of publicity money can’t buy. This Ghostbusters has, against all known logic, even become a hot-button election issue in the US: those vehemently opposed to the remake either Trump voters or just Donald Trump; Hillary Clinton coming out in favour of the film by appearing on talkshow TV opposite its stars.

"Any kneejerk proclamations that this remake is somehow desecrating the memory of the original are way off base; if anything, all the fan-servicing seems like a little too much, a little too reverent."

To watch this Ghostbusters is, apparently, to have a front-row seat at the frontlines of online gender wars. But what’s amazing, when you do so, is to see what kind of a film has inspired this tumult of male-privilege pearl-clutching: a largely-silly, audience-friendly, very-PG comedy about ghosts in now-gentrified New York City.

Whilst there’s a host of things herein, beyond the film’s very existence, that could be seen as feminist gestures — the women ghostbusters dismissed and discredited due to their gender, Bill Murray playing a condescending-male sceptic, Chris Hemsworth brought on board as pure himbo eye-candy, a bear-trap-esque ghost-catching device called the “nutcracker”, the climactic fight involving a giant ghost being shot in the dick — there’s far more in the way of homage to the original.

There isn’t just Murray, but cameos from Dan Aykroyd, Ernie Hudson, Sigourney Weaver, Annie Potts, the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man, Slimer, etc; plus plentiful sciencey-sounding jargon, a hearse with ECTO-1 plates, ghost traps, etc. Rather than a slavish remake or modernising reboot, this Ghostbusters feels like it’s in constant conversation with the original; full of playful allusions and warm nostalgia. Any kneejerk proclamations that this remake is somehow desecrating the memory of the original are way off base; if anything, all the fan-servicing seems like a little too much, a little too reverent.

But, given the natural limits of the entire remakin’ endeavour, the film is just about as good as you could wish for. There’s a great gag (“an anti-Irish security fence” in a 19th-century mansion) about a minute in, and plenty of laughs throughout (especially in extended references to The Exorcist and Jaws). Many come from Kate McKinnon’s wacky gear-building nerd, easily the film’s most memorable character. Her unexpected line-readings and uneasy delivery run counter to the straighter comic performances of Melissa McCarthy, all enthusiasm and misplaced optimism, Leslie Jones, as black woman who tends to shout, and Kristen Wiig, as uptight starched-suit.

Due to such uptightness, Wiig is the butt of various jokes; her tweedy, professorial outfits soon to be slimed all over. 15 minutes in, and she’s dowsed in spectral vomit, which comes gushing at the audience in some of the most visceral through-screen 3D-projectile gimmickry since the ejaculate in Gaspar Noé’s Love. As director, Feig is constantly flinging things at the audience; a host of ghosts spiralling out of the traditional frame and into your face. For some, the device may become quickly tired, but given that this is one of the few actual practical applications of shooting in 3D, these carnival-sideshow moments play like part-and-parcel of the tentpole-blockbuster experience.

And this is all Ghostbusters is: a tentpole-blockbuster. There’s endless CGI, corporate brand placement, franchise-building, sequel-foreshadowing, and toy tie-in potential. There’s a celebration of free-market capitalism in both the film’s foray into the world and its story; just like the original, the foils to the Ghostbusters are government regulators with their damn bureaucratic rules. This right-wing bent certainly suggests why this female remake has summoned such ire in a certain Trumpian demographic, but, ultimately, it feels sad that said furore has become indivisible from the film itself. As this Ghostbusters itself knows, and mines for comic results, internet comment threads are the toilet-bowl of human discourse. Making this part of any critical reading feels too much like feeding the trolls. If you didn’t know said ‘controversy’ existed, the notion that a film this frivolous and fun could be controversial would sound so absurd as to be delightful.