Has any film in 2016 been as embattled with its own fans and faced an uglier pre-release narrative than Sony’s rebooted “Ghostbusters”? Directed by Paul Feig (“Bridesmaids,” “Spy”) and starring a bevy of our top comediennes as its protagonists, the modern update received an unreasonable amount of fanboy backlash from misogynists who couldn’t handle the thought of people with XX chromosomes wielding proton packs and ion cannons. And while this awful campaign threatened to overshadow the film’s release, gender, unfortunately, is the least of “Ghostbusters”’ concerns — not even the funniest actors on the planet could save what is an occasionally humorous but largely unremarkable rehash.
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To that end, fan service has quickly become the most dangerous threat to creativity in mainstream movies. Beholden to those whose childhoods could be ruined by wandering away from the familiar — see “Star Wars: The Force Awakens,” “Jurassic World,” “Terminator Genisys” and more — reboots, remakes and prequels have hewed so closely to their antecedents, they’ve ceased to possess much of the élan that made their forebears so beloved by audiences.
And this is certainly the chief issue of the 2016 “Ghostbusters,” an unexceptional and even lazy update of a formula you’ve seen before. Comparisons to the original are unavoidable. And yes, it’s a reboot, but there’s a conspicuous absence of the charming oddball eccentricity that made the original film so endearing. Most of the characters are largely indistinguishable from the original archetypes. Kristen Wiig plays the skeptical Bill Murray character who has mostly given up on his paranormal-researcher profession; Melissa McCarthy is the never-stop-believin’ Dan Aykroyd prototype; Kate McKinnon performs the nerdy Harold Ramis role with a pronounced gearhead bent; and Leslie Jones portrays the urban, blue-collar outsider originally played by Ernie Hudson.
The main difference, and a semantical one really, is the movie’s antagonist, an embittered and alienated outcast (Neil Casey) radicalized enough to want to destroy the world by creating a new gateway for evil apparitions and demons. But his (rather irritating) character is nothing more than a delivery system to introduce ghosts for the Ghostbusters to battle.
The plot, insofar as there is one, is by-the-book: A group of parapsychologists lose their university funding after discovering real spectral evidence and strike out on their own to make money, survive, and eventually save New York City while facing resistance from the doubtful powers that be. With the plot treated as an afterthought — you already know how this goes, the movie seems to suggest — the filmmakers and comedians are freed up to make jokes and riff on top of the original paranormal comedy template.
Feig’s version is more of a forum for four funny actresses, Wiig, McCarthy, Jones and McKinnon, to be amusing. And sure, lots of scenes are very funny on their own, even laugh-out-loud funny at times. But in the context of a larger movie that doesn’t even bother with the most basic narrative through line — the original at least had an underdog and New York-unity theme going for it — the laughs become increasingly hollow and fleeting.
Much of this failure stems not from the acting, but from the film’s director and co-writer. Feig’s direction appears to be: let the talented comediennes improvise as much as they want and stitch the core plot together afterward. And it’s not like the original “Ghostbusters” had much insight into the human condition, but it was idiosyncratic and funny, not to mention entertainingly offbeat, a charming little oddball of a film. As essentially a beat-for-beat remake of the original, 2016’s version of “Ghostbusters” literally has nothing to add, aside from new jokes, to a forgettable movie that never dares to take risks.
Sometimes the attempts at humor backfire too. The usually charismatic Kate McKinnon wins the anti-MVP award, an obnoxious stand-out who appears to be doing the equivalent of jazz-hands with her face during every scene. The film bludgeons you with the idea that the technobabble-spewing character is the kooky nerdbuster and her presence quickly becomes exasperating. Melissa McCarthy and the other actors fare better (as well as a scene-stealing Chris Hemsworth as a himbo), but the movie underserves its funny female leads with a disposable story that lacks the quirky irreverence and endearing weirdo-ness inherent in the “Ghostbusters” fabric.
The litany of fan service doesn’t help either. Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, Sigourney Weaver, the bust of Harold Ramis, Ernie Hudson, Annie Potts, Slimer and more all show their faces in scenes that feel crafted for the canned-applause section of a sitcom when the beloved character finally shows up. And their appearances always grind whatever momentum there is to a halt while it luxuriates in its nostalgic but pointless cameos.
There are plenty of other issues too. Musically, “Ghostbusters” is a non-starter and its new theme song by Fall Out Boy and Missy Elliott is akin to ear cancer. Visually, the cartoonishly bad green-screen VFX is closer to something you’d experience in the animated series. The too-serious action-packed third act possibly forgets the movie was a comedy first and foremost.
“Ghostbusters” is presumptuous to include a post-credit sequence even though it’s not especially deserving of one. Ultimately, if the original scrappy “Ghostbusters” represented the colorful bodegas and people of a graffiti-riddled 1980s New York, then 2016’s version represents the alarmingly homogenized Starbucks version of the Big Apple.
It’s a shame this mostly flavorless update will only fuel the sexist haters out there. Gender is irrelevant in this by-the-numbers but still uninspired redux. Bustin’ might have made us feel good in 1984, but this rather unimaginative update crosses its conventional streams one too many times for its own good. [C-]
