I Ain't Entertained By No Ghost: a review of the Ghostbusters remake

  

Remakes of good films are unnecessary. By their very definition they are designed to be money makers, riding the memories of a good, successful film all the way to the bank.  The number of sub-standard remakes of good films by far outweighs the good ones.  For every The Departed, Dawn Of The Dead or Ocean’s 11 there are several turkeys: Robocop, Total Recall, Point Break, The Wicker Man, Clash Of The Titans, Assault On Precinct 13, The Taking Of Pelham 123 to name but a few.  The 70s and 80s are the most fertile grounds from which studios plunder, and when they turn their attentions to something that was beloved, then can find themselves taking the brunt of the internet’s fury before a frame is filmed.

The Ghostbusters remake/reboot really shouldn’t have been controversial for any reason other than being surplus to demand.  The level of hyperbole-cum-outright abuse aimed at the film as soon as it was announced was shocking given that the reason for it wasn’t “don’t do this, it’s unnecessary”, it was “women can’t be Ghostbusters.” It’s 2016, FFS; grow up.

Ultimately the casting made sense once the decision was made to go all-female: Kristen Wiig and Melissa McCarthy are two of the world’s most popular comic actors (the latter somewhat inexplicably, but whatever…) and, much like the original’s Ernie Hudson and Harold Ramis, two relative unknowns in Kate McKinnon and Leslie Jones make up the roster.  I would have pushed for Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, but what do I know?

It opens well, with a decent premise and opening haunted house gambit.  Kristen Wiig’s trying-to-be-a-serious-physicist Erin Gilbert is reluctant and likeable as Wiig always is, but it’s soon sullied by the introduction of McCarthy’s believer/leader Abby Yates and McKinnon’s downright bizarre engineer Holtzmann.  They are both weak characters with too many throwaway lines, moments that don’t work, and gags that don’t land.  At one point it’s implied that Holtzmann is gay but, probably with thoughts of a 12A rating, this is never revisited.  This means we don’t get any unpleasant gently homophobic jokes, nor do we get any of the ‘heavy set women are funny’ gags that seem to have defined McCarthy’s career, but we don’t get much of value from either of them. McKinnon in particular doesn’t seem comfortable with a lot of her material.

Neither are as poor as Leslie Jones’ walking stereotype subway attendant and late joiner, whose dialogue is appalling throughout, save for one deadpan line delivered in a room full of broken mannequins.  Sadly, other than Wiig, the one saving grace is in Chris Hemsworth’s colossally stupid Kevin.  It’s a shame that in the female-led film, most of the laughs come from a man, but credit to Hemsworth who is brilliantly oblivious to how dense he is.  The few memorable moments in the film are his.

The script and plot recover the tropes you would hope to see in a Ghostbusters film: somebody awakens an ancient evil via a portal to elsewhere; there’s a bureaucratic mayor roadblocking our heroes (a game Andy Garcia, whose “don’t ever call me the Jaws mayor” is probably the best line; there’s a giant ‘thing’ trashing New York; and there’s slime aplenty.  What it doesn’t have is the two minor characters from the original: Rick Moranis’ sympathetic patsy, and Sigourney Weaver’s ‘normal’ character who grounds the whole shebang.  That the remake boasts neither leaves us with four lunatics spouting technobabble and shooting lasers at CGI for much of the narrative, so the whole endeavour feels hollow.

There are some funny moments, mostly from supporting characters and brief gracenotes: Karan Soni’s incompetent delivery man is fun (even if he’s playing the same role he played in Deadpool) and Zach Woods’ terrified tour guide delivers a line from The Exorcist in a nice nod.  One of the better moments comes when the characters scroll through an abusive list of internet comments and dismiss them; it’s a nice, meta touch and as confident as the film ever gets.

Less effective are the cameos which, rather than enhance a nostalgic experience, simply remind you that the original was a much better film.  Billy Murray’s paranormal sceptic is awful and makes you pine for his deadpan delivery in the main cast; Dan Ackroyd’s surly taxi driver delivers that line, Ernie Hudson turns up in a moment that should surprise nobody, and Annie Potts seems to have gone from an awful receptionist to an awful hotel desk clerk.  The Ozzy Osbourne cameo is just an embarrassment.  It feels like the film doesn’t believe in itself and needs these callbacks to validate its own existence.

Remakes are going to happen and there are two ways to get them somewhere approaching right: do something different but leave just enough of the original’s DNA to keep the fans on board (Evil Dead), or know that you’re covering old ground but commit to it (Star Trek Into Darkness knew damn well that it was covering Wrath Of Khan but went with it and enjoyed it). This does neither, and the problem with this slight, weightless and muddled remake is nothing to do with X chromosomes, but more to do with a poor script and a severe lack of confidence.