Mea culpa.
I was wrong. Ghostbusters was not bad.
After railing against the film for months, using phrases like “inevitable heaping pile of garbage fire” and “Harold Ramis is rolling in his grave,” I watched the film and… kind of sort of enjoyed it.
The pacing was solid. The film had little fat to cut and kept me entertained throughout (until the end, but I’ll get to that later). It had a high concentration of well-written jokes, with each cast member getting a few funny lines deserving a hearty chuckle. The chemistry between the cast was well-established.
The racial-stereotype controversy with Leslie Jones was overblown. Yes, she was a loud black woman working for the MTA, but she also had encyclopedic knowledge about the city’s history and always had fun facts about the buildings and locations. So I guess they cancel each other out.
Anyone who thinks this movie is anti-man is just being a big baby. If you take offense at slight jabs like “safety lights are for men,” you probably need your man card revoked. Yes, Chris Hemsworth is appallingly stupid, but for comedic effect that works most of the time. The fun thing about being a man is not having to give a s–t about how men are portrayed in film like SJWs do with women. Yes, some men are written negatively in Ghostbusters, but I’m sure the species will survive it.
The girl power of the movie did not offend my delicate masculine sensibilities. The feminist messaging of the film was merely projected onto it by the overblown controversy perpetuated by the media. The new Ghostbusters could have been replaced by men and only three lines would need to change.
Sure, one could carp.
The original cast cameos were totally pointless. Why did Sigourney Weaver only appear during the ending credits? Why was Bill Murray dressed like Paul Feig? And Dan Aykroyd literally had less screen time than the product-placed Papa John’s pizza boxes. And, at the end (which was pretty bad), the funny writing ground to a halt and the mediocre effects took center stage.
Although the broad, goofy comedy didn’t match the tone of the original, it still felt like a Ghostbusters movie. Experimental tech used by a band of misfits to trap ghosts. Good enough.
The entire film was, if I have to be grudgingly honest, was good enough.
I guess I wanted Ghostbusters to fail, not out of some sort of reverence for the original, or spite towards Paul Feig and the cast or Sony and Amy Pascal, but on behalf of nerds who take strong positions on things for their own quirky reasons. It was infuriating to see people like James Rolfe tagged as misogynists based on no evidence — and, frankly, a complete lack of understanding of nerd culture. I hoped the movie would suck, then I would demand an apology as I smugly patted myself on the back while sipping on an Ecto Cooler.
Instead I find myself saying: I’m sorry Ghostbusters. I kind of enjoyed you.
Follow me on Twitter @William__Hicks.
