Bustin' Ghosts in NYC

 Prior to 2019, I couldn't tell how long it had been since I last watched "Ghostbusters" (1984). When the reboot with comediennes replacing our 80s heroes was released in theaters in 2016, there was outrage and abject scrutiny from a very vocal fanbase, but I didn't mind it at all. My family seemed to have a good time, and it wasn't a chore at all. I don't think it was at all necessary, though. Some treasures of another era perhaps should be better left alone. Hollywood seems incapable of doing that, however. Nowadays, as was last year, and perhaps since 2016, "Ghostbusters" is on all the time. I had a glitchy recording of it off of AMC the other evening right in the middle of the film. So frustrating when that happens. And yet, sure enough, I found it coming on the same night on IFC. Problem solved. Last year I watched the film THREE times. Maybe it was Murray being slimed or three revisits to the grumpy and enraged giant Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Sigourney Weaver showing shoulder and those amazing legs in a flowy gown never gets tired, though, ever since I was a kid, the arms reaching out her chair while she sit, grabbing and holding down her mouth and body, while said chair is pulled towards a demon dog just unsettled me...it just makes me cringe. 

I love the ghosts in the movie. Slimer with its mouth full of hot dogs and fine hotel cuisine. The library granny wanting peace and quiet while taking in some literature. The rotten caddie.  The gold ballroom and hotel floor slimer haunts as the proton pack heroes blast here and there causing as much if not more damage than their quarry has plenty of crashing plates and even a chandelier. I have an affinity for breaking dishes. I could break a few right now. NYC under siege thanks to smug and off-putting Atherton, with that face that begs and pleads to be pummeled, after the captured entities are released by court order due to "environmental regulations" broken. There is some satisfaction to seeing Atherton splattered by "Stay Puft remnants". Aykroyd speaking about his campfire marshmallows from childhood now manifest by a Sumerian god....this cheers me up writing it.

Ernie Hudson might have been late casting but he got his moments, dammit! Winston really tries to keep a level head with all the dangerous ghost business, including facing a Sumerian god at the top of a collapsing high rise. Talks of Revelations and End Times while in the car with Aykroyd, while Aykroyd looks at the high rise blueprints could spook anybody. So his reactions and responses to all the madness is reasonable for any layman. So he's our Ghostbuster. We relate to him. Aykroyd and Ramis are the scientists with the gobbledygook and gibberish. Murray ad-libs and flirts, not seemingly capable of taking anything seriously. A cigarette barely in his mouth while [half] discussing business with Annie Potts, or scanning Weaver's apartment for ghosts, Murray never really worries about anything. He's a grown kid without a care in the world even in the face of Sumerian god peril. 

Funny how the film shifts Potts from Ramis to Moranis in the sequel. Ramis emerging from under her desk as if he just gave her some happy time, talking of his fungus and spore collecting hobbies during "small talk", Potts, an actual sexpot at the time dressing "nerd" with glasses for the part, seems perfect for him even as he's oblivious to her interests in him. But Moranis is a perfect substitute. He's an ad-lib machine, too, and his apartment mishaps, tragic attempts to engage Weaver, and party throwing blunders make Moranis a godsend to the film. When a privilege restaurant disregards him as a demon dog presses on him, poor Moranis' role in life as a sweet but social misfit few want to be around or even pay attention to is secured. I love this guy. The next film does him right.