‘Ghostbusters: Afterlife’ Review: Problematic Pandering Can’t Derail Charming Kids Fantasy
'Ghostbusters: Afterlife' overloads on nostalgia, to the point that this 'Force Awakens'-style legacy sequel almost falls into the 'Rise of Skywalker' sandbox.
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At its best, Jason Reitman and Gil Kenan’s Ghostbusters: Afterlife is an interesting example of giving a conventional “male escapist fantasy” hero’s journey to a young female protagonist. Like John McClane and Sam Witwicky before her, Phoebe Spangler finds herself in a situation where she has to grow up just a little, rediscover her own empathy and save the day in a scenario which allows her to earn the respect and trust of an estranged family member. We can debate whether she “gets the guy” as a final prize, as Podcast (Logan Kim) is understandably smitten at first sight. However, it’s close enough in terms of previous Peter Parker passion plays or Shia LaBeouf star vehicles (Eagle Eye, Disturbia, Transformers). When it focuses on Mckenna Grace’s adventure, the film fires on all cylinders. It’s just a shame it also had to be a slavishly reverent Ghostbusters 3, to the point where this Force Awakens flirts with becoming Rise of Skywalker.
It’s impossible to discuss this Ghostbusters legacy sequel, opening in theaters November 19, without discussing the outside pop culture context for which it exists. Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters: Answer the Call became a tipping point in the culture war due to the unthinkable sin of casting four middle-aged women in a remake which didn’t treat the 1984 comedy as religious gospel. Afterlife is another example of how “never let go” nostalgic fandom has created a need to both rehash previously successful franchises and treat those films as modern mythologies of utmost importance. That worked with The Force Awakensbecause Star Wars was always a modern myth. It’s downright silly seeing such gravitas being assigned to Halloween or Ghostbusters (a standard Reagan-era slobs versus snobs comedy about fired scientists who became field-specific blue-collar pest control). Like The Rise of Skywalker, the worst parts of Afterlife exist as a comforting “don’t worry middle aged men, your fandom is still the bestest” head pat.
Okay, fine, my feelings about this project are not a secret, so how does it work as a singular movie? Well, I imagine my kids, who are vaguely aware of the Ghostbusters franchise but have watched The Goonies a few times and binged Stranger Things over the summer, are going to mostly enjoy it. As the film becomes more and more of a glorified Ghostbusters remake, they may take it as it comes without realizing they should be cheering or rolling their eyes at a given callback. However, the film’s critical flaw, if not quite fatal one, is that it commits itself to not just being a new adventure with new protagonists in the world where the Ghostbusters saved New York from Gozer and the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man in 1984 (however, unless I missed a reference, not from Viggo the Carpathian in 1989). The problem is that it slowly becomes an increasingly faithful redo of that film, to its detriment.
This isn’t a spoiler, since we get references to the original Ghostbusters early on. However, the second and third acts lose focus spending too much time solving a mystery to which we already know the answer. That’s a shame, because the film’s first act is terrific, with rich characterizations, authentic slice-of-life portraits and crackling chemistry between the core family and the denizens of Summerville, Oklahoma. That’s where Callie, a single mother of two facing eviction, has moved her kids after her estranged father dies and leaves her his decrepit farm house. The film doesn’t beat around the bush, so, yes, her dad was Egon Spengler (the late Harold Ramis). Yes, young Phoebe (an awkwardly charming science nerd who is quite clearly on the spectrum) eventually discovers her grandfather’s history as a ghostbuster. Does his death have something to do with a series of mysterious earthquakes rocking the small town and/or Spengler’s property filled with empty but maintained farmland? Spoiler: Yes.
But before the film dives headfirst into unapologetic nostalgia, it works pretty well as a quirky and charming coming-of-age flick. The summer school teacher (a winning Paul Rudd) hits it off both with young Phoebe (who appreciates his background as a seismologist) and the hot new single mom in town. Digression, but not only is Carrie Coon better than this movie deserves, but the film is refreshingly non-judgmental about her romantic interests while subtly hinting at a potential drinking problem. She’s a three-dimensional human being who is justifiably pissed at her dad. The scenes between Phoebe and her nerdy always-podcasting pal or her new teacher are more compelling than older brother Trevor (Finn Wolfhard, in a frankly extraneous role) trying to score with Lucky (Celeste O’Connor). There’s a conversation to be had about films with white protagonists trying to win bonus points for casting non-white romantic interests (see also - Bumblebee) in stories which keep them platonic, but I digress.
The picture devolves into a saga of our new protagonists encountering essentially the same adventure that befuddled our original protagonists in the summer of 1984. Heck, I would be spoiling things just by telling you which elements do or don’t make a reprise. As much as I sighed or rolled my eyes at the callbacks, Easter eggs and rehashes, that’s frankly why this movie got made. As I noted when it was announced, when audiences don’t show up for Jason Reitman’s adult-skewing melodramas (Tully) or Sony’s non-franchise flicks (All the Money in the World), this is what we get. Ten years ago, J.J. Abrams’ Super 8 stood out amid a summer of sequels and revamps as an original homage to Amblin-style Steven Spielberg/Richard Donner kid-centric adventure stories. In 2021, we can’t even get one of those unless it’s encased explicitly in a decades-old franchise slathered in the comforting coat of “The original movie was the greatest movie ever” nostalgic pandering.
That the film centers a pre-teen girl will likely be seen as progress or a preemptive defense, but that’s neutered by the grotesque reaction to Answer the Call in summer 2016. It also plays into the notion that getting sloppy seconds of a white male-centric franchise, but only with the explicit family connection to the original heroes, is the ultimate aspirational goal for actresses. Now Hollywood didn’t tell audiences to rally for a female James Bond or a female Indiana Jones while ignoring Atomic Blonde and Tomb Raider. Hollywood didn’t force audiences to become so dependent on an IP that Paul Feig and friends spending $90 million on an original “four women catch ghosts” comedy (instead of a $144 million Ghostbusters remake) was never commercially viable. Hollywood didn’t force audiences to so explicitly turn its back on adult-skewing “movie-movies” that Reitman had to mine his dad’s most famous creation for even a “small-town kids go on a supernatural adventure” yarn.
Ghostbusters: Afterlife is good when it’s just being a movie. Despite my copious complaints about what it represents, the thumb still tilts up (and the tomato remains fresh). It looks lovely and Grace and Coons are terrific. It introduces winning new protagonists and offers strong dialogue when it’s not rehashing Ghostbusters exposition. Yes, the movie is funny and light, a reminder that announcement teasers are often darker and grimmer than the movie. Reitman and Kenan tell a straightforward fantasy with funny characters saying funny things. I will happily see it again if my kids still want to when the time comes, and I will very much champion a follow-up with this new cast, one hopefully less tied down by chasing fan approval and less focused on a Force Awakens-style redo. I hate that Ghostbusters: Afterlife exists as it does. But it’s also a mostly well-made movie with just enough singular successes to work for those who don’t care about Ghostbusters.
I've studied the film industry, both academically and informally, and with an emphasis in box office analysis, for nearly 30 years. I have extensively written about all of said subjects for the last 13 years. My outlets for film criticism, box office commentary, and film-skewing scholarship have included The Huffington Post, Salon, and Film Threat. Follow me at @ScottMendelson and "like" The Ticket Booth on Facebook.
