Review: Bustin’ doesn’t feel good in ‘Ghostbusters: Afterlife,’ a frustrating franchise retread
“Ghostbusters” franchise has been fairly clear. The first 1984 film is an all-time classic, the female-fronted 2016 reboot is pretty good, but 1989’s “Ghostbusters II” is just a failure that even Bill Murray disowned.
The new “Ghostbusters: Afterlife” (★★ out of four; rated PG-13; in theaters Friday) comes dangerously close to reaching that bottom. While teenage star Mckenna Grace infuses the aging property with a needed burst of youthful energy, co-writer/director Jason Reitman (son of original filmmaker Ivan Reitman) is more interested in looking backward with the sequel, leaning way too hard on old characters, story beats, plot points and zingers.
To wit: There’s a kid named Podcast who has a podcast, and the little dude’s not even close to being the most unimaginative aspect of this frustrating retread.
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When exasperated and broke single mom Callie (Carrie Coon) gets evicted, she moves her teen son Trevor (Finn Wolfhard) and 12-year-old daughter Phoebe (Grace) to fictional small-town Summerville, Oklahoma. The father Callie never knew (he abandoned the family) just died and left her a decrepit farmhouse next to an old mine.
While Callie yearns for her next glass of wine and Trevor crushes on a local waitress (Celeste O’Connor), awkward, science-loving Phoebe goes to summer school, where she meets fellow student Podcast (scene-stealing Logan Kim) and finds a kindred spirit in Mr. Grooberson (Paul Rudd), her teacher who’s been tracking the weird earthquakes that have hit the town recently. One might even say there’s something strange in the neighborhood.
Harold Ramis in the first two films), learns about his exploits in the infamous “Manhattan Crossrip of 1984” and begins noticing odd occurrences around the new place. She also finds her grandpa’s vintage proton pack, ghost traps and the iconic Ecto-1 car, all of which the youngsters need soon enough when pesky specters and little Baby Yoda versions of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man start popping up around Summerville.
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For the first hour or so, “Afterlife” solidly toes the line between old and new as Reitman delivers some great moments: One scene that really cooks finds Trevor zooming down the street in the Ecto-1, freaking out the locals, with Phoebe in the gunner’s chair blasting proton streams at an angry Slimer-esque ghost named Muncher. However, the movie veers from playing with past mythology to full-on aping it, apparently having learned all the worst fan-service lessons from “Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker.”
Ernie Hudson) in disappointingly predictable fashion to resurrecting the original film’s spooky-meets-sprightly score. Elmer Bernstein’s familiar jaunty piano melodies playing as two middle-schoolers walk down the street is the musical equivalent of the Steve Buscemi “How do you do, fellow kids?” meme.
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Grace proves herself worthy of having the franchise strapped to her back like an unlicensed nuclear accelerator. She perfectly captures the lovably eccentric vibe that Ramis did so well back in the ‘80s while still giving Phoebe her own blend of bone-dry humor and deadpan precociousness. The character is in a way a living tribute to Ramis amid a few touching ways the film honors the late actor, though “Afterlife” even finds a way to overdo that.
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