​Feig’s “Ghostbusters” fires up the proton packs

The insightful Caity Birmingham recently said, “Someday we'll be able to give ‘Ghostbusters’ an honest B- and cite ten movies that did the female scientist action buddy movie so much better.” You gotta admire the optimism in Ms. Birmingham’s note, since the discourse in the months – even years – leading up to Paul Feig’s parallel universe/remake/reboot/reimagining of the hugely popular 1984 comedy phenomenon has focused on an awful lot of ugly and ignorant outbursts screamed by angry trolls.

From the horrific racist and misogynist abuse suffered by Leslie Jones to commentaries unpacking the head-scratching chauvinist myth that women can’t be funny, the noise surrounding the new movie is so cacophonous that virtually no major critic has tackled the film without addressing what Dana Stevens perfectly describes as the “acrid reception” of “Ghostbusters” by the “airless lairs of hardcore fanboys of the original, irked that a classic of their childhood has been slimed by the presence of women.”

While the laughable cries of “ruined childhoods” are misplaced in an industry that survives on the constant recycling and extending of any product that carries even the slightest whiff of money, one wonders if the invective would have reached the same fever pitch had the new squad featured XY chromosomes. Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, and Leslie Jones are uniformly terrific, breathing far more life into their characters than what has been provided or required by Feig and Katie Dippold’s wobbly screenplay.

Arguably, our new “Ghostbusters” does not go far enough to distinguish itself from the movie directed by Ivan Reitman, depending as it does on familiarity with the first one when it could and should be exploring new directions and a fresher climax. This blueprint tactic is particularly detrimental in the second half of the movie, when a full-scale “save the city” SFX extravaganza misses the hysterical urgency of Peter Venkman’s confrontation with William Atherton’s obstructionist Walter Peck. Instead, the plot hurtles chaotically toward a kitchen sink melee featuring cameo appearances by the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man (in ghostly parade balloon form) and Slimer (hijacking the wheel of the Ecto-1).

In addition to the appeal of the central quartet, the new “Ghostbusters” looks absolutely gorgeous, with eye-popping colors and stunning visual effects that honor the apparitions we saw more than thirty years ago.

Feig and Dippold stumble, however, with the ill-defined creeper Rowan North (Neil Casey), a functional combination of the conduit-to-malevolent-spirits aspect of both Dana Barrett and Louis Tully. The filmmakers fail to come up with anything as funny as the gonzo mythology of Sumerian destroyer Gozer the Gozerian, Zuul the Gatekeeper, and Vinz Clortho the Keymaster.

Even so, another of my friends, the redoubtable cinephile Dan Hassoun, speculated that the Gilbert/Yates/Holtzmann/Tolan “Ghostbusters” was preferable to a “Ghostbusters III” featuring the surviving cast members from the original film. For that we may thank Bill Murray, who was widely reported to have refused participation following the death of Harold Ramis in 2014, but now turns in an appearance as a foppish debunker.

And as for the contingent crying foul, let’s not forget that “Ghostbusters” is hardly a pristine relic. Along with the 1989 sequel, the brand has spawned episodic animated television, comic books, action figures, and more than a dozen different video games.

Whether you are a Ghosthead or not, the new incarnation is a welcome addition to a property that will be a going concern of Sony’s for years to come. Strap on your proton pack and take a look. Busting just might make you feel good.