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Ghostbusters

Why remake Ghostbusters?

A perfect movie is a rare beast. To make every shot work, every actor deliver, to land every script beat requires skill, vision, and luck. The 1984 Ghostbusters originated in the fevered brain of Dan Aykroyd while he was in the middle of one of comedy’s greatest hot streaks. The OG SNL star conceived of three movies to feature him and his best friend, John Belushi: The Blues Brothers, Ghostbusters, and Spies Like Us. Just as the unlikely success of The Blues Brothers gave the pair the run of Hollywood, Belushi OD’d. Aykroyd and Caddyshack director Harold Ramis retooled Ghostbusters‘ insane first draft, which featured psychedelic scenes of astrally projecting Ghostbusters fighting hordes of interdimensional spectres, as a more grounded ensemble movie set in New York City.

In 1984, all the pieces fell together for producer/director Ivan Reitman to make the quintessential action comedy. Aykroyd and Ramis created a pair of indelible geek icons in the schlubby Ray Stantz and the Spock-like Egon Spengler. Sigourney Weaver did duel duty as symphony musician Dana Barrett and gatekeeper spirit Zuul, playing off of Rick Moranis as a geeky accountant possessed by the Keymaster Vinz Clortho. The role of Winston Zeddmore was originally offered to Eddie Murphy, but when he turned it down in favor of Beverly Hills Cop, Ernie Hudson stepped into the thankless role of audience surrogate. Looking back on Ghostbusters from the perspective of 2016, it’s clear that Bill Murray is the key to the picture’s success. His Lothario con man turned paranormal investigator Peter Venkman is a perfectly pitched performance worthy of Chaplin, Keaton, or Cleese.

Remaking Ghostbusters seemed a fool’s errand. Reitman captured lightning in a bottle, an artifact of a certain moment when all the players were at the top of their game, by mixing ’80s horror beats with Second City gonzo yucks. Even the core creative team couldn’t reproduce the magic. Remember Ghostbusters II? Of course not. You might as well try to remake Casablanca.

This was the task set before director Paul Feig. In a move that upset a vocal hoard of internet man-babies, the creator of Freaks and Geeks upped the already impossible difficulty level by gender-swapping the characters. Well, I’m here to tell you that the Men’s Rights movement picked the wrong hill to die on.

Leslie Jones, Melissa McCarthy, Kristen Wiig, and Kate McKinnon don the proton packs in Paul Feig’s remake of Ghostbusters.

Feig surmised that the secret of Ghostbusters was in the chemistry, and the director of Bridesmaids knows funny women. The team of Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon, and Leslie Jones is even more finely balanced than Murray, Aykroyd, Ramis, and Hudson. Wiig’s Erin Gilbert, a former paranormal investigator trying to get tenure as a physics professor at straight-laced Columbia University, can’t touch the crystalline genius of Murray, but she’s a good fit for this version. McCarthy hones her wild talent with discipline and precision, turning in the best performance of her career as Abby, the Ray Stantz analog. Feig and Parks and Recreation writer Katie Dippold’s script gives Jones’ character, Patty, a New York transit employee who gets sucked into the Ghostbusters’ world, more to do than Hudson, and the film is all the better for it. The most perverse casting choice is Chris Hemsworth in a hybrid of Sigourney Weaver and Annie Potts’ cynical receptionist; Thor rises to the occasion by whipping out previously unseen comedy chops. But it’s McKinnon who slyly steals the show. McKinnon reworks Ramis with a brash physicality. Geeks are cool now, but McKinnon, who takes her look from the animated version of Egon, avoids the autistic minstrel show approach epitomized by The Big Bang Theory and wrings more depth out of renegade techie Holtzmann than the script provides.

As long as Feig and Dippold follow Aykroyd and Ramis’ beats, the movie hums along, but when they attempt to graft on a parody of The Avengers climax in place of the intimate confrontation with Gozer the Destructor, the film spins out of control. Still, speaking as an old school Ghostbusters fan, this remake is better than it has any right to be. In 1984, Ghostbusters was a standout in a quality field that included Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Purple Rain, and fellow action comedy classics Gremlins and Romancing the Stone. 2016’s Ghostbusters comes as a sip of water in a historic drought. Feig has pulled off the impossible by successfully reworking an unlikely masterpiece, and everyone involved deserves major kudos.

But seriously, let’s not try to remake Casablanca, OK?

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Opinion The Last Word

The Rant (November 27, 2014)

Our borders are so porous that they have become nearly impossible to police. Thousands of aliens sneak into this country every day and head for border towns where they can blend in with people of similar color who speak a similar language, making it impossible to detect who is and who is not a documented citizen.

The border is so long that no fence short of the Wall of China could even begin to stop the migrating hordes that seek sanctuary in the USA. They have infiltrated every major city, and many illegals have had children here so that they can automatically become American citizens. These are the “anchor babies” you’ve heard so much about. There are so many aliens already here that you could never round up and deport them all. And the number of good jobs that they take away from able-bodied Americans is scandalous. They have begun to dominate entire business sectors and have affected popular culture so much that our children are exposed. The lure of cheap drugs has caused Americans in border towns to flock to pharmacies across the border in order to smuggle drugs back into this country.

They talk differently. Their food is different. Their national sports are different. Let’s face it, these people are different than we are. I strongly believe, and many other like-minded patriots agree, that it’s about damn time that we crack down on this endless stampede of Canadians invading our land.

They come across in border towns like Detroit, Buffalo, and Rochester, but those who really want to enter undetected use the wide swaths of land that are too remote to patrol. They enter in places like Duluth, Minnesota, and Grand Forks, North Dakota, and I understand that the farther west you go, the more hardcore the trafficking is in illegal drugs, particularly marijuana. Demand has fallen totally off in Washington state, but I’ve heard about Canucks with calves the size of saskatoons from smuggling backpacks full of dangerously potent cannabis from Vancouver across the border. The Canadians call it “B.C. Bud,” or at least that’s what I was told. And not only are their legal drugs cheaper, I get at least 15 emails per week enticing me to buy them. You can even order them through the mail, flouting the law. And what is this Vicodin they keep wanting me to take?

Canadians don’t care about our laws. They were all bootleggers during prohibition, and some of the most prominent families made their fortunes supplying illegal hooch to Al Capone. Every time our country enters into one of our periodic righteous wars with somebody we don’t like, it’s always Canada that openly welcomes our cowardly draft-dodgers into their midst, especially during that pesky Vietnam business.

Over the past 40 years, there has been a stealth campaign among Canadians to infiltrate and take over the entertainment industry, beginning with the Toronto immigrant Lorne Michaels. In the mid-1970s, he invented a subversive television program called Saturday Night Live, and ever since, he’s relied on Canadians to spread his irreverent message – people like Dan Aykroyd, Martin Short, Norm McDonald, and Mike Meyers. This opened the floodgates for Canadian comedy with imported shows like SCTV, featuring perverted comics like John Candy, Rick Moranis, Catherine O’Hara, and Eugene Levy. Following their migrant trail came Jim Carrey, Howie Mandel, and Tommy Chong who began to take over our movie industry.

If our government had been vigilant enough to keep these freeloaders out, we would never have had to suffer through Honey, I Shrunk the Kids, Wayne’s World, or Ace Ventura: Pet Detective. Canadians spend half their lives listening to Gordon Lightfoot and the other half watching hockey. They drink beers called Moosehead and Labatt and live on a diet of bacon and maple syrup, which they pour over everything. They refuse to speak American. Instead of “out and about,” they say, “Oot and aboot.” They swear allegiance to the British crown, and even have a state that wants to secede, where they force everyone to speak French. And now they want this XL Keystone Pipeline to transport Canadian oil across our great country into the Gulf of Mexico so they can sell it to the Russians and Chinese. Of course, there’s absolutely no danger of an oil spill in the Gulf, right?

It’s past time to round up all your Avril Lavignes, your Ryan Goslings, and your Anna Paquins and begin arranging their transport home. It’s shocking how deeply they have burrowed into our society. William Shatner is Canadian. I mean, Captain Kirk is an alien, for God’s sake. Even the hip-hop artist Drake comes from the mean streets of Toronto.

We refer to Mexicans as “illegal aliens,” but Canadians are always, “our friends up north.” I think it’s time to send these toque-wearing, cheese-eating, Celine Dion-listening ice skaters back into their own wretched country. Especially this Seth Rogan fellow, whose “nerd gets the girl” movies have caused young men to resort to gun violence. It’s time this invasion came to an end and relocations are in order.

I only have one request. When the government starts deporting Canadians, please deport Justin Bieber first, aye?