Opening this weekend:
Ghostbusters—Kristen
Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Kate McKinnon and Leslie Jones assume the title roles
in this “reboot” of the 1984 slapstick-supernatural fave. Anticipation of the
film has ranged from enthusiasm to hysterical outrage. Maybe because I liked but
didn’t revere the original—full of favorites of mine, but not representing the
greatest work of any of them—I went in with neither attitude, and was
pleasantly surprised.
I’ve heard it theorized that the sexist fury over the distaff
casting may have been exaggerated and harnessed to help market the film. That’s
possible, I suppose—and admirable, if so—but I doubt that it was whole-cloth
fabricated. About a decade and a half ago, I worked as a publicist for a comedy
club, and I can attest that the wearying belief that “women aren’t funny,” at
least not to the same degree as men, is genuinely held within the comedy world
(Christopher Hitchens also notoriously forwarded the opinion).
This sensibility—comedy as a kind of machismo—may be
shifting, however. With the possible exceptions of Kevin Hart and Seth Rogen, I
can’t think of any male American comedy stars that are currently as reliably
bankable in the movies as McCarthy and Wiig, and none that are more so. Somebody thinks these women are funny.
All of this, however, is of more sociological than cinematic
interest. The new Ghostbusters,
directed by Paul Feig, is no more a masterpiece than the old one, but it’s an
engaging variation, hitting most of its iconic aspects—the New York setting,
the hearse, Slimer, the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man and many cameos—while
allowing the stars their own characterizations. Wiig is prim, McCarthy is
brash, Jones is openhearted.
The wild card is the certifiable McKinnon, with her avid
sidelong glances and her through-the-teeth tone of sly, conspiratorial
intimacy. Also amusing is Chris Hemsworth as their brainless secretary; this
male lead seems happy in the role of ditzy eye candy.
Equals—This sci-fi
romance is set in a distant future in which everyone wears summery white and
maintains a blandly polite, emotionless manner. It could be called Planet of the Cater-Waiters. Coworkers
Nicholas Hoult and Kristen Stewart realize they're suffering from a dreaded
condition called SOS—“Switched-On Syndrome"; possibly the movie’s wittiest
gag—when they fall in love, and have to hide it. Eventually they find an
underground of fellow “hiders,” that is, secretly emotional people.
Directed by Drake Doremus from a script by Nathan Parker,
this cross between Romeo and Juliet
and Brave New World seems slightly
campy at first—a hushed, austere version of '70s dystopias like THX 1138 or ZPG or Zardoz or Rollerball or Logan's Run. But it gradually finds its own voice, gathers
emotional force toward the end, and proves an ingenious gem.
