For the Love of Slimer, Please Stop Making ‘Ghostbusters’ Movies

Few legacy sequels are as depressingly unimaginative as 2021’s Ghostbusters: Afterlife, what with its dreary blend of hip young Gen-Z kids (including a boy named Podcast, for maximum under-18 appeal!) and paycheck-motivated old timers, as well as its gross use of CGI to resurrect the late Harold Ramis for squishy across-the-universe bathos. Helmed by Jason Reitman, son of the original films’ director Ivan, it bleakly connected its story to its predecessors, got the band back together (Bill Murray, Dan Aykroyd, and Ernie Hudson) alongside a collection of new members (precocious teens, Paul Rudd, and Carrie Coon), and squeezed the last drops of nostalgia from a beloved (if past-its-prime) property, all while forgetting that what made Ghostbusters such a unique hit in 1984 was that it was a comedy dressed up like a supernatural thriller, not the other way around.

And now, as ordained by the great and terrible circle of IP life, it has its own dispiriting follow-up.

Directed by Gil Kenan, who co-wrote its script with Reitman, Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire, premiering Mar. 22, rights the course of this wayward series insofar as it wholly ditches Oklahoma in order to situate its action in Manhattan, where it can spend time in the Ghostbusters’ firehouse HQ and stage scenes of the Ecto-1 racing through bustling city streets after screaming and whooshing specters. Otherwise, however, this return engagement is another sloppy and mirthless adventure that prioritizes action and family drama over humor—a state of affairs that’s exacerbated by the lack of suspense or excitement generated by this latest tussle between the multigenerational Ghostbusters and an undead foe bent on annihilation. So lamely modernized that it fully transforms its mini–Stay Puft Marshmallow Men into de facto Minions (all high-pitched gibberish and goofy hijinks), it’s a retro-contemporary rehash of the feeblest kind.

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