Thirty years on, bustin’ still makes us feel good. In fact, few movies have the power to make us feel good-er. From pounding drum machine intro to marshmallow apocalypse finale, ‘Ghostbusters’ is a cavalcade of pure joy.
The reasons for this are manifold, but still bear repeating. Bill Murray’s sweetly sardonic performance is a treasure for the ages – that little plaza pirouette when he scores a date with Sigourney Weaver is a moment of transcendental bliss. The script is literally word-perfect, at once crude (‘this man has no dick’), weird (‘many Shuvs and Zuuls knew what it was to be roasted in the depths of the Slor that day, I can tell you!’) and packed with timeless silly-smart one-liners (‘Listen... do you smell something?’). Ivan Reitman’s direction moves at a clip, the animated effects are unearthly and beautiful, and the soundtrack, stuffed with long-forgotten yacht rock also-rans, somehow manages to be awful and perfect at the same time.
We could go on – at length – but why bother? You know it’s great. Go remind yourself why.