The Ghostbusters reboot – with the politically-correct all-female cast – opens this weekend, and the reviews are about what you’d expect. In short, having Melissa McCarthy sit on your genitals would be a more enjoyable experience.
When the fledgling team of paranormal investigators in Paul Feig’s Ghostbusters reboot post details of their first supernatural encounter online, one of the comments it elicits is: “Ain’t no bitches gonna hunt no ghosts.” It’s a clever wink at the kneejerk hostility engendered among self-appointed guardians of the beloved ’80s comedy franchise, long before the new movie was publicly screened. The unfunny mess that hits theaters Friday, like a big goopy splat of ectoplasm, will no doubt make those naysayers feel vindicated.
In all honesty, I have no idea who Kate McKinnon and Leslie Jones are. I know Kristen Wiig is a decent voice-over actor, but she is homelier than Jessica Chastasin.
As for McCarthy, I have a serious question: why is this woman famous? She makes Camryn Manheim look like Kate Moss, has the theatrical presence of Rosie Perez, and is about as funny as my morning bowel movements. Yet this heifer still gets work. I mean, Hollywood is just f**king with us, right? She cannot possibly have fans, right? Is it just me?