WHEN Ivan Reitman’s paranormal comedy fantasy arrived in 1984, we welcomed it as silly fun, no better than it might be, the slogan “Who ya gonna call?” the only reason to remember it.

Paul Feig’s 2016 remake tries to be different by adding two letters to the sign on the toilet door. While there’s no reason why women can’t be physicists or brave or successful in dangerous jobs to no less degree than men, the screenplay by Feig and Katie Dippold, in effect, tells this remake’s four main characters that while they are delivering a similar collection of shenanigans to those of their male predecessors, the exigencies of the marketplace expect them to assert their femaleness.

Hollywood’s male-driven concept of femaleness is boobs and butts. Even though this sequel tries to suppress that shibboleth by dressing its heroines in dungarees and kick-ass boots, when they’re not out defending New York from an invasion of malevolent ectoplasms, at other times cat fighting and shrieky-squealy girly clichés dominate the film more than they should or need.

Playing scientists with paranormal credentials, Melissa McCarthy has top billing followed by Kristen Wiig. Leslie Jones plays a bored subway ticket seller for whom a ghostbusting gig provides a welcome change. But the best fun comes from Kate Mckinnon as McCarthy’s lover and the team’s most skilled inventor.

The rest is banging, howling and animated mayhem taking up a disproportionate amount of the film’s time without adding the teeniest whit of freshness to its flavour.

At all cinemas

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