Ray Parker Jr. had better get his act in gear and come save me, because you see, I am being haunted. Haunted, by the ghosts of doomsdays past.
Who could have known that as we watched the credits roll on Sigourney Weaver and Rick Moranis in Ghostbusters II way back in 1989, we were also watching the sunset of a different era.
That “Apocalypse NOW!” idea of a ghostmageddon that could play out on the streets of an Actual New York City with people (tropes) we Can Easily Recognize, seemed to come to a brutal and also easily-missed quietus with Ivan Reitman’s last sojourn into that fictive world.
Not even the recently passed Mayan Doomsday (the most equal opportunity of all doomsdays since it’s predicated upon a pseudo-scientific principle from antiquity) could seem to resurrect the idea that a doomsday can happen to us all, and that we can be recognizable to ourselves, as our avatars traipsed on screen.
But there was something almost redemptive about that strange marriage of wit and humor and the ultra-recognizable, ultra-familiar in the Ghostbusters movies. And something that returns in the pages of Apocalypse Al.
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