Take a beloved film, a tentpole of the eighties cinema, that despite its problems has character, charm, humour and some of the best comedic lines in movie history, then surgically remove all of that, shoehorn in some stuff from the original movie concept (Ghostbusters are an established emergency service) and you have a comic that makes you pull a face like you’re having sex using a condom full of Lego bricks.
This is a well-meaning disaster. The writing is a mess and is far too reverential to what’s come before, including the second film which by rights deserves to be forgotten. The humour just falls flat and isn’t helped by the art looking like someone got pissed off with the paper and just scribbled all over it. The story telling is also a mess, characters actions don’t flow and the faces are so exaggerated Picasso would throw down his paintbrush. Throw a bucket of neon paint on it and the whole thing becomes an epileptic’s nightmare.
The pacing feels like someone who’s never heard music trying to tap dance barefoot on an oily  Slip n Slide the original Ghostbusters don’t feel like their movie counterparts, the new Ghostbusters could be cool if they were given any room to breath and if anyone can tell what the point of any of the story was don’t bother telling me as I’ve ceased to care. 0.8/5
[yasr_overall_rating size=”large”]
(W) Erik Burnham (A/CA) Dan Schoening , published by IDW
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