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<text id=89TT1686>
<title>
June 26, 1989: Time For The Ants To Revolt?
</title>
<history>
TIME--The Weekly Newsmagazine--1989
June 26, 1989 Kevin Costner:The New American Hero
</history>
<article>
<source>Time Magazine</source>
<hdr>
CINEMA, Page 89
Time for the Ants to Revolt?
</hdr><body>
<p>Two big, dull sequels hint at a drizzly summer
</p>
<p>By Richard Schickel
</p>
<p> The best kind of bright early summer's day spoiled by the worst
kind of dark imaginings: Is it possible that in this season,
otherwise so full of innocent promise, Hollywood executives banish
all thought of us as audience -- discerning, judicious, culturally
literate? Does the solstice induce in them some Kafkaesque mental
process by which we are converted, for purposes of contemptuous
calculation, into some lower life-form? Do moviegoers suddenly seem
to them to be, say, a vast colony of ants mindlessly munching
through forests of Roman numerals, unconcerned about the taste,
good or bad, of anything placed in our path? (Yum -- Indiana Jones
III; slurp -- Star Trek V: The Final Frontier; burp -- Ghostbusters
II.)
</p>
<p> This grim fantasy is engendered by exposure, in rapid
succession, to the films underlying those last two presold titles
and by the prospect of The Karate Kid III, Lethal Weapon II,
Nightmare on Elm Street V and, heaven forfend, Friday the 13th
VIII. Not to mention James Bond umpty-ump. The basic criticism of
sequels is as familiar as it is correct: they represent the triumph
of commercial caution over creative daring.
</p>
<p> Take Ghostbusters II, for example. Once again the
psychomagnotheric slime is flowing in Manhattan. Once again spooks
are aloft among the other pollutants in its atmosphere. Once again
paranormal phenomena (this time in the service of Vigo, a sometime
Carpathian tyrant, whose spirit inhabits an antique portrait) have
singled out Dana (Sigourney Weaver) for special attention. Once
again the old team of exorcists -- wisecracking Venkman (Bill
Murray), absentminded Egon (Harold Ramis), earnest Ray (Dan
Aykroyd) and stouthearted Winston (Ernie Hudson) -- is ready to
deploy its pseudo science in the service of exorcism.
</p>
<p> But that pileup of "onceagains" finally undoes this sequel. For
if writers Ramis and Aykroyd have slightly altered the
circumstances of their central figures, they have not bothered to
develop their characters any further. Dana, for example, has a baby
and a tangle-tongued boss -- marvelously played by Peter MacNicol
-- who is madly in love with her. The ghostbusters themselves are
suffering, to good comic effect, from celebrity burnout and
municipal ire over their failure to clean up the mess that they
made the last time they saved the city.
</p>
<p> But the movie and everyone in it remain, under Ivan Reitman's
determinedly casual direction, very loosely organized. They amble
agreeably, but not necessarily hilariously, from one
special-effects sequence to the next. These are not better, worse
or even different from the original's trick work, and their lack
of punctuating surprise is the film's largest problem, especially
at the shamelessly repetitive climax.
</p>
<p> Still, it has moments of wayward life, especially in contrast
to the smug torpor of Star Trek V, which William Shatner directed
from a script by David Loughery. That "final frontier" mentioned
in its title is nothing more than your standard black hole, through
which the starship Enterprise is commanded to navigate by a not
very menacing religious fanatic named Sybok (Laurence Luckinbill).
He imagines he will find God lurking back of this particular
beyond. What he finds instead is, of course, a false deity
manifested in the form of an unpersuasive special effect.
</p>
<p> This story is treated pretty much as an obligation, a formal
requisite of big-budget sci-fi. What really interests the creators
of this movie is the middle-aging process as it affects Captain
Kirk, Mr. Spock and "Bones" McCoy (respectively, need we say,
Shatner, Leonard Nimoy and DeForest Kelley). Good of them, on the
one hand, to acknowledge that the boys aren't getting any younger.
Bad of them, on the other, not to acknowledge the possibility that
after being cooped up on a spaceship for almost a quarter-century,
they might be a trifle tired of one another's company. A little
scratchy, say, over Spock's unending reasonableness, Kirk's
sententious habit of summing up the moral of every adventure. But
no, the atmosphere on this voyage is a lot like a late night at an
Elks' smoker, all bleary sentimentality and nostalgia for the past.
Maybe we will never find God, Kirk suggests at the end, but, by
golly, male bonding is a swell substitute.
</p>
<p> This is a thought only a Trekkie could love. But it does get
one to wondering what these boring guys see in one another. And,
even more subversively, what did we ever see in them? It is, one
suspects, a notion that may recur as we glumly chomp our way across
the bleak summer-movie landscape. Anybody up for a consumer revolt?
Come on, folks. What are we, men or . . . ants?
</p>
</body></article>
</text>