Despite its
place on the pantheon of contemporary pop culture, I confess I never responded
to 1984’s Ghost Busters with the kind of adoration so many seem to feel for
this particular movie. I certainly enjoyed it, but I never really loved it, not
even when I was a child.
Part of
this Ghost Busters’ agnosticism comes from the peculiar fact that, even though
I’ve watched the film several times, I can hardly ever remember any image from
it. The only visuals that have had any sort of staying power have been some of
the ghostly apparitions, conjured by a marvellous achievement of Oscar
nominated Special Effects, and, of course, the glittery glamour of Sigourney
Weaver’s possessed self in the second half of the narrative.
Perhaps
this had less to do with the film’s considerable formal modesty and more with
my usual lack of focus on its more cinematic aspects. For this time around, I
actually watched it through the prism of my search for a best shot and I was
delightfully surprised by the film’s subtle accomplishments in the imagery
department, not counting with the supernatural elements which I’ve always
admired (with one glaring exception, but let’s try to stay positive).
It’s fair
to say that Ivan Reitman is certainly not the reason for this newfound
appreciation. While his ability to mix wildly different moods and tones, from
family friendly horror to black humour, to a relaxed buddy comedy, is
admirable, his formal sophistication is severely lacking. The compositions of
the shots being of particular note with its uninspiring prosaicness. No, the
people responsible for the relative visual panache of the movie are these two
talented gentlemen:
As I said before,
the management of wildly different tones is Reitman’s greatest achievement in
the director’s chair but this directorial feat owes much to the fabulous work
of Laszlo Kovacs and John De Cuir.
With the
exception of the building that turns into a gateway to another dimension by the
film’s third act, the spaces of Ghost Busters are realized with a wonderful eye
for detail and subtle opulence, with innocuous objects and architectural lines filling
the frame with a visual richness that give the world of the film a strange but
pleasing dramatic realism. With a filmography filled with lavish period pieces
that garnered three Oscars, it’s no surprise that De Cuir’s work would be
admirable (this was his last film, by the way).
The sets’
visual power is only exacerbated by the beautiful lighting, creating an elegant
look for the film. This formidable symbiotic relationship allows for a certain cinematic
elegance, conjuring sequences like the opening of the film where the camera
glides through the shelves of a library in such a way that it’s difficult to
think we’re watching a comedy and not a horror film.
Or the
entire scene inside Dana Barrett’s apartment where we see her arriving at a
shadowy home, only illuminated by the ever-present lights of the city at night.
The darkness is suddenly substituted by light that reveals the set’s comfortable
atmosphere. Then, when she starts a phone call, the camera circles her, with a
light coming from the kitchen becoming increasingly threatening, until all hell
breaks loose and she is careened into a blinding light, ready to be possessed
by an ancient entity.
And so, despite
my best efforts, we return to Sigourney’s enchanting presence. It’s useless to
try to deny my love for her and it’s inescapable that my best shot features her
in sexy demon mode. Without further ado, here’s my best shot:
Best Shot
To me, here’s
a shot that unites everything I most appreciate in the film. Kovacs beautiful lighting
that suggests both a noir and a horror piece, and highlights Bill Murray’s
facial expressions (the greatest comedic asset of the film). The set design is brilliantly
featured with that strange little head (is that a lamp?) injecting a welcome beat
of idiosyncrasy into the scene’s imagery. And lastly, Sigourney Weaver in all
her seductive glory, standing in the shadows but luminous nonetheless, dressed
in bold colours and covered in drag queen levels of war paint, moving with a
delicious mixture of farcical sexiness and sincere demonic threat. How could I
resist?
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