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    ‘Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire’ Review: Something Weird, Multiplied

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    This overstuffed entry in the franchise is an eclectic, enjoyable barrage of nonsense.How many spirits can “Ghostbusters: Frozen Empire” fit in a firehouse? This overstuffed, erratically funny entry in the 40-year franchise crams in four main characters from the original 1984 blockbuster, six characters from the 2021 Oklahoma-set spinoff, “Ghostbusters: Afterlife,” and introduces three new occultists along with an assortment of ghosts, poltergeists, horned phantoms and miniature marshmallow men. At one point, a dozen or so heroes amass at the old Ghostbusters headquarters in Manhattan to protect a storage trap of ghouls that has, like the movie itself, gotten perilously sardined. In the scenes where the director, Gil Kenan, who wrote the script with Jason Reitman, ponders what it might feel like to let the dead dematerialize for good, the film seems to be asking its fan base if it’s ready to release Bill Murray’s weary parapsychologist, Peter Venkman, from haunting the series when his soul clearly isn’t in it.“Afterlife” introduced the estranged daughter of Harold Ramis’s Egon Spengler, a single mother named Callie (Carrie Coon), and her teenage children, Phoebe (Mckenna Grace) and Trevor (Finn Wolfhard). After the death of their paterfamilias, the family fended off his killer, the Sumerian deity Gozer, with a helpful boost from a high school physics teacher named Gary (Paul Rudd); two young pals, Lucky (Celeste O’Connor) and Podcast (Logan Kim) — yes, Podcast; and the first generation of Ghostbusters, Ray Stantz (Dan Aykroyd), Winston Zeddemore (Ernie Hudson), Dr. Venkman (Murray) and the sassy secretary, Janine (Annie Potts).Now, the Oklahomies (even the unrelated children!) have relocated to Manhattan to speed around town harpooning wild ghosts from the Ectomobile, that beloved vintage hearse. In New York, the posse meets an ancient languages expert (Patton Oswalt), a paranormal engineer (James Acaster, a kooky English comic making his big-screen Hollywood debut) and an in-over-his-head huckster (Kumail Nanjiani) who inherits a nasty little spherical cryptogram with a very bad thing locked inside that’s yearning to unleash a fatal attack of the shivers — a neat idea that, in execution, just looks like a Roland Emmerich disaster movie.My fingers have taken to their death bed simply typing out the basics. Yet, “Frozen Empire” is an eclectic, enjoyable barrage of nonsense — a circus act that kicks off with a Robert Frost poem and climaxes with Ray Parker Jr.’s titular synth banger. Each scene gets laughs. Strung together, they sputter along with the fragmentary logic of a dream: Characters vanish at key moments and then reappear unexpectedly covered in goo. A demon goes to a vape shop. Once, I could swear the fire station’s brass pole was smelted down. A few beats later it was back in place. We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      in Television

      The Loony Musings of the ‘Valley Heat’ Podcast

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      Christian Duguay’s podcast purports to be about the neighbors in the Rancho Equestrian District of Burbank. One thing is for sure: It’s masterfully absurd.In the Rancho Equestrian District of Burbank, Calif., they take foosball seriously — and those who don’t, well, they might get their thumbs broken. Or worse. Foosball is life or death there, but mostly death, or at least it can seem that way on “Valley Heat,” a deliriously deadpan fictional podcast about this real neighborhood that delights in ludicrous lore and nonsense.Its host, the spectacularly ineffectual freelance insurance adjuster Doug Duguay (played by Christian Duguay, a former star of “Mad TV”), tells his audience with the earnestness of an NPR host that when it comes to causes of death, a lot of people don’t know that foosball is “second only to jumping off cliffs in bat suits.”There’s no better indictment of the algorithms that power our digital landscape than the fact that my feeds have shown me thousands of videos of comedians doing crowd work over the past few years, but not a peep about this masterfully absurd podcast. While its 17 episodes evoke the dry humor of Mike Judge and the gleefully silly song parodies of “Flight of the Conchords,” “Valley Heat” remains under the radar, probably for the same reason it’s such an exciting find. It’s too weird to neatly categorize or quickly explain.I knew little about it before a recommendation from a friend, who said: “I’m not going to tell you anything, just listen.” I didn’t get it at first. It seemed banal, wandering. But its humor sneaks up on you. It’s somehow improvisational and literary at the same time, drunk on language, packed with twists, narrowly satirical while also creating a strange aesthetic world. The muted tone requires some focus from listeners. Once I tuned into its peculiar frequency, it had me laughing out loud as much as any TV show has in recent years.The first season was released in 2020 and developed a cult following, with some famous fans like Patton Oswalt. After a few episodes of a second season, the podcast vanished for more than a year and a half. It re-emerged in January on the platform Maximum Fun, which this year released two new episodes (that include Oswalt as a voice). The show centers on Doug, a beta male buffoon who tells us he was the kind of kid who could never have fun at a party. Doug grew into the kind of adult who becomes flustered when his wife’s yoga teacher, who answers the phone by saying “light and love,” texts mermaid emojis in Venmo transactions. “The mermaid is the only naked emoji,” he explains, before hedging. “Not fully naked.”We are having trouble retrieving the article content.Please enable JavaScript in your browser settings.Thank you for your patience while we verify access. If you are in Reader mode please exit and log into your Times account, or subscribe for all of The Times.Thank you for your patience while we verify access.Already a subscriber? Log in.Want all of The Times? Subscribe. More

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      in Movies

      ‘I Love My Dad’ Review: A Father Catfishes His Son

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      This comedy is a daddy-issues movie with a queasy premise truly made for these times.In his comedy, his writing and his social media presence, Patton Oswalt proves that nerdiness needn’t be a social liability. But in his most memorable screen roles — his disturbed, obsessive sports follower in “Big Fan” (2009), his withdrawn, physically challenged model-maker in “Young Adult” (2011) — he digs deep into the darker heart of dorkiness, if you will. His work in “I Love My Dad,” which won the audience award and the narrative feature award at this year’s South by Southwest Film Festival, is similarly committed, and, where it can be, acute. Too bad the performance isn’t in a better movie.While Oswalt’s character, Chuck, is a competent gamer and enjoys singing Cure songs at karaoke bars, his primary trait isn’t nerdiness so much as neediness. A pathological liar and an often absentee dad who has been letting his son, Franklin, down for decades, he nevertheless insists on connection.Franklin, now in his 20s and played by the movie’s writer-director, James Morosoni, has not been thriving. A stay in a vaguely sketched recovery facility spurs him to sever harmful relationships. So he blocks his dad on social media.This sends Chuck into a panic. In a diner he encounters Becca (Claudia Sulewski), a young waitress. Chuck invents a new social media account for her, through which he catfishes his lonely son, who immediately takes a liking to her.All of the uncomfortable scenarios you could possibly imagine then ensue. In real life, being defrauded in this way is, one presumes, exhilarating. At least during the period in which you’re falling for the con. And then, of course, it’s excruciating in hindsight. Since the audience is in on the scheme from the start, what we get is excruciating, uncut. But not too excruciating, because Franklin is such a drab cipher it’s hard to work up much empathy for him.The ostensibly comedic highlights include shots of Oswalt and Morosoni sloppily open-mouthed kissing. This, you see, contrasts the fantasy Franklin’s experiencing against the reality of what would be happening if … well, you get the idea. The remainder of the movie is a wait for the other narrative shoe to drop. After it does, a thoroughly improbable coda reminds us, once again, that in showbiz, it’s all about hope.This is the second indulgent and unaffecting daddy-issue movie of the summer — the first was “My Dead Dad.” One prays that there will not be a third.I Love My DadRated R for language, themes, inappropriate sloppy kissing. Running time: 1 hour 36 minutes. In theaters. More