Ghostbusters: Afterlife. Cheesy, joyful nostalgia.

There are some vicious rumours going around that the latest Ghostbusters offering isn’t very good. So, let’s set that straight, shall we?

Someone once said to me, “name a film that’s better than Ghostbusters.” And I couldn’t. Is it my favourite film? No. Can I name a film that’s better? Also no. So, making a sequel 37 (THIRTY-SEVEN!) years later was always going to be a dangerous undertaking.

Brace yourselves, this film is basically an expensive depiction of the father-son issues that clearly exist between Reitmans Sr and Jr. And it’s a love letter to Harold Ramis. And it’s very Stranger Thingsy. And it’s set in Nondescript Oklahoma Town instead of New York.

I won’t dive into the narrative. It is quite a silly story (I mean, ya know…ghosts), but we’re not watching it for the plot, are we?

Despite his excellent name, it’s hard to get past the fact that Finn Wolfhard’s out of his cute-Stranger-Things-kid stage and has disappointingly become a stringy teenager, as tends to happen to kids these days. But he’s eclipsed by his on-screen sister, who’s both awkward and badass throughout. Also, there’s a kid called ‘Podcast’, because it’s 2021.

Paul Rudd should not be allowed to look like that at age 52. But I’m very glad he does. Also, keep an eye out for his perfect mimicking of Rick Moranis’ run.

Carrie Coon is very good at being Harassed Mum. I was worried that this was all she was there for, but she gets more to do later on, and it’s pretty cool.

The first time you hear the Ecto-1’s distinctive siren, you will get a lump in your throat. Unless you don’t have a soul. In which case, see a doctor. Or an exorcist.

It’s got (unexplained, but highly merchandisable, à la Ewoks) regular-sized Stay Puft Marshmallow men, who take part in Gremlins-style shenanigans.

Spoiler, but not really: some original cast members make an appearance. If, like me, you’re unlucky enough to be sat in front of someone’s too-young offspring (the 12A rating is the worst thing to happen in the history of cinema, and I will die on this hill), you may at this point hear a small voice squeak, “who’s that?” which could ruin a beautiful moment for you. But that’s not Jason Reitman’s fault. These appearances, while joyful, are more a harsh reminder of the relentless march of time. But even though Dan Ackroyd is looking more and more like he’s illustrated by Quentin Blake, he’s still good ol’ Ray, and we love that.

All-in-all, it’s cheesier than Cathedral City. It’s more nostalgic than Sherbet Dip. It doesn’t make you work hard. It doesn’t deal with any real-world issues. And did I cry at the end? Well, you can’t prove anything.

Oh, and don’t be fooled – there’s a mid- and a post-credits scene. Don’t be a plonker and leave after one.