Ghost answers a question often asked in the forums, for which I can never formulate a coherent reply: What type of film, exactly, belongs in the Agony Booth, and do they always have to inflict the amount of pain suggested by the name of the site?

Does an Agony Booth film always have to be an abomination? Does it have to be a film made with a nearly breathtaking deficit of talent, and a complete disregard for even the most basic principles of cinema? Does it have to willfully avoid any attempt at a story, or lack the slightest bit of entertainment value? In other words, do they all have to be Snuff?

I'll admit, I genuinely like some of the films featured here. I liked Die Another Day (though it's certainly not a movie I feel the need to watch a second time). Nevertheless, I can admit it has its share of plot holes and rank cheesiness—calling to mind nothing less than a fine wheel of baby swiss—and so it made for a great recap.

Which just goes to show, a film doesn't have to be a mess of celluloid pieced together with an Elmer's Glue Stick for it to qualify for this site. The only way a film wouldn't belong here is if the recapper couldn't connect enough with it—in either or a good or a bad way—to have something to say about it. I wouldn't want this site to go the way of Television Without Pity, where we routinely recap what we love, or stuff that's just damn fine entertainment. But it's always good to acknowledge that bad movies come in all stripes and budgets, and one person's rainy afternoon delight might be someone else's cinematic enema.

Which brings us to Ghost. It's probably one of the most beloved and popular films of the last twenty years—though, certainly not by me, or a goodly portion of our readership, I'd imagine. It was a smash success, and despite all the critical barbs at its shallow, manipulative hokum, it became an unqualified blockbuster. (Though I sincerely doubt it would have been as well-liked had it not been released in those pre-internet, pre-24 hour entertainment network days, thus sparing it the scorn that would even visit the much more successful Titanic.) 

Ghost scored two Academy Awards, and was even nominated for Best Picture. (But lest you think that the cheapening of the Oscar is a recent phenomenon, keep in mind that the bloated Cleopatra and kitsch-plagued The Towering Inferno were also up for Best Picture.)

Out of the two Oscars that Ghost received—one for Best Original Screenplay, and one for Best Supporting Actress (for future Star Trek recurring guest star and Repeat Offender Whoopi Goldberg)—I frankly find the writing award more offensive.

Oh sure, I know that Whoopi doesn't give anything resembling an Oscar-worthy performance in this movie. But I can forgive her award, because it was really just another Sorry About That™ Oscar. That is, an Oscar given for the sole purpose of apologizing for overlooking a much worthier performance. Specifically, Whoopi's excellent work in The Color Purple. But at least she can take comfort knowing she won't ever be the most blatant example of the Sorry About That Award. Not as long as Al Pacino holds onto Denzel's Malcolm X trophy.

The reason the award for writing irks me more—I mean, other than the script's lack of anything remotely original—is that it's always been an unspoken rule that the Best Original Screenplay award is saved for the actual best film of the year. In other words, the movie that committed the mortal sin of not being flashy enough, epic enough, or triumph of the human spirit-y enough to have a shot at Best Picture. And while some could reasonably argue that Alice, Avalon, Green Card, and Metropolitan were not the best pictures of their respective years, certainly a great deal more thought went into those scripts than Bruce Joel Rubin's lazy, listless screenplay for Ghost.

Intriguingly, Rubin also wrote the nightmarish and fascinating Jacob's Ladder, which came out that same year. So either Ghost was a willful fantasy to purge himself of Jacob's claustrophobic interiors, or that film itself was a fluke. Judging by his most recent credit, 2002's Stuart Little 2, I'm going with the latter explanation.

The director of Ghost, Jerry Zucker, has also fallen on lean times. Despite the success of this film, he's only directed two movies since then: The unfortunate First Knight, with Richard Gere as Sir Lancelot, and the unfortunate Rat Race, another movie featuring Whoopi Goldberg. But thankfully, he'll mostly be remembered for co-writing Airplane! and the Naked Gun movies.

Sadly, the success of Ghost was not only limited to awards and the box office. As most of you will recall, the Righteous Brothers' version of "Unchained Melody" was featured prominently in the film, and ended up becoming a Billboard Top 40 hit all over again. Thus allowing a whole new generation to get completely sick of it.

One last thing to note before I get started: I'll be calling Patrick, Demi, and Whoopi by their first names in this recap. Because with very few exceptions, they never attempt to act like anyone besides Patrick Swayze, Demi Moore, and Whoopi Goldberg, respectively.

(Honestly, I do feel kind of bad that Swayze looks so out of place in any role not involving teaching dance to vacationers while wearing a billowing blouse. But he doesn't really stretch here. And also, he's wearing the same blouse.)

The credits start white against a black background. The title "Ghost" loudly flashes at the audience like a shock effect, not unlike those "Are You Colorblind?" or "What is the Difference Between These Two Pictures?" emails you often get. That's the movie's scariest moment, by the way. The credits continue as we pan around a dust filled attic, with slats of light falling atmospherically through drop cloths and crates. Janet Jackson should be bopping through any minute now to sing "The Pleasure Principle".

A few tinkly bars of "The Love Theme From Ghost" are heard. Actually, the only bars of "The Love Them From Ghost" are heard, as it seems that after securing the rights to "Unchained Melody", that's all the original music the budget would allow.

The camera continues its crawl through the attic, and continues some more. Okay, this is no longer "atmospheric", it's "boring". Crashing sounds are heard beneath the floor, and we cut to a bird's eye view of Demi, Patrick, and third-wheel Carl breaking through the ceiling and discovering the attic crawl space. And hell-oooo to Tony Goldwyn's abs. All three of them coo at the discovered space, and how it gives them even more room.

Then we see the dusty, cavernous space they're standing in. Here, I'd like to introduce a new term to the Agony Booth Bad Movie Lexicon: Reel Estate. Wherein the accommodations in no way match the characters' salaries and/or lifestyles. Especially since (as we'll learn in a moment) this is a loft apartment in Manhattan. Hollywood still seems to harbor the belief that a Manhattan loft apartment == two crazy kids just starting out, and not filthy, bleeding, German Bear Bonds rich.

Patrick, who seems to have borrowed Dennis Leary's hair, smiles at Demi and they laugh and hug at how gosh darn happy and lucky they are, and how there's nothing but streets paved in gold in store for them. And hey! Patrick finds a jar holding an Indian Head penny! Even more good luck! 

They kiss, and kiss some more, and then Patrick picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist. Dude, your friend is standing right there. Carl looks uncomfortable, perhaps even jealous. Could we say, jealous enough... to murder? (Not to give away any surprise plot twists, or anything.)