Ghostbusters was such a comprehensive part of my childhood, that it’s hard for me to imagine a time before it. These paranormal exterminators retain as much nostalgia for me as the NES, Pogs and turkey twizzlers. Much of my formative years were dedicated to the pursuit of a potential career as a Ghostbuster. I had every conceivable paraphernalia you could think of: the “Ecto 1”. The fire station. Figures. Proton pack. The trap, that only worked if you launched it gently across a smooth flat surface. Slimer. Pots of slime. Books. Videos and even wallpaper. You could say that Slimer was my spiritual surrogate. I was obsessed! Particularly with the animated television show “The Real Ghostbusters”. This more than any other form of media is what I was exposed to most. Even more so than the movie that inspired it.

Almost all of my Ghostbusters nostalgia originates from this startling disturbing extension of the movies. The imagery, especially the design of the ghosts were stylistically terrifying. One episode featured a kindly old lady who hires the Ghostbusters to rid her haunted domicile of spectral pests, only to be the instigator of said haunting. Morphing into a hideous bird like demon when no one is looking, she manipulates and even possesses a member of the Ghostbusters in an attempt to free the captive spirits from the containment unit. This creature utterly terrified me as an impressionable youth, but also inspiring an early fascination with horror. There was also the demon door unearthed by subway workers, that if opened will provoke an ensuing apocalypse. The ornate door bellowing the words “Do not open until doomsday” is a proclamation that still reverberates around my head whenever I see a sign that says “do not open”.

It only really occurred to me recently just how influential this show was to me. What’s more surprising is just how much I enjoyed this depiction of the Ghostbusters over the original movie. There was always an attempt with this series to just go full bonkers, with an animation that propagated an obscene creative autonomy that simply wasn’t possible in live action. There were no limitations. The broad strokes, characters and locations were adhered too, but “The Real Ghostbusters” wasn’t beholden or even constrained by these preconceived stipulations. If anything it utilises these established prerequisites to forward its own mythology. With stories that have endured, despite maturity and age convincing myself that these were merely childish distractions that encouraged idleness, rather than stimulating my interests in macabre.

The stories, combined with vibrant, artistic animation and exuberant soundtrack that provoked this kind of ethereal, creepy ambience were so engrossing to me. That knew when to build up the tension with a rousing 80’s synth. Diluted with just enough levity to remind viewers that this was in fact a kids cartoon, but made “The Real Ghostbusters” the most compelling iteration.