"Phoebe doesn’t get this bustin' quest because she’s gifted or even because she’s basically a mini-Egon. She gets it because the house — and all its contents — were handed to her by her forefather. She does well with them, but it’s implied that’s because being a Ghostbuster is in her blood. Which aside from being cloyingly sentimental also defies the message of the first film, where a quartet of misfits had to build their own tools then fight their way through mass hysteria into the room to save the day. Phoebe strolls into the room with ease because the Ghostbusters have already made their mark, and their tools are all right there for the taking. Then, she and her far less charismatic crew barrel into a finale that is so similar to the original that I was left jaw-dropped in its audacious lack of imagination. If you’re going to follow the '84 film this closely, why bother making a new movie at all!?"
It is a meta-koan about the cyclical and yet ever changing fractal nature of reality. Eternal recurrence.
The circle of failchildren.