Ghost Baby (2026) takes one of life’s most terrifying experiences—new parenthood—and dares to make it even worse by adding a mischievous supernatural twist. Blending comedy and horror with surprising emotional warmth, the film turns sleepless nights, baby monitors, and domestic chaos into a playground for both laughs and chills.
Ryan Reynolds and Melissa McCarthy are perfectly cast as an exhausted couple already teetering on the edge before discovering that their newborn may not be alone. Reynolds leans into his trademark self-aware panic, delivering rapid-fire sarcasm that feels like a defense mechanism against utter breakdown. McCarthy, meanwhile, grounds the madness with her physical comedy and fierce maternal instincts, making their partnership the film’s emotional anchor.
The premise is absurd on paper—a baby haunted by a playful ghost—but the film smartly treats it as a metaphor. The haunting becomes a stand-in for anxiety, fear of failure, and the overwhelming sense that parenthood is something no one ever truly prepares you for. Every flying object and shaking crib feels like an external manifestation of internal panic.
Visually, Ghost Baby knows exactly how to balance tone. The house is bright and cozy by day, filled with pastel baby gear and forced optimism. At night, shadows stretch, baby monitors whisper, and the familiar becomes deeply unsettling. The contrast enhances both the comedy and the horror, allowing jump scares to coexist with punchlines.
The ghost itself is less malicious than mischievous, which gives the film a unique personality. Instead of leaning into pure terror, the haunting feels chaotic and oddly playful—more prankster than demon. This choice keeps the film accessible while still delivering enough creepy moments to satisfy horror fans.
One of the film’s funniest elements is the paranormal investigator subplot. The eccentric expert, clearly more confident than competent, escalates the situation with increasingly ridiculous rituals and theories. These scenes provide some of the biggest laughs while also satirizing humanity’s desperate need for answers when things feel out of control.
What elevates Ghost Baby beyond a simple genre mashup is its emotional undercurrent. Beneath the chaos is a genuine story about partnership, vulnerability, and learning to ask for help. The film understands that fear doesn’t make you a bad parent—it makes you human.
The pacing is brisk, rarely lingering too long on any one gag or scare. Just when the jokes risk becoming repetitive, the story pivots toward quieter moments of reflection, allowing the audience to connect emotionally before plunging back into madness.
The third act leans more heavily into heart than horror, offering a resolution that feels earned rather than convenient. Instead of “defeating” the ghost in a traditional sense, the film reframes the haunting in a way that reinforces its central theme: control is an illusion, but love is not.
Reynolds and McCarthy’s chemistry carries the film effortlessly, making even the most outlandish situations feel believable. Their performances remind us that comedy works best when grounded in truth—even if that truth involves a haunted baby monitor.
In the end, Ghost Baby is more than a gimmicky horror-comedy. It’s a sharp, surprisingly tender look at fear, responsibility, and the strange ways life changes you overnight. Equal parts ridiculous and relatable, the film proves that sometimes the scariest thing isn’t the ghost in the nursery—it’s realizing you’re in charge now.
