Mom, I Hate Ghosts (2026) is the kind of supernatural comedy that understands one simple truth: nothing tests a parent’s sanity quite like chaos at home—unless that chaos happens to be dead. Blending family comedy with playful horror, the film leans into absurdity while grounding its story in relatable parental exhaustion and love.
Melissa McCarthy anchors the film with a perfectly tuned performance as Sarah, a mother whose patience is already stretched thin before the ghosts even show up. McCarthy doesn’t play Sarah as a fearless hero, but as a woman desperately trying to maintain order while reality actively rebels against her. Her comedic timing shines in moments of quiet disbelief just as much as in full-blown panic.
The haunted house itself feels less like a nightmare and more like an unruly daycare run by spirits with no boundaries. The ghosts aren’t malicious—they’re annoying, nosy, and wildly inconsiderate. Furniture moves, walls whisper, and spontaneous ghost parties erupt at the worst possible moments, turning everyday parenting struggles into supernatural endurance tests.
Paul Rudd brings his signature charm as Sarah’s skeptical son, whose disbelief slowly crumbles in the face of undeniable paranormal nonsense. His transition from eye-rolling sarcasm to genuine terror is played for laughs, but it also adds a clever generational contrast—kids may think they know everything, until the impossible starts floating through the living room.
Jamie Lee Curtis is an absolute scene-stealer as Sarah’s eccentric mother. Her “old-school” ghost-hunting methods—equal parts confidence and complete nonsense—result in some of the film’s most physical comedy. Curtis leans fully into the absurd, proving once again that she’s just as formidable in comedy as she is in horror.
Octavia Spencer’s no-nonsense paranormal investigator arrives as the supposed solution, only to become another source of chaos. Her calm authority clashes hilariously with the uncontrollable nature of the haunting, and Spencer’s dry delivery cuts through the madness with razor-sharp wit. The film smartly subverts expectations by making expertise just as flawed as ignorance.
What elevates Mom, I Hate Ghosts beyond simple slapstick is its understanding of family dynamics. The ghosts may be disruptive, but they force the family to confront how disconnected they’ve become. In the noise and confusion, conversations happen, bonds strengthen, and priorities shift.
Visually, the film balances spooky aesthetics with bright, playful energy. The ghosts are more mischievous than terrifying, designed to amuse rather than traumatize. Clever practical effects and comedic timing keep the supernatural elements light enough for family audiences while still delivering classic haunted-house vibes.
The pacing keeps the momentum high, rarely lingering too long on one joke. While some gags feel intentionally over-the-top, the film knows when to pull back and let character moments breathe. These quieter scenes give emotional weight to the chaos, reminding us what’s at stake beyond the laughs.
At its core, the movie argues that control is an illusion—especially for parents. Sarah’s journey isn’t about getting rid of the ghosts, but learning to adapt, let go, and laugh through the madness. The haunting becomes a metaphor for life’s unpredictability, where resistance only makes things louder.
In the end, Mom, I Hate Ghosts (2026) is a warm, ridiculous, and unexpectedly tender comedy that proves family life is already supernatural enough. With a stellar cast, sharp humor, and a heart hidden beneath the ectoplasm, the film leaves you laughing—and maybe grateful that your own household chaos isn’t haunted… yet.
