The Haunting of Maple House (2026) leans confidently into the sweet spot between spooky and silly, delivering a horror-comedy that knows exactly what kind of fun it wants to be. Rather than chasing genuine terror, the film embraces chaos, personality, and ensemble chemistry, turning a classic haunted-house setup into a playground for wit, warmth, and supernatural absurdity.
Melissa McCarthy leads the charge as Abby, a fearless, loud, and irresistibly impulsive would-be innkeeper whose solution to paranormal danger is to argue with it. McCarthy’s performance is pure controlled chaos—she never undercuts the story, but she constantly reframes fear as something to be confronted head-on, preferably with sarcasm and volume. Her presence sets the tone early: this is a haunted house where screaming is optional, but roasting the ghosts is encouraged.
Jamie Lee Curtis brings sharp balance as Linda, the retired historian who believes knowledge—and documentation—can solve anything. Curtis plays her with dry precision, grounding the film whenever it threatens to float too far into cartoon territory. Her character’s gradual shift from skeptic to reluctant believer is handled with subtle humor, and her scenes with McCarthy crackle with “old friends who know each other’s flaws” energy.
Paul Rudd’s Dave is the glue that holds the group together emotionally. His laid-back charm masks a surprisingly sharp mind, and the film uses him as both audience surrogate and quiet problem-solver. Rudd excels at reacting—whether to floating furniture or ghosts demanding applause—and his comedic restraint keeps the film from becoming too loud, too fast.
Octavia Spencer arguably steals the movie as Carol, the intuitive medium who’s seen enough spirits to be deeply unimpressed by most of them. Spencer plays Carol with calm authority and razor-edged humor, delivering some of the film’s best lines without ever raising her voice. She gives the supernatural rules weight, ensuring the hauntings feel like obstacles rather than mere punchlines.
The ghosts themselves are where Maple House really shines. Instead of faceless threats, they’re deeply annoying personalities with unfinished business and emotional baggage. The Victorian gentleman’s terrible jokes and the egotistical rocker ghost’s refusal to accept that the ’80s are over turn the house into a supernatural sitcom—yet their need for redemption adds surprising emotional depth.
Narratively, the film smartly escalates. What starts as harmless pranks builds into increasingly dangerous manifestations, forcing the characters to stop laughing just long enough to care. The haunted-house mythology is simple but effective, relying more on character-driven stakes than convoluted lore.
Visually, the film uses warm lighting and lived-in spaces to contrast with the paranormal chaos. Maple House feels inviting even when it’s trying to kill you, reinforcing the central idea that this place is worth saving. The comedy never breaks immersion because the house itself always feels real.
Tonally, The Haunting of Maple House understands restraint. It doesn’t try to be scary and outrageous in the same moment—each scene commits to one or the other. That confidence allows both the humor and the tension to land cleanly, without stepping on each other.
By the final act, the film becomes less about surviving ghosts and more about confronting the past—both the spirits’ and the characters’. The emotional resolution doesn’t overpower the comedy, but it gives the story heart, proving that closure can be just as satisfying as a laugh.
In the end, The Haunting of Maple House succeeds because it knows that horror-comedy isn’t about mocking fear—it’s about humanizing it. With a powerhouse cast, playful writing, and ghosts who are as needy as they are noisy, the film delivers an entertaining reminder that sometimes the best way to face the dead… is with a sense of humor.
