Movie moms: The 50 most classic movie mothers of all time

The title alone triggers spasms of maternal hysteria and the movie doesn’t disappoint: Supermom Sally Field warily heads to Iran with her foreign-born husband and their preteen child. But after her spouse displays some scary Islamofascist tendencies, Field’s race to escape begins—and she’s got some baggage.—Joshua Rothkopf

Kenneth Branagh’s film about a working class Northern Irish family during the Troubles is highly watchable for many reasons, but it’s Outlander star Caitriona Balfe’s performance that landed it on this list. Playing the mother of nine-year-old Buddy, she is radiant and generous, a caring figure who wants nothing more than to protect her family from the violence and uncertainty of Belfast during that time. She’s steadfast as a parent, too, refusing to allow her son to tumble into behaviours that could lead him astray. The perfect mom, if you ask us.— Alim Kheraj

Shirley MacLaine’s brassy buttinsky of a mother is a loving nuisance throughout the troubles of her alternately adoring and exasperated daughter (Debra Winger). The emotions between the two deepen as this classic weepie winds its way to a devastating climax that would force even the most dispassionate parent and child into a tight embrace.—Keith Uhlich

Most of us think our moms are super; Holly Hunter’s crime-fighting Elastigirl actually is superheroic. As part of the do-gooder family in this Pixar gem, Hunter only wants a normal life for her kids—but she’s not afraid to use her stretchy limbs or become a human parachute when their safety calls for it.—David Fear

Lea Thompson is excellent playing Marty McFly’s mom as both a hormone-addled teenager and lovingly square adult. Sure, she’s got the hots for her own son, but she doesn’t know it’s her son, and anyway, who didn’t have tingly feelings for Michael J Fox in the ’80s? (More curious is why neither she nor her husband ever question that their kid looks exactly like that guy Calvin who helped them get together back in high school.) Of course, Thompson would go on to have relations with a horny space duck, so it wasn’t even her strangest hookup of the decade. —Matthew Singer

The tag-team parenting of Julianne Moore and Annette Bening in this understated lesbian-mom drama is so relaxed and natural, it’s hard to single out one of the actors as tops. But we give the edge to the hardworking Bening, consumed with doubt, anxiety and justifiable rage as her character’s happy home unravels.—Joshua Rothkopf

From home movies, photographs and answering-machine messages, Jonathan Caouette stitches together this intensely personal documentary about his painful upbringing. At the center of the emotional whirlwind is Caouette’s mentally ill mother, Renee, whose frequent schizophrenic outbursts push her son away, only to draw him devotedly back.—Keith Uhlich

Is there such a thing as a ‘nepo mom’? Martin Scorsese cast his own mother, Catherine, in several of his movies, and no wonder – she brings a genuine warmth and take-no-guff ’tude to her cameos that really can’t be ‘acted’. Her most memorable turn is playing mama to Joe Pesci’s Tommy in Marty’s gangster classic, serving up an impromptu late-night feast for her boy and his mobster friend as they’re on their way to bury a body and treating them like wayward teenagers – a scene that was largely improvised, and feels more natural than anything else in the movie. —Matthew Singer

Joan Bennett’s middle-class housewife is so concerned for her daughter that she disposes of the corpse of the adolescent girl’s shady older boyfriend, an accidental fatality. Then James Mason’s smooth-talking blackmailer comes on the scene and Max Ophüls’s film noir deepens into a portrait of a lady who will do anything to maintain the familial status quo.—Keith Uhlich

We tip our hats to Louise Beavers in the 1934 version, but it’s Juanita Moore’s portrayal of a long-suffering African-American maid in Douglas Sirk’s remake that truly stuns us. The way she radiates love for the passing-for-white daughter who shuns her puts the heart in heartbreaking.—David Fear

Sad-sack novelist John (Albert Brooks, who also directs) decides to move back in with retired mom Beatrice (Debbie Reynolds). She’s always ready to irritate him with criticisms, suggestions and too-intimate details, but there’s something undeniably loving in her aggravating demeanor—you want to choke her and hold her close at once.—Keith Uhlich

Plenty of parents don’t approve of their child’s girlfriend or boyfriend. Then there’s literal wicked witch Marietta Fortune (Diane Ladd) in David Lynch’s hard-R riff on The Wizard of Oz. With her Southern-fried outfits and psychotic outbursts (that incredible lipstick-as-Kabuki-mask freak-out), she’s a memorably twisted picture of overbearing motherhood.—Keith Uhlich

Chipper suburban housewife Beverly Sutphin (Kathleen Turner) is all apple pie on the surface—and all scissor-stabbing kook underneath—in John Waters’s delightfully vicious satire. Criticize her children, forget to buckle your seatbelt or wear white after Labor Day, and you’ll unleash the mother of all psychos.—Keith Uhlich

A former socialite turned shut-in, “Big Edie” (as she’s nicknamed) is the nagging older half of the mother-daughter act that makes up this iconic cinema vérité documentary. Verbally sparring with middle-aged child “Little Edie” while turning a blind eye to their decrepit living situation, she’s a hypnotically disturbing portrait of a parent gone to seed.—Keith Uhlich

Hearing a hunter approach, the mother of Disney’s titular fawn urges him to flee, running beside the scared white-tailed deer. “We made it!” Bambi cries upon reaching the woods, until the youngster realizes he’s alone—a traumatic moment that’s taught generations of underage viewers about parental sacrifice.—David Fear

A porn star’s rise and fall hits an early peak of devastation in a suburban California bedroom, as Joanna Gleason tears apart her son’s lifestyle, ripping down his posters and calling him a loser. “Please don’t be mean to me,” Mark Wahlberg cries (still his finest moment). Soon, he’ll bolt from the house and never come back.—Joshua Rothkopf

Somewhere deep down, every mother yearns for the opportunity to yell: ‘Get away from her you bitch!’ – even if it’s just directed at a curious corgi who gets a little too close at the park. (The dad equivalent is screaming ‘Gimme back my son!’ like Mel Gibson in Ransom.) In that climactic scene from James Cameron’s bulked-up Alien sequel, Sigourney Weaver’s Ripley becomes the mecha-mom, donning a robot suit to protect her surrogate child from her worst enemy. The great part about that final battle, though, is that it’s effectively madre y madre – the queen xenomorph has just seen her eggs destroyed, and is very pissed off about it. You’re rooting for Ripley, but you can understand her opponent’s point of view. —Matthew Singer

Yes, Farrow spends most of Roman Polanski’s urban nightmare as an expectant mother-to-be. But once she gets over her initial shock—her newborn has “his father’s eyes,” after all—watch how the ultimate baby-bump horror film becomes, oddly, a tribute to maternal instinct triumphing over all. Even if your kid is a real devil.—David Fear

When her paroled son, Tom, comes home, she’ll be there. When her family needs a backbone, she’ll be there. And when the time comes to haul everybody out West, why, she’ll be there too. Jane Darwell turns John Steinbeck’s Ma Joad into the definitive Dust Bowl matriarch: steadfast, optimistic and determined to make a better life for her kin.—David Fear

“You’ve done some bad things, sweetie,” purrs Jackie Weaver’s queen of the underworld to a potential enemy, and the message is clear: Keep your hands off my criminal brood. Spend a little time with this Australian version of Ma Barker and you understand just how much she loves her bank-robbing boys—maybe a little too much.—David Fear

The take-no-shit mobster’s moll at the center of John Cassavetes’s crime drama isn’t interested in being anyone’s parental figure. Then she meets a six-year-old Puerto Rican boy who some bad guys want out of the way, and courtesy of Gena Rowlands, we see that even the toughest snub-nose-wielding dame has a hidden tender side.—David Fear

To the film’s disservice, Sally Field’s Oscar speech (“You like me!”) is what’s remembered most these days. Take some time to set the record straight: Few onscreen widows keep it together as strongly as Field’s Texas matriarch, and the movie vibrates with stirring toughness. Our hunch is that you really will like her by closing credits.—Joshua Rothkopf

Carrying difficult material on sturdy shoulders, the great Tilda Swinton plays the guilt-ridden mother of a high-school psychopath (Ezra Miller) who destroys a community’s future. The movie plays out in complex chronology, as ominous moments of child rearing alternate with nightmarish scenes from a red-hued aftermath.—Joshua Rothkopf

Don’t go head-to-head with this Massachusetts mauler, or you’ll get the taste pounded out of you—and no, we’re not referring to Mark Wahlberg or Christian Bale. Boxing manager Melissa Leo beats up her husband, disciplines frizzy-haired intruders (“What are you doing opening your mouth in my kitchen?”) and fiercely protects her turf.—Joshua Rothkopf

Abuse begets abuse in this early David Cronenberg chiller about Nola Carveth, an ill-treated woman who, despite the best psychotherapeutic efforts, bears a brood of killer children. As the institutionalized, extremely disturbed matriarch, Samantha Eggar is gloriously unhinged, especially after she reveals what she’s hiding underneath her dress.—Keith Uhlich

Fans of her kooky mom on TV’s The Dick Van Dyke Show wouldn’t recognize the human iceberg that Mary Tyler Moore became in Robert Redford’s Oscar-winning drama. The ultimate chilly WASP, her Beth Jarrett is a woman who mourns the loss of a son by shutting down emotionally—and failing to provide comfort for the disturbed child who still lives.—David Fear

Cher won raves for her portrayal of “Rusty” Dennis, the saucy, drug-addicted motorcycle mom of a skull-deformed teenage son played by Eric Stoltz. Peter Bogdanovich’s heartstring-tugging drama doesn’t shy away from Rusty’s flaws even as it exalts her tough-as-nails devotion to her child’s well-being.—Keith Uhlich

Just because the drag queen star of John Waters’ trashterpiece is the filthiest person alive doesn’t mean she’s a bad mother: Divine’s parody of a ’50s melodrama heroine certainly loves her son, albeit in a way one usually associates with Oedipus. Still, she’ll do anything to protect her family’s good name—including eating dog shit. (No, really.)—David Fear

While on a job in Los Angeles, con artist Anjelica Huston reenters the life of scammer son John Cusack and proceeds to wreak havoc. The unabashed nastiness of this parent-child relationship—marked by emotional coldness and a few perverse expressions of love (kisses held long past properness)—is one of this modern noir’s many ballsy traits.—Keith Uhlich

Being marked for assassination by a musclebound cyborg assassin from the future changes a person. In the sequel to James Cameron’s 1984 sci-fi action classic, Linda Hamilton’s Sarah Connor has gone from bouffant-haired waitress to shredded badass who protects her son with the ferocity of a mama grizzly. Sure, having Arnold Schwarzenegger as your bodyguard helps, but if she’d been forced to take on the T-1000 by herself, we wouldn’t feel confident betting against her. —Matthew Singer

By all means, see this Japanese mom-sterpiece, but maybe not on Mother’s Day—you’ll run the risk of seriously alarming the lady of the day with your tears. Kenji Mizoguchi’s feudal tragedy is, to many, the most emotionally ruinous movie ever made. It begins in catastrophe with a family torn apart, the father exiled and, sometime later, the mother, Tamaki (Kinuyo Tanaka), carried off, her two children sold into slavery. The plot then becomes a survival story, as hope yields to more practical modes of getting by, like forgetting and brutality. But as years pass, there is word of Tamaki’s legend and a daring quest begins. We’ll say no more, except to note Mizoguchi’s unerring instinct for depicting strong (if compromised) women. The time we have with our mothers may be cut short, but, as this film shows, they mark us forever.—Joshua Rothkopf

There were evil females in Disney toons before this animated retelling of the Charles Perrault fairy tale; who could forget the vengeful queen from Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs? But it’s this heartless harridan of a stepmom that really sets the template for the Mouse House’s horrible mother figures. She’s a permanently scowling woman who enslaves her late husband’s daughter, goads her own offspring to rip Cinderella’s makeshift gown off her body (a rape by any other name) and eventually locks her in a tower to keep her from her one true love. This was the flip side of the kind, loving mom from children’s movies, and the character’s nightmarish parody of Mother as cruel taskmaster would color every happily-ever-after princess story from then on.—David Fear

We live in the Golden Age of Streep, in which film after film, America’s most accomplished actor seems unable to hit a false note. But hard as it is to fathom, there was a time when Meryl had to prove herself, and even after supplying sharp supporting work in late-’70s triumphs like The Deer Hunter, Manhattan and Kramer vs. Kramer, there was still a mountain for her to climb. Sophie Choice was that breakthrough, the elusive peak attained. Most of the film takes place in a Brooklyn boardinghouse, where the title character (Streep), a Polish Holocaust survivor; her manic lover (Kevin Kline); and their neighbor, a young writer (Peter MacNicol), come to a kind of familiarity. Slowly, the movie begins to probe the cracks of their intimacy, and a secret tears the trio apart. Sophie’s choice, as we learn in a powerhouse climax, is no choice at all—it’s the apocalypse to any parent. Essentially, we bear witness.—Joshua Rothkopf

Italian moms—those loud, smothering, how-come-ah-you-no-eat-enough caricatures—have always been an easy go-to for filmmakers. As played by the larger-than-life Anna Magnani, the title character of Pier Paolo Pasolini’s second feature is certainly a force of nature. But now that she’s almost done paying her dues as a streetwalker (like all good Catholics, Pasolini makes this heroine a Madonna and a whore), she can finally give he son the good life he deserves. We know things won’t turn out as planned, but that doesn’t stop Magnani from investing a rainbow of emotional shadings in what could have been a stereotype. This is the nation’s everymom, transformed from a stock character into a tragically intimate example of familial dysfunction, Italian style.—David Fear

Barbara Stanwyck frequently cited her title role in this Samuel Goldwyn–produced melodrama—a true no-dry-eye-in-the-house affair—as a personal favorite. She’s a loudmouthed working-class woman who marries and has a daughter with a down-on-his-luck high society man (John Boles). But as her family’s fortunes shift, Stella finds her plebeian instincts (not to mention her terrible taste in clothing) hampering her child’s chances at a more refined life. Sacrifices must be made to stop all the disdainful stares and barely concealed whispers from others—the scene where a garishly made-up Stella parades around an upper-crust country club is particularly mortifying—and there’s barely a false note as the film shows us the lengths to which a mother will go to secure her daughter’s future.—Keith Uhlich

Who was Joan Crawford, really? Conflicting stories swirl, but on one point, there can be no disagreement: She was a survivor. Even after Crawford found herself dumped by MGM, her contract terminated because she was deemed too old (at age 39), she campaigned vigorously for a competing studio’s prize role, won the part and wrote another chapter in her career. Mildred is the movies’ definitive transitional character, relying on an actor’s sense of youthful confidence as well as an ability to subsume ego to give way to the next (perhaps unworthy) generation. A waitress-turned-proprietor, Mildred lives for her children and suffers for their sins; she is a new kind of American businesswoman who is still trapped by sexist expectations. Crawford’s performance quakes with pain; it will always resonate with moms who go for it all.—Joshua Rothkopf

“They’re all gonna laugh at you!” screams Margaret White (Piper Laurie) to her introverted teenager Carrie (Sissy Spacek) on what will turn out to be a fateful prom night. Giggles are scarce whenever this maniacal, religiously obsessed guardian appears in Brian De Palma’s lurid, lustrous thriller, based on Stephen King’s first novel. Mrs. White hovers over Carrie in lunatic fervor, locking her in a crucifix-adorned closet for the slightest transgression (getting your period is a punishment that must be prayed away) and generally lamenting what she sees as her daughter’s slow descent into the devil’s grip. She’s the overprotective mother of every child’s nightmares.—Keith Uhlich

Most moms play with their children’s affections. In John Frankenheimer’s paranoiac Cold War parable, undercover subversive Eleanor Shaw Iselin (Angela Lansbury) takes manipulation to a terrifying extreme: Her son Raymond (Laurence Harvey) is an assassin conditioned to kill by a foreign power, and Eleanor is the operative responsible for controlling him. The trigger she uses is a Queen of Diamonds playing card, which complements her character’s icily regal bearing. With her hawklike stares, frosty diction and willingness to kill to get ahead, Eleanor is a vision of motherhood disturbingly devoid of tenderness.—Keith Uhlich

“A boy’s best friend is his mother,” claims Norman Bates, proprietor of the family-run Bates Motel. For most of Alfred Hitchcock’s era-defining horror film, we only see glimpses of Mrs. Bates via a furtive rush through the frame here, a knife-wielding silhouette there. But her specter hovers over every scene that follows Janet Leigh’s entrance to this roadside establishment—right up until the moment we finally meet the lady of the house. Hitch’s tale of the ultimate mama’s boy tries to explain away their unique bond courtesy of a notoriously wonky epilogue, but viewers have already tap-danced through a Freudian minefield regarding the mother-son relationship and its potential for psychological dependency. Still, for all the damage done, it’s not like Mrs. Bates is a maniac or a raving thing. She just goes…a little mad sometimes.—David Fear

To our own mothers: Please forgive us for crowning Faye Dunaway our queen. She’s not like you—of course not!—but maybe that’s part of why we’re so transfixed—she’s not like any human being. (Even Joan Crawford couldn’t have been this bad.) Dunaway, already a genius compiler of nervous tics and hysteria in movies like Chinatown and Network, plunged into the role of a lifetime, based on Christina Crawford’s controversial tell-all, and was shunned by Hollywood for it. Their punishment was too harsh: To appreciate Dunaway’s performance is to recognize an incantatory aspect of acting—the unhinged love of sheer craziness that can carry away the speaker (it’s also the part of an actor’s craft that once made the profession seem like channeling evil spirits). Cultists will forever swoon over “Tina…bring me the ax!” and the terrifying no-wire-hangers meltdown, but even Dunaway’s quieter scenes throb with explosive potential, her head swaying like a cobra’s about to bite. Dunaway deserves more than mere camp love for her turn; she’s the worst mom ever and that can’t have been easy.—Joshua Rothkopf