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1. Serial Mom Full Movie

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Is upon us—don't get caught in a shame spiral by not sending her some, a nice card, even a phone call. (We have.) Having spent many hours considering the most classic movie moms of all time and ranking them, we're well aware of the ramifications of disobeying Mother. Sometimes they involve more than harsh words. So please excuse us if this list skews toward the monstrous: We love our crazy matriarchs as much as the calming ones. You'll find plenty of honest-to-goodness nurturers on the countdown, too, but if your favorite movie mom didn't make the cut, please strike a stern tone and nag us in the comments below.

Not that our mothers nag us; that was just a clever figure of speech.RECOMMENDED: Find the best. 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.

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.

Serial Mom Full Movie

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. 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. 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 goesa little mad sometimes. 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 “Tinabring 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.