It’s Mother’s Day in Ireland tomorrow – we know you didn’t forget – and it’s an opportunity to celebrate the matriarchal figures in your life, whether it’s taking your real-life mammy out for tea or putting on your Aliens DVD and insisting that the Alien Queen did nothing wrong, in the dark, to yourself. Mothers in the movies run the gauntet from the aspirational and emotional, to the exceptionally evil, and members of the Film In Dublin team have come together to share some of their favourite characters who are so mother, complimentary and derogatory respectively.
Wonderful Carrie Crowley, Eibhlín (An Cailín Ciúín, 2022)

Being a mother is not an easy job, especially in early 80s Ireland where a woman like the mam of An Cailín Ciúin’s Cáit has to juggle looking after Cáit’s many other siblings, keeping a household and a failing farm ticking over and dealing with a disappointment of a husband, all while heavily pregnant. It’s not all her fault, but she can’t be the mammy that shy and shrinking Cáit so badly needs. Enter distant cousin Eibhlín to mind the girl over the summer, gentle, encouraging, patient, it simply never occurs to Eibhlín from the moment Cáit steps out of her feckless father’s car to give the girl anything less than her full sincerity, care and kindness. Carrie Crowley in one of the best Irish performances on film of all time. Kids need space to grow, and in the still space of the Cinnsealach farm, Eibhlín and eventually her husband Seán help Cáit come into herself, working through their own hang-ups and history along the way. In a Waterford clothes shop, kind-hearted Eibhlín is mistaken for Cáit’s mother by the shop assistant. She’s not her mam, but she is a mother to the quiet girl.
Wicked: Lela Svasta, Mother Markos (Suspiria, 1977)

The duty of care at Freiberg’s Tanz Akademie is quite frankly, underwhelmingly below-par. Health standards are lax, the faculty service dog is not well-trained, and the big pit of razor wire lacks adequate signage. These issues stem from the top, I don’t know what kind of mad house Helena Markos thinks she’s running over there, but when I pay expensive dance tuition for my daughter, I expect her to get some information and insight from the old witch running the place, and yet old Mother Markos is nowhere to be seen! I also expect my daughter not to be violently murdered! I do not think this woman is a good role model to these girls, and that’s why I’m gonna give her a piece of my mind, once I find her office. Those cackling faculty members told me it was just down here, so – like a maze this place. And the lighting makes it very hard to see where I’m going. How long have I been in here again? Oh, hang on, the ominous prog rock is starting to amp up. That’s probably a good sign. They’ll be calling ol’ Markos the Mother of Sighs when she’s finished hearing my grievances!
– Luke
Wonderful Holly Hunter, Melanie (Thirteen, 2003)

Being a mother isn’t for the faint of heart, but neither is being a teenage girl. Tracy Freeland (Evan Rachel Wood) makes a new friend and starts going a bit out of control. New friend Evie is played masterfully by Nikki Reid who co-wrote the script at the age of 14 with director Catherine Hardwicke over just six days! Holly Hunter stars as Melanie Freeland, a single mother trying her best to support her daughter and navigate the constraints of their lives as Tracy grapples with her bad-girl phase. There’s a beautiful moment where Tracy had been admiring lace-up distressed jeans that were ridiculously expensive and so in an attempt to bond and make her daughter happy Melanie presents her with jeans she’s modified herself (a la today’s thrift-flipping) which are pretty much the same but god Mom you just don’t get it! The costuming in this film is spot on, the performances are fantastic, it’s very dark but a balanced, important and overall recognisable plot that’s respectful of these women and their lives.
An impressive debut from Twilight director Catherine Hardwicke, particularly with its low budget and quick turnaround.
Wicked Pamela Anderson, Shelly (The Last Showgirl, 2025)

Once you become a mother you’re not allowed to have your own dreams. Or at least, society will punish you for it. The Last Showgirl follows Shelly (Pamela Anderson) as her day in the sun begins to set; she’s a Vegas Showgirl and their show is winding to a whimpering finish as audiences’ tastes have shifted. This is the perfect role for Pamela Anderson, a woman who has been equally celebrated and denigrated for her beauty. Shelly has a lot to deal with, not least her strained relationship with her adult daughter Hannah
(Billie Lourd) who judges her harshly for the decisions she’s made (without much consideration for the lack of choices and opportunities available). You can see why Shelly thrives in the environment with the other showgirls, with her being mothered by Annette (Jamie Lee Curtis) and her mothering in turn the younger girls like Jodie (Kiernan Shipka) and Mary-Anne (Brenda Song), although there’s limitations and in all cases the support and resentment goes both ways.
This film gives us a complex look at the dynamics behind mother-daughter relationships and the strains put on them by expectations that are impossible to meet by design. A wicked mother, or just a girl with a dream struggling to survive in the harsh conditions she finds herself in?
– Jess
Wonderful Alfre Woodard, Carolyn Carmichael (Crooklyn, 1994)

Mothers in film have long been cast as either ‘perfect’ or ‘wicked’ in complete binary. But the best characters reflect real people, constantly working in shades of grey. It is this quality that makes Carolyn Carmichael such an incredible mother. She’s harried, strict, loving, kind, harsh, forgiving and unyielding all at once. She’s always doing battle with her daughter Troy, the film’s protagonist, attempting to aim her towards right action, rarely succeeding. Carolyn also refuses to exist at the mercy of her spouse, as many mother characters in film have been forced to. When her musician husband Woody ceases to make an effort to be an equal provider to their children, she kicks him out. By the end of the film, we see the profound impact that she has had on Troy’s life, despite their animosity towards each other. A wonderful mother isn’t necessarily always a perfect person, but she will do her utmost to ensure you are closer to one than she is.
Wicked Rebecca Ferguson, Lady Jessica Atreides (Dune, Dune: Part Two, 2021/2024)

I don’t know what the culture is like on Caladan (or indeed Arrakis), but I’m fairly sure that a mother who is a member of a group of religious zealots and who gives birth to you in the hope that she can mould you into a messiah figure and wage a holy war that engulfs the galaxy is not operating on any kind of principles of good motherhood.
– Keelan
Wonderful: Anjelica Huston, Etheline Tenenbaum (The Royal Tenenbaums, 2001)

With the patience of a saint, Etheline Tenenbaum raised her 3 children as a single mother after breaking it off with the tenuously titular Royal Tenenbaum (the dearly departed Gene Hackman). Etheline fosters the ambitions of her three gifted children, even taking their annoying neighbour friend under her wing somewhat (he sends her his clippings). She never let it get in the way of her own success of course, writing a hit book about their parentage and becoming a successful archaeologist later in life. Etheline equally lets the Tenenbaum brood return home as they have the parallel crises that make up Wes Anderson’s wonderful film which, as he repeatedly insists in the film’s solo DVD commentary, is not about his relationship with his parents.
Wicked: Anjelica Huston, Sister Patricia Whitman (The Darjeeling Limited, 2007)

With absolutely zero patience, Sister Patricia Whitman abandoned her 3 ostensibly adult children to become a nun in the Indian wilderness when their father died, refusing to attend the funeral or to let them know where she is. The three cheat and lie to each other to get themselves to the remote mission she’s been hiding in and she briefly feigns supreme joy at them being together again while she catches up on their dysfunctional lives. When they wake in the morning she’s run out the door without a word. In a film fixated on closure, Sister Patricia has none to offer her boys. I haven’t heard the DVD commentary on this one, so who can say whether it reflects anything about Wes Anderson and his parents.
– Olivia
Wonderful: Cate Blanchette, Lydia Tár (TÁR, 2022)

Lydia Tár is many things, and a great mom is one of them. When she destroys her adopted daughter Petra’s bully on the playgroundhttps://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lIWxCXLw43s? When Petra asks her to hold her foot? All great stuff. That Lydia uses her razor sharp penchant for manipulation and intimidation on a kindergartner and we kind of cheer her on reveals so much about character and audience both. Even as evidence against the maestra begins to pile up, it’s hard to root against a woman who acts with such a delectable disregard for consequences. Even as Tar suffers the fate she deserves, (spoiler?) consigned to conducting video game scores far from the elite halls of classical music she once dominated, I can’t help but hope that Petra grows up playing Monster Hunter and thinking of mom.
Wicked: Ingrid Bergman, Charlotte Andergast, (Autumn Sonata, 1978)

Not all maestras are gifted with such motherly talents. In Autumn Sonata, Ingmar Bergman leaves behind a cadre of tortured men to dwell in the psychological battlefield of the mother/daughter relationship, transitioning from introspection to voyeurism. His only collaboration with the other Bergman of note, Ingrid and Ingmar create a character whose motherly misdeeds disturb not out of any cartoonish malevolence, but instead out of cool, relatable self-interest and indifference. Liv Ullman is a worthy adversary to the Hollywood legend, like a crackling storm cloud raining fire on a granite cliff face. Ullman’s Eva plays a gorgeous, lilting Chopin prelude for her famous pianist mother, whose response is as polite as it is a slap in the face. (“Did you like it?” “I liked you.”) From there, the film shifts into a nightmare of traumas revealed as raw and honest as any in Ingmar’s oeuvre.
Wonderful: Ellen Burstyn, Chris MacNeil (The Exorcist, 1973)

One of the scariest aspects of The Exorcist is the idea of putting faith in something outside of our control or understanding. When faced with her daughter Regan’s sudden illness, Chris MacNeil (Burstyn) tries everything she can think of to save her. As her options narrow and Regan gets worse, she decides to put faith in a religion she is skeptical of and, ultimately, in two priests to perform an exorcism. Now, I’m no preacher…and I’m not praising MacNeil for turning her daughter to the lord!! But I think MacNeil’s journey is indicative of a broader struggle most parents go through at some point in their lives: the idea that sometimes what’s best for their children is outside of the parents’ control, and they must put faith in their children and the world to find a way through life. With nothing left but faith, MacNeil invests in something that terrifies her to save her child. It’s one of the reasons I adore The Exorcist and also the main reason I fucking detest the sequels (not you The Exorcist III)!
Wicked: Diane Ladd, Marietta Fortune (Wild at Heart)

You know you’re a pretty wicked character when David Lynch puts you on a broomstick and dresses you up as the ‘Wicked Witch of the West’. Diane Ladd’s turn as the psychotic motherly force chasing Lulu Fortune in Wild at Heart is one of the best performances the late Lynch ever directed. Plagued by guilt and desperate not to lose anyone else in her life, Marietta Fortune clings onto her daughter for dear life blissfully unaware that her efforts only put Lulu in the path of dangerous men and continue to force her straight into the arms of the man she loves. As she gets more desperate, her actions get more dangerous, and as her grasp loosens on Lulu, so too does her grasp on reality. While undoubtedly ‘wicked’, you can sympathize with Marietta thanks to Ladd’s portrayal, which perfectly captures just how crazy love can make us sometimes.
– Néil