All 10 Best Danny DeVito Movies Ranked (Best to Worst)

Milos Forman's adaptation of Ken Kesey's novel stands as a towering achievement of 1970s American cinema, dissecting institutional authoritarianism through the explosive battle of wills between Randle McMurphy and Nurse Ratched. Set against cold linoleum and suffocating routines, the film balances gut-wrenching despair with exhilarating flashes of human dignity. Long before he cornered the market on cynical misanthropes, DeVito delivered a tender, disarmingly vulnerable turn as Martini, an inmate of child-like simplicity. Reprising the role he originated off-Broadway, his expressive eyes and gentle demeanor offer genuine warmth within the ward, providing the breakout dramatic foundation for his legendary Hollywood career.

Curtis Hanson's 1950s crime saga unravels the glamorous veneer of mid-century Los Angeles to expose a festering core of institutional rot, racism, and celebrity scandals. Boasting razor-sharp pacing, atmospheric cinematography, and an exceptional script, the film interweaves three flawed detectives navigating a labyrinthine conspiracy. Operating as the narrative's morally bankrupt engine, DeVito portrays Sid Hudgens, the slimy publisher of the tabloid 'Hush-Hush.' Flashing predatory grins and whispering salacious gossip, he injects crucial venal humor into an otherwise grim procedural, illustrating his unmatched ability to turn morally compromised bottom-feeders into magnetic, scene-stealing screen presences.

Tim Burton turned a studio superhero sequel into an operatic, expressionistic nightmare of urban isolation, political depravity, and fractured identities. Drenched in snow and pitch-black humor, the production elevates gothic set design and twisted psychology far above standard action-blockbuster mechanics. At the epicenter of this madness is DeVito's tragic, repulsive Oswald Cobblepot. Buried beneath layers of rotting prosthetics, spitting bile, and brandishing weaponized umbrellas, he crafts a visceral, feral performance that evokes classic German silent cinema monsters. Rather than a tidy comic book villain, he delivers a mournful freak whose rage feels shocking, pathetic, and utterly unforgettable.

Adapting Roald Dahl requires balancing gleeful cruelty with earnest child-centric wonder, and this 1996 favorite pulls off that high-wire act with kinetic visual flair. Centered on an uncommonly gifted young girl surviving both sadistic educators and oblivious parents, the storytelling crackles with inventive camera angles and mischievous wit. DeVito pulled double duty here, helming the project with remarkable authorial confidence while portraying the corrupt used-car salesman Harry Wormwood. Sporting tacky polyester suits and a greasy pompadour, he attacks the role with unhinged comedic bravura, managing to make child neglect feel absurdly funny without ever diluting the film's huge, beating heart.

Merging Greek mythology with soaring gospel melodies, this fast-paced Disney Renaissance offering remains one of the studio's sharpest, most modern animated comedies. Its visual style, heavily inspired by the caricatures of Gerald Scarfe, matches an energetic script overflowing with pop-culture irreverence and genuine emotional stakes. Providing the film's comedic backbone, DeVito voices Philoctetes, the washed-up, gruff satyr tasked with turning green recruits into true legends. Relying purely on his distinctive Brooklyn rasp and impeccable comic timing, he turns what could have been a tired sports-movie archetype into an endlessly quotable, warm-hearted mentor who steals every single scene he occupies.

Chronicling the abrasive, anti-comedy career of Andy Kaufman, this bittersweet biopic explores the blurred boundary between performance art and personal reality. The storytelling deliberately avoids conventional hagiography, leaning instead into Kaufman's confrontational pranks, wrestling stunts, and alienation of his own audiences. Because DeVito lived through these exact events alongside Kaufman on the set of Taxi, his presence here as manager George Shapiro carries profound meta-textual resonance. Acting opposite Jim Carrey's notoriously consumed method performance, he functions as the narrative's grounded, deeply sympathetic center, providing patience, sanity, and authentic affection amidst the comic hurricane.

Constructed from long-suppressed behind-the-scenes footage, this candid documentary captures Jim Carrey's extreme immersion into Andy Kaufman during the production of Man on the Moon. The film acts as a fascinating psychological study of creative surrender, showing a major movie star completely subsumed by an unyielding, disruptive ghost. DeVito appears via reflective contemporary interviews, offering an invaluable perspective that cuts right through the madness. Having known the real Kaufman intimately, his wry, weary observations provide clear-eyed reality checks against the surrounding chaos, subtly displaying his enduring grace, professionalism, and protective reverence for old friends.

A delightfully mean-spirited homage to 1950s alien invasion cinema and vintage trading cards, this sci-fi romp gleefully decimates American political and cultural icons with lurid ray-guns. Directed with chaotic relish, the film gathers an absurdly starry cast only to ruthlessly vaporize them amid crashing UFOs and cackling, brainy green invaders. DeVito pops up as an overly confident, tuxedo-clad Las Vegas gambler whose smarmy swagger proves completely useless against extraterrestrial violence. While it is a modest supporting bit, he wrings maximum humor out of sheer loudmouthed bravado before his hilariously abrupt demise, fitting naturally into the film's manic, satirical universe.

Tim Burton's live-action reimagining of the classic pachyderm fable expands the original premise into an industrial-era melodrama examining the corrupt commodification of innocence. While the screenplay frequently buckles under bloated subplots and heavy digital effects, the film features gorgeous art direction and earnest creature animation. In the middle of this uneven spectacle sits DeVito as Max Medici, the anxious, fast-talking owner of a financially desperate traveling circus. Channeling old-school vaudevillian desperation, he commands the sawdust ring with genuine charisma, supplying much-needed warmth and human friction to a studio project that often feels overly mechanical.

Transforming Dr. Seuss's solemn environmental warning into a hyper-saturated, musical animated caper, this adaptation struggles to reconcile corporate commercialism with the story's ecological spine. The narrative inserts a glossy teenage romance and relentless slapstick set pieces, sanding down the melancholic power of the original picture book. Nonetheless, casting DeVito as the voice of the Lorax was an absolute stroke of genius. His gravelly, indignant cadence brings an organic, earthy grit that pierces through the slick computerized sheen, making him the only element of the production that sounds genuinely committed to speaking for the trees.