All 10 Best Emilia Clarke Movies Ranked (Best to Worst)

Thea Sharrock’s adaptation of Jojo Moyes’ bestseller risks sentimental overkill, yet balances tragic realism with vibrant warmth. Anchored by the tender friction between an embittered quadriplegic aristocrat and his eccentric caretaker, the drama confronts agency, dignity, and class differences without descending entirely into hollow melodrama. In Lou Clark, the screen gets a jolt of pure, expressive vitality. Stripping away the stern regal armor of her television work, Clarke deploys disarming comedic vulnerability and wonderfully unrestrained facial mobility. It remains her most commercially successful and emotionally complete cinematic vehicle, proving she could carry an entire studio weepie on sheer effervescence.

Despite a notoriously turbulent production, Ron Howard’s galaxy-spanning heist picture moves with jaunty western swagger and underworld grit. The smoky, underworld aesthetic gives the Star Wars universe a welcome tactile dimension, prioritizing criminal syndicates and backroom double-crosses over mystic prophecies. As Qi'ra, the woman who carved her way through Dryden Vos’s syndicate, Clarke delivers a performance of icy poise and hidden scars. Resisting the simplistic damsel tropes of space fantasy, she plays Qi’ra with calculating ambiguity and fatalistic resolve. Her presence anchors the movie's moral fog, positioning her character as one of modern franchise cinema’s most tantalizing, unresolved antiheroines.

Paul Feig directs this London-set holiday confection with genuine heart, working from an Emma Thompson and Bryony Kimmings screenplay that tackles recovery, post-Brexit xenophobia, and existential dread under fairy lights. While the third-act twist divides audiences, the atmospheric embrace of George Michael’s discography and London’s wintry corners yields an earnest, slightly eccentric charm. Clarke runs wild as Kate, an adrift post-illness mess who stumbles through seasonal elf shifts with self-deprecating flair. Channeling screwball physical comedy alongside genuine melancholy, she humanizes a frustrating character, cementing her reputation as an instinctive, sparkling romantic-comedy headliner capable of sharp emotional pivots.

Sophie Barthes crafts an elegant, pastel-toned satire targeting the tech sector’s colonization of human biology. Set in an eerily plausible corporate near-future where gestation pods commodify pregnancy, the film blends tactile production design with chilling corporate absurdities. The film thrives on the philosophical push-and-pull between reproductive convenience and natural instinct. Clarke navigates Rachel’s corporate ambition with calibrated restraint, contrasting beautifully against Chiwetel Ejiofor’s analog traditionalism. Rather than relying on outsized expressive quirks, she reins in her usual kinetic energy, delivering a subtle, modern portrait of maternal anxiety and alienation in an algorithmically managed society.

Toby Genkel’s animated adaptation of Terry Pratchett’s Pied Piper spoof leans unapologetically into meta-storytelling, sharp satire, and vibrant gothic aesthetics. By deconstructing fairy-tale architecture through a cynical talking cat and his rodent con artists, the script offers snappy intellectual verve alongside broad family comedy. Providing the voice for the bookish, fourth-wall-breaking Malicia, Clarke infuses the production with breathless literary wit and spunky defiance. Her voice performance crackles with crisp comedic cadence, showing an intuitive grasp of Pratchett’s dry British irony and proving her magnetic screen presence extends seamlessly into the voice booth.

Jeanie Finlay’s behind-the-scenes documentary eschews glossy promotional fluff, instead recording the grueling logistical exhaustion and communal grief that defined the landmark fantasy show's final production year. From mud-caked night shoots in Northern Ireland to tear-soaked table reads, the film treats the crew's relentless labor as its emotional core. Clarke’s candid presence during the script read-throughs supplies the documentary’s most poignant gut-punch. Watching her process Daenerys Targaryen’s fate in real time—jaw clenched, eyes wide with disbelief—reveals the immense emotional weight of inhabiting a cultural icon for a decade. It stands as an essential, unvarnished portrait of an artist letting go.

Richard Shepard’s foul-mouthed British crime comedy runs on the manic, unhinged energy of Jude Law’s titular safe-cracker, whose post-prison antics careen between gonzo monologues and catastrophic violence. London’s grimy underworld is captured with slick bravado, though the film occasionally threatens to suffocate under its own testosterone-fueled bluster. Clarke steps in as Evelyn, Dom’s estranged daughter, providing the picture's vital moral fulcrum. Her quiet, wounded dignity punctures her father’s theatrical narcissism with razor-sharp authority. Even while restricted to a modest supporting role, she brings genuine emotional ballast and vocal poise, proving her ability to steal focus opposite a raging lead actor.

Phillip Noyce’s southern gothic noir unspools the real-life account of the first FBI agent convicted of murder, steeped in Kentucky coal-country grit and opioid despair. While the cinematography nails the dreary desperation of Appalachia, the script frequently succumbs to tawdry, dated true-crime tropes and predictable plotting. Clarke throws herself into the deep end as Susan Smith, an impoverished informant trapped in a toxic affair. Armed with a fierce Appalachian twang and manic recklessness, she delivers an electric, feral performance that frequently outstrips the surrounding screenplay. Even when the narrative structure stumbles, her sheer physical commitment commands total attention.

Alan Taylor attempts to pretzel the beloved sci-fi timeline with revisionist nostalgia, pitting classic franchise iconography against tangled temporal mechanics and sterile digital spectacle. The action set-pieces deliver occasional pop thrills, but the convoluted lore and sanitized tone strip away the visceral horror and grit that defined the original James Cameron entries. Stepping into Linda Hamilton’s iconic combat boots as Sarah Connor, Clarke brings plenty of athletic vigor and grit to the fray. Yet the awkward, rushed exposition and synthetic chemistry with her co-stars leave her somewhat stranded, resulting in an energetic franchise outing that never fully leverages her dramatic instincts.

Phil Johnston’s animated reinterpretation of Roald Dahl’s famously repulsive couple aims for grotesque slapstick and whimsical mayhem, filtering classic children’s literature through contemporary studio gloss. While the physical humor and zany creature designs offer fleeting laughs, the production frequently softens Dahl's trademark nastiness in favor of generic, crowd-pleasing morality. Lending her voice to the ensemble, Clarke brings spirited enthusiasm and vocal energy to the chaotic proceedings. However, the thin material offers her very little room to cultivate genuine individuality, leaving her contribution feeling like an amiable, minor footnote in an otherwise overcrowded and formulaic animated diversion.