All 6 Best Madelyn Cline Movies Ranked (Best to Worst)

Rian Johnson's sun-drenched Greek puzzle box sharpens the social satire of its predecessor, weaponizing a mid-pandemic weekend retreat into a piercing takedown of disruptive tech oligarchs and shallow elite sycophancy. Built around Daniel Craig's wry sleuth, the narrative rattles through layered deceptions, fueled by immaculate production design and razor-sharp cutting. As Whiskey, the seemingly airheaded influencer partner to Dave Bautista's men's rights streamer, Cline pulls off one of the script's stealthiest triumphs. Rather than settling for trophy-girlfriend tropes, she injects unexpected guile, survivalist ambition, and sharp comic timing, effortlessly holding her ground amidst an intimidating lineup of screen titans.

Joel Edgerton crafts an empathetic, devastating indictment of institutionalized trauma in this adaptation of Garrard Conley's memoir. Centered on a pastor's son forced into conversion therapy, the drama operates with deliberate quietness, sidestepping cheap sensationalism to focus on the suffocating social pressure of suburban dogma. Lucas Hedges leads a sterling cast featuring Nicole Kidman and Russell Crowe with agonizing restraint. Appearing as Chloe, a high-school cheerleader from the protagonist's past life, Cline's screen time is modest yet functionally crucial. She personifies the idealized, suffocating heteronormative expectations Jared desperately attempts to navigate, delivering an early glimpse of her poise and naturalistic dramatic instinct.

Sweeping across sunlit European rail corridors, this adaptation of J.P. Monninger's novel leans into the golden-hour aesthetic of classical continental romances. The story pits the structured security of an impending corporate career against the destabilizing spark of spontaneous passion, trading cynicism for sincere emotional vulnerability. Beautiful location cinematography and buoyant pacing allow the central transatlantic courtship to breathe naturally. Stepping into the driver's seat as Heather, Cline demonstrates pure leading-lady command. She charts her character's internal friction—torn between regimented familial expectations and genuine romantic awakening—with sparkling vulnerability, proving she can shoulder an emotional narrative without ensemble safety nets.

Set against the politically fraught backdrop of the late 1990s, Rebecca Eskreis's coming-of-age thriller tracks how a sudden collision between privilege and working-class disillusionment curdles into tragedy. The film captures the hazy intensity of summer friendships before an accidental crime shatters the youthful bubble, transforming a nostalgic drama into an anxious moral crucible. Cline plays Emily, a rebellious, quick-witted foil whose combustible presence alters the trajectory of her straight-laced companion. Cline radiates restless, volatile energy here, exposing the fragile defense mechanisms of an adolescent desperate to escape her station, marking an essential stepping stone in her transition to darker dramatic material.

Set across a single evening in 1982 Staten Island during the premiere of Rocky III, James DeMonaco's nostalgic dramedy uses the cinematic frenzy of the Italian Stallion to examine working-class family anxiety. While the script occasionally stumbles under sentimental indulgence, the period atmosphere captures the community's yearning for personal heroes and blue-collar redemption. Cline steps into the role of Sophia Larocca, existing primarily as an object of teenage infatuation and neighborhood admiration. Though the narrative limits her agency in favor of male coming-of-age tropes, her easy charm and luminous screen presence elevate brief scenes beyond standard archetype territory.

Reviving a cornerstone nineties slasher premise for a hyper-online generation proves an uphill battle in this bloody exercise in seaside paranoia. Following a hit-and-run pact that predictably unravels under the hook of a vengeful stalker, the film leans hard on contemporary thriller tropes and graphic set pieces, even when the narrative logic strains under scrutiny. Cline throws herself into the scream-queen mantle with admirable commitment, supplying genuine panic and moral conflict to a hollow survival game. It remains disposable genre comfort food, yet Cline's fiery intensity and expressive dread inject pulse into an otherwise mechanical franchise resurrection.