All 10 Best Mia Goth Movies Ranked (Best to Worst)

Ti West’s Technicolor nightmare reimagines the American agrarian dream as a claustrophobic psychological abattoir. Bathed in garish primary hues reminiscent of classical golden-era musicals, the film trades standard jump scares for an agonizing study of stifled ambition and maternal oppression during the 1918 influenza pandemic. The horror stems directly from the unbearable ache of unrealized stardom curdling into murderous desperation.

At the epicenter sits Goth’s definitive magnum opus. Her staggering, eight-minute unbroken monologue remains one of modern cinema’s rawest displays of emotional disintegration, capped by an agonizing end-credits grimace that burns itself into memory. It earned her instant auteur credibility and cemented her as an irrepressible generational talent.

Luca Guadagnino radically strips Dario Argento’s neon-drenched classic down to drab, wintery Cold War Berlin, constructing an oppressive ritualistic meditation on historical guilt, generational trauma, and feminine witchcraft. Thom Yorke’s melancholic score and Damien Jalet’s visceral choreography turn the Helena Markos Dance Academy into an esoteric pressure cooker where physical movement doubles as dark occult violence.

Navigating this bleak coven, Goth delivers an indispensable grounding turn as Sara, the curious company dancer who uncovers the institution's grotesque secrets. Her wide-eyed innocence and mounting panic provide the narrative's essential human anchor amid surrounding baroque delirium, demonstrating her uncanny ability to project tragic fragility before meeting a horrifying fate.

Autumn de Wilde’s debut feature treats Jane Austen’s classic with crisp pastel symmetry and satirical bite, transforming Highbury into a confectionary dollhouse of social anxieties. Lush production design, deliberate pacing, and razor-sharp framing accentuate the absurdities of nineteenth-century class propriety, balancing dry British wit against genuine romantic yearning without succumbing to stuffy heritage-film tropes.

Stepping far outside her familiar genre haunts, Goth is nothing short of delightful as Harriet Smith, the naive parlor boarder manipulated by Anya Taylor-Joy’s meddling heroine. She imbues Harriet with earnest vulnerability and comic dexterity, ensuring the character’s heartbreaking romantic embarrassments feel achingly real. It remains pivotal proof of her deft touch for high-register comedic nuance.

Grimy, humid, and intensely stylish, Ti West’s 1979-set slasher pays reverent homage to independent grindhouse classics while subverting expectations through an astute deconstruction of aging, sexuality, and cinema itself. The central clash between youthful adult-film opportunists and withered rural elders crackles with sleazy swagger, delivering visceral brutality backed by surprisingly mature reflections on the tragic finality of lost youth.

In a bold dual performance, Goth plays both the ambitious starlet Maxine Minx and the withered, murderously envious Pearl beneath heavy prosthetic makeup. Balancing Maxine’s indomitable survival instinct against Pearl’s decrepit pathos, she single-handedly engineered a modern cult mythos, weaponizing her distinctive voice and defiant screen magnetism to sensational effect.

Brandon Cronenberg’s third feature is a caustic, hallucinatory evisceration of colonial tourism and the moral vacuity of the ultra-wealthy. Set within a fictional authoritarian republic where capital buys the right to clone oneself and watch that surrogate executed for high crimes, the film spirals into unhinged hedonism, identity dissolution, and surreal debauchery that challenges even seasoned exploitation fans.

As the manipulative temptress Gabi, Goth delivers a performance of feral, cackling audacity. Watching her torment Alexander Skarsgård’s broken novelist—hanging out of a moving vehicle screaming obscenities—is electrifyingly grotesque. She commands every frame with malicious abandon, proving her singular willingness to plunge headfirst into deep behavioral ugliness.

Produced by the visionary Nexus Studios, this tri-part stop-motion anthology utilizes tactile, felted puppetry to weave surreal allegories about obsession, financial precarity, and creeping domestic madness. The opening segment, directed by Emma de Swaef and Marc James Roels, evokes a suffocating dread as an impoverished Victorian family trades their modest existence for an ominous, ever-shifting architectural labyrinth.

Lending her voice to young Mabel, Goth communicates profound unease as she watches her parents surrender their humanity to vanity and class ambition. Her delicate, hushed voice work carries surprising narrative gravity, grounding the tactile, nightmare-logic visuals in palpable childhood sorrow and demonstrating that her expressive range extends effortlessly into pure audio performance.

Sergio G. Sánchez’s directorial debut unfolds as an atmospheric gothic mystery centered on four orphaned British siblings concealing their mother’s death to evade separation, only to discover a sinister presence trapped within their dilapidated rural manor. The narrative trades visceral shocks for melancholic melodrama, leaning heavily on creaking floorboards, dusty sunbeams, and psychological trauma to spin its old-fashioned ghost yarn.

Goth shines as Jane, the responsible, quiet sister desperate to hold her fracturing family together. While the third-act revelations stumble under narrative over-complication, her grounded sensitivity and bruised earnestness lend the familial bonds an authentic emotional resonance, marking an important transitional milestone in her emergence as a nuanced international dramatic talent.

Trading rural humidity for neon-soaked 1985 Hollywood, this final chapter in Ti West’s trilogy functions as an affectionate tribute to VHS-era sleaze, Brian De Palma thrillers, and Italian gialli. Set against the backdrop of the Night Stalker murders, the film pulses with retro synth aesthetics and gritty backlots, even if its whodunit murder-mystery plot eventually dissolves into rushed narrative convenience.

Reprising her signature antiheroine, Goth carries the entire picture on Maxine Minx’s bruised, strutting shoulders. Her ruthless charisma and hardboiled determination never waver, even when the script loses focus. It stands as an unapologetic, celebratory victory lap for the character, demonstrating her commanding screen presence as an undisputed genre luminary.

Gore Verbinski’s lavish gothic mystery offers visual grandeur in spades, capturing sterile Swiss sanatorium corridors, unsettling hydrotherapy tanks, and writhing eels with immaculate composition. The film’s audacious art direction and eerie sensory atmosphere establish a delicious sense of European dread, though its excessive runtime and convoluted third act derail much of the early psychological intrigue.

Goth appears as Hannah, the enigmatic, child-like patient harboring the sanatorium’s darkest biological secrets. Her ethereal, off-kilter presence fits Verbinski’s sterile fever dream seamlessly, though the underwritten script frequently reduces her to an atmospheric plot pawn rather than a fully realized individual, limiting the dramatic impact of her performance.

Guillermo del Toro’s gothic adaptation tackles Mary Shelley’s foundational myth with grand romantic tragedy and macabre practical artistry. Reimagining the mad scientist’s hubris and the creature’s tragic awakening amid opulent European sets, the production leans into classical creature-feature melodrama, though its sprawling ambitions occasionally struggle under the sheer weight of a century’s worth of well-trodden cinematic lore.

In an ensemble crowded with powerhouse dramatic players, Goth brings her signature spectral intensity to an ethereal key supporting role. While her presence adds a chilling grace note to Del Toro’s tragic canvas of scientific hubris, her limited screentime relative to the titular doctor and his creation leaves her operating primarily on the atmospheric margins.