All 10 Best Tracey Ullman Movies Ranked (Best to Worst)

Backstage theatrical mayhem reaches sublime heights in Woody Allen’s 1920s comedy, where mob money collides with Greenwich Village artistic pretension. The production sparkles with crisp dialogue, lush period photography from Carlo Di Palma, and a delightfully cynical view of creative integrity versus commercial survival. Amid a cast boasting Chazz Palminteri and Dianne Wiest, Ullman shines as Eden Brent, the hyper-neurotic stage actress desperately coddling her yapping Chihuahua. Her vocal affectations and impeccably timed exasperation inject manic rhythm into the rehearsal scenes, turning an auxiliary theatre diva into an indispensable comic engine.

Stop-motion macabre finds its poetic peak in Tim Burton and Mike Johnson's melancholic romance, which juxtaposes the sepia-toned repression of the living world with the neon vitality of the underworld. Driven by Danny Elfman's melancholy score and painstakingly detailed puppet craftsmanship, the film stands as an animated marvel of gothic elegance. Ullman pulls off a dazzling double duty, voicing both the snobbish, social-climbing matriarch Nell Van Dort and the ancient housemaid Hildegarde. Her ability to mold distinct accents and sharp vocal timbres supplies the upper-crust drawing rooms with precisely the grotesque snobbery the story requires.

What begins as an inept subterranean bank heist pivots into an incisive satire on vulgar wealth and parvenu pretension when a cookie storefront unexpectedly makes millions. The script zips along with snappy one-liners and mid-century screwball energy, skewering high-society phonies with relentless precision. As Frenchy Winkler, a former manicurist suddenly swathed in designer leopard print, Ullman delivers her definitive big-screen leading performance. Earning a well-deserved Golden Globe nomination, she balances abrasive vulgarity with a raw, bruised sweetness that completely grounds the movie’s high-concept hilarity.

Lawrence Kasdan turns a bizarre true-crime headline into an operatic, pasta-scented black comedy about infidelity, loyalty, and spectacularly bungled murder attempts. Driven by a vibrant suburban rhythm and oddball energy, the film wrings endless laughs from the near-supernatural survival instincts of Kevin Kline's cheating husband. Ullman commands the picture as the deeply wounded, fiercely devout Rosalie Boca. Rather than playing the betrayed wife as a one-note victim, she summons a whirlwind of moral distress, teary rage, and Italian-American family loyalty that holds this unhinged farce squarely on the rails.

Henry Bromell’s underappreciated indie drama offers a somber, psychoanalytic twist on suburban existential dread, tracking a conflicted professional hitman seeking therapy to escape his family trade. The production trades typical shoot-em-up tropes for muted domestic sorrow, utilizing soft lighting and deliberate pacing to examine generational trauma. Ullman completely sheds her customary comic plumage to play Martha, the assassin's emotionally alienated wife. Her performance relies on quiet restraint, conveying years of unvoiced marital distance through tired glances and subtle postures, proving her formidable capacity for austere naturalism.

Adapted from Kate DiCamillo’s beloved children’s novel, this visually striking fable crafts a painterly storybook aesthetic defined by soft chiaroscuro lighting and intricate texture work. While the film tackles themes of forgiveness and sorrow with ambitious visual scope, it finds its true emotional weight in its loneliest figures. Ullman lends her voice to Miggery Sow, a gentle, hearing-impaired peasant girl burdened by hopeless fantasies of royalty. She infuses the character with genuine vulnerability and yearning, providing the narrative’s sweeping fantasy with an earthy, tragic human anchor.

Taut, claustrophobic storytelling powers this intense drama set inside a reform academy over the course of a single, pressure-cooker working day. Director Tim Mielants captures institutional weariness through tight framing and nervous camera movement, mirroring the internal unraveling of an overburdened staff. Ullman brings steady gravitas to a crucial supporting role, cutting through the high-stakes narrative with unvarnished authenticity. Her naturalistic delivery and grounded stage presence provide a critical counterweight to the swirling classroom conflicts, reinforcing her late-career transition into gritty, dramatic character studies.

Charlie Brooker’s rapid-fire retrospective uses mockumentary stylings to process twelve months of unprecedented global chaos, blending real news footage with scripted talking-head interviews. While the sketch-style format suffers from uneven pacing and occasional tonal dissonance, the satirical bite lands whenever seasoned character actors take the wheel. Ullman delivers one of the project's standout turns as a delightfully tart Queen Elizabeth II. Channeling royal stoicism layered with suppressed contempt, she elevates straightforward pandemic barbs into masterclasses of aristocratic condescension and tight-lipped comedic timing.

Disney’s direct-to-video follow-up shifts the spotlight to the lovable, muscle-bound henchman Kronk as he scrambles to impress his demanding father. Driven by breezy slapstick and fourth-wall breaks, the animation leans heavily on vibrant Saturday-morning energy rather than the groundbreaking visual bravura of its theatrical predecessor. Ullman steps into the fray as Miss Birdwell, a hyper-competitive, rule-obsessed camp counselor who becomes Kronk's unlikely romantic foil. Her clipped delivery and manic energy breathe considerable charm into the lightweight material, demonstrating her professionalism even within commercial, studio-mandated family sequels.

Arriving on the heels of its predecessor, this second pandemic-era retrospective attempts to repeat the mockumentary format but struggles against thematic exhaustion and recycled punchlines. The quick-turnaround production values and rapid topical jokes feel distinctly ephemeral, reflecting the creative fatigue of summarizing another grueling news cycle. Ullman returns to offer flashes of satirical mischief, donning wigs and deadpan smirks to spoof right-wing pundits and political figures. While her mimicry skills remain as agile as ever, the material provides far too little structural support to leave a lasting cinematic impression.