100 great female com­e­dy per­for­mances – part 5

As the most con­ven­tion­al woman in the new­ly-formed Amer­i­can female base­ball league, Geena Davis’ Dot­tie would be over­shad­owed by more colour­ful play­ers – such as Madonna’s provoca­tive Mae – were she not so obvi­ous­ly tal­ent­ed. Davis plays her as a seri­ous woman, claim­ing to have joined the team for her sis­ter, Kit (Lori Pet­ty), to get in, and to pass the time while her hus­band fights Nazis in Europe. Yet her devo­tion to the game and her sur­pris­ing­ly play­ful acro­bat­ics reveal her thirst for inde­pen­dence. As the play­ers steer away from dic­tat­ed forms of fem­i­nin­i­ty, Dot­tie lets her­self have her own fun and Davis’ glo­ri­ous smile final­ly shines bright. Manuela Laz­ic

Boy meets girl. Only boy is death-obsessed teenag­er, Harold, and girl is relent­less­ly opti­mistic 79 year old, Maude. Ruth Gor­don deliv­ers a radi­ant per­for­mance, embrac­ing Maude’s live-life-to-the-fullest spir­it with remark­able sin­cer­i­ty. Like Harold, we are left reel­ing when she lat­er takes her own life. It is dif­fi­cult to describe the feel­ing – a kind of sink­ing sad­ness as the cred­its roll, buoyed by a now-clas­sic Cat Stevens sound­track and a lin­ger­ing image of Maude, smil­ing in her pinned-up braids under a yel­low umbrel­la. Char­lie Theobald

Full dis­clo­sure: I usu­al­ly can’t stand Katharine Hep­burn. I find her shrill and the­atri­cal, pure tech­ni­cal pre­ci­sion and no soul. The big, huge, gigan­tic excep­tion is her mas­ter­ful turn in George Cukor’s supe­ri­or 1938 tri­al run for The Philadel­phia Sto­ry, where she plays a spoiled eccen­tric who slow­ly, sure­ly falls for Cary Grant, her sister’s dash­ing and eru­dite fiancé. Her char­ac­ter, Lin­da, hints at a dam­aged soul beneath the care­free screw­ball façade, and it remains one of the most sin­gu­lar and sen­si­tive cre­ations in the canon of ​’30s com­e­dy fea­tures. David Jenk­ins

What’s the dif­fer­ence between a melo­dra­mat­ic per­for­mance and delib­er­ate­ly ham­ming up a melo­dra­mat­ic per­for­mance? The key is to hold back an iota of expres­sive­ness, so that over­wrought dia­logue has a note of wood­en­ness and flam­boy­ant reac­tions are held for a beat too long. Ital­ian actress Vale­ria Goli­no nails it in this Ram­bo par­o­dy – her sec­ond out­ing oppo­site a pre-tiger blood Char­lie Sheen. Cred­it is due to the mae­stro of dead­pan Hol­ly­wood send-ups, Jim Abrahms (of Air­plane! and The Naked Gun fame), but also to Goli­no for under­stand­ing her role per­fect­ly. She uses her pierc­ing-eyed beau­ty to embody the tor­tured roman­tic hero­ine while using her wits to wring absurd humour out of every gag going. Sophie Monks Kaufman

The screen­ing of Maren Ade’s Toni Erd­mann at the 2016 Cannes Film Fes­ti­val will go down in his­to­ry not as a moment when the press corps flung jeers and invec­tives at the screen, but a rare exam­ple of when they came togeth­er in unal­loyed joy and jubi­la­tion. This com­ic exam­i­na­tion of the strained rela­tion­ship between an age­ing prac­ti­cal jok­er and his hard-nosed busi­ness­woman daugh­ter tran­scends the con­ven­tions of a clas­sic com­e­dy of mis­matched heroes to say some­thing more pro­found about life, love and fam­i­ly in the mod­ern world. San­dra Hüller is sen­sa­tion­al as Ines Con­ra­di, dri­ven by her cut-throat job but forced by her father to face up to the lost inno­cence of her young life. Her per­for­mance mines the com­ic nuance from a per­son des­per­ate­ly try­ing to remain seri­ous and pro­fes­sion­al in the face of over­whelm­ing slap­stick odds. DJ

For­get Brid­get Jones, Nurse Bet­ty is the film Renée Zell­weger most deserves to be remem­bered for. The plot is one of those curi­ous how-the-hell-did-this-get-green­lit capers: a small­town Kansas wait­ress has a ner­vous break­down upon wit­ness­ing the gris­ly mur­der of her two-tim­ing hus­band, only to sub­con­scious­ly assume the role of a char­ac­ter from her favourite soap opera before track­ing down her fic­tion­al true love (Greg Kin­n­ear). It’s weird and a lit­tle all over the shop, but it works. A sweet-cen­tred Wiz­ard of Oz-esque road movie anchored by a won­der­ful­ly scat­ter­brained lead turn. Adam Wood­ward

Iran­ian direc­tor Jafar Panahi is a dab hand when it comes to com­ic female per­form­ers. As recent as his 2015 Gold­en Bear win­ner, Taxi Tehran, it’s an inquis­i­tive school­girl who steals the show. His 1995 fea­ture debut, The White Bal­loon, show­cased his first great female lead: tena­cious sev­en-year-old Aida Moham­mad­khani, who works around the prob­lem of mak­ing sure the fam­i­ly pond has enough fish in it. She address­es and sur­mounts a series of tasks to get with­in spit­ting dis­tance of her goal, but has to give her all to work­ing out how to retrieve a bank note from a gut­ter. She is the pic­ture of inno­cence and opti­mism, which is amus­ing in an of itself con­sid­er­ing the soci­ety she lives in is rife with cor­rup­tion and vio­lence. DJ

“Yes. Yes, I did it. I killed Yvette. I hat­ed her, so much… it-it- the f – it ‑flam – flames. Flames, on the side of my face, breath­ing-breath- heav­ing breaths. Heav­ing breaths… Heath­ing…” It is for this line of dia­logue, deliv­ered in Jonathan Lynn’s 1985 boardgame-based farce, Clue, that actor Made­line Kahn will go down in com­ic infamy. Watch it over and over and over and over. It will improve your life. DJ

It stands to rea­son that the most under­rat­ed Coen broth­ers’ film should con­tain the most over­looked female char­ac­ter in their entire fil­mog­ra­phy. As ball-bust­ing, fast-talk­ing, Pulitzer-win­ning reporter, Amy Archer, Jen­nifer Jason Leigh sim­ply steals the show in The Hud­suck­er Proxy, dish­ing out deli­cious, eco­nom­i­cal insults (“This is a face only a moth­er could love. On pay day.”) with­out ever allow­ing her character’s steely façade – or that flaw­less Nu Yoik accent – to slip. AW

From earn­ing (and then divest­ing her­self of) the man­tle of mum­blecore high priest­ess to dip­ping her toes in the tepid waters of main­stream Hol­ly­wood, Gre­ta Ger­wig remains an acquired taste as a screen per­former. It just so hap­pens that she is a taste that we have acquired, and we also believe her turn in Noah Baumbach’s Frances Ha (which she co-wrote) is her finest to date. The film is a pure, 110 per cent proof shot of undi­lut­ed Ger­wig, pre­sent­ing a small por­tion in the life of a wannabe dancer who arrives at a per­son­al and pro­fes­sion­al cross­roads. Frances is endear­ing, infu­ri­at­ing, inde­ci­sive and com­plete­ly human. A mid-point drunk­en mono­logue places this per­for­mance along­side bub­ble-head­ed genius of Diane Keaton in Annie Hall. DJ

In the open­ing min­utes of Miran­da July’s excep­tion­al debut, a man dous­es his hand in lighter flu­id and sets it aflame – his wife has just asked for a divorce. His two boys watch from their bed­room win­dow as he sinks in slow motion to the ground out­side, wav­ing his burn­ing limb. But even self-immo­la­tion becomes a ten­der and affect­ing thing under July’s com­pas­sion­ate direc­tion. July, who her­self plays a wide-eyed and lovesick per­for­mance artist, reminds us we are not alone in feel­ing unloved, uncom­fort­able, and unsure of exact­ly who we are. CT

Before she starred oppo­site Jim Broad­bent in Mike Leigh’s 1990 com­e­dy, Life is Sweet, Ali­son Stead­man appeared in all six episodes of the made-for-TV dra­ma omnibus Play for Today that Leigh direct­ed in the late ​’70s and ear­ly ​’80s. She’s at her benign, blithe best in 1976’s Nuts in May, in which she chal­lenges her on-screen spar­ring part­ner, Roger Slo­man, on every­thing from camp­site eti­quette to mas­ti­ca­tion best prac­tices as they hol­i­day in the south of Eng­land. End­less­ly quotable, eye-water­ing­ly fun­ny stuff. AW

There’s this unof­fi­cial thing called The Col­in Far­rell Effect where­by an actor is deemed to be good even if the film in which they are star­ring is awful. Emi­ly Blunt fits this bill as she always seems to make the very best of mediocre mate­r­i­al. Roman­tic com­e­dy The Five-Year Engage­ment, about a cou­ple con­stant­ly putting off their wed­ding for var­i­ous social and eco­nom­ic rea­sons, earns a spot in the pan­theon of mod­ern com­e­dy greats for Blunt’s hilar­i­ous turn as a per­pet­u­al wife-to-be. She’s sur­round­ed by ful­ly paid-up com­e­dy actors – Alli­son Brie, Seth Rogen – and leaves them in the dust. Her Cook­ie Mon­ster impres­sion is one for the ages. DJ

Hol­ly Hunter is per­fect­ly cast as Jane Craig, a tal­ent­ed and ener­getic TV news pro­duc­er. Her unre­strained voice and ges­tures match exact­ly with Jane’s devo­tion to hon­esty and non-sen­sa­tion­al jour­nal­ism. Yet Jane isn’t so per­cep­tive when it comes to rela­tion­ships. One can under­stand why the con­cept of an intel­li­gent woman falling for an idiot has rarely been por­trayed suc­cess­ful­ly on screen, but with her sense for nuance, Hunter makes Jane relat­able and odd­ly com­pelling. Rather than a car­i­ca­ture of the burnt-out career woman hang­ing des­per­ate­ly to a promise of romance, Jane seems nev­er quite sure of her­self and aware of the ludi­crous­ness of her sit­u­a­tion. ML

John Waters’ trash clas­sic may be infa­mous for (among oth­er things) Divine’s shit-eat­ing grin, but it’s Mink Stole who deliv­ers the film’s stand­out moment as one half of the self-pro­claimed filth­i­est cou­ple alive, Con­nie Mar­ble: ​“I guess there’s just two kinds of peo­ple Miss Sand­stone,” she tells a vis­i­bly ran­kled job appli­cant at her ​‘adop­tion clin­ic’, ​“my kind of peo­ple, and ass­holes – it’s rather obvi­ous which cat­e­go­ry you fit into. Have a nice day.” If there’s a more cal­loused, more evis­cer­at­ing­ly fun­ny line in all of cin­e­ma, we haven’t heard it. AW

It often seems like Char­lie Kauf­man is the only male writer who actu­al­ly gets women – and by ​“get­ting” women, that means under­stand­ing that we are com­plex. Clemen­tine Krycyn­s­ki, as she is quick to remind us, is a woman, not a con­cept, and it’s per­haps for this rea­son that Kate Winslet has described it as her favourite role. It’s so rare to find a char­ac­ter as colour­ful as Clemen­tine. Winslet knows this and it’s a joy to watch her rel­ish the oppor­tu­ni­ty of play­ing a throb­bing­ly three-dimen­sion­al woman. She is kind, she is mean, she is fun­ny, she is smart. She’s the clos­est to me or you we’ll find on-screen. Beth Perkin

Lat­er in his career, Brit icon­o­clast Nico­las Roeg veered towards, if not full-blown com­e­dy film­mak­ing, then dash­ing his intense psy­chodra­mas with a touch of the fun­nies. The dial was turned up way to high in his unwatch­ably shrill Track 29 from 1988, but he got the bal­ance just right in Insignif­i­cance, an adap­ta­tion of Ter­ry Johnson’s play which imag­ines an apoc­a­lyp­tic meet­ing between Ein­stein, Babe Ruth, J Edgar Hoover and Marylin Mon­roe in a New York hotel room. Roeg muse and (then) wife There­sa Rus­sell – one of the great unsung actors of the late 20^th cen­tu­ry – brings Mon­roe (though she is nev­er named) to life with bub­bly verve and the sequence in which she demon­strates the the­o­ry of rel­a­tiv­i­ty with a toy train, a bal­loon and a torch is a jaw-drop­ping all-timer. DJ

“You get up. You get an abor­tion. You have a cheese burg­er. If Amer­i­ca laughs at this, Amer­i­ca is beyond redemp­tion”. So decry the con­ser­v­a­tive defend­ers of the unborn, and there­in lies the impor­tance of Jen­ny Slate’s work in Obvi­ous Child. This is not a film that pokes fun at abor­tion, but rather an hon­est trib­ute to all of us who are scram­bling through young wom­an­hood and inevitably trip­ping up along the way. Unapolo­getic and vital. Aimee-lee Abra­ham

Known for being the blue­print for the insane­ly pop­u­lar stage musi­cal Chica­go, and one of Stan­ley Kubrick’s favourite movies, William Wellman’s Rox­ie Hart lives, dies and is reborn once more on the strength of Gin­ger Rogers’ stel­lar lead turn. She may have made her name dur­ing the ​’30s by soft shoe shuf­fling with Fred Astaire, but Rox­ie Hart is one exam­ple of many which proves she was very hap­py and able to go it alone. Nun­nal­ly John­son and Ben Hecht’s screen­play is trans­formed into LOL-pep­pered poet­ry in her hands. DJ

The Far­rel­ly broth­ers are respon­si­ble for spark­ing a thou­sand sex­u­al awak­en­ings and life­long aver­sions to frank and beans with this one. Cameron Diaz’s Mary is the dream girl who mate­ri­alised long before the man­ic pix­ie, but unlike many female char­ac­ters of the gross-out com­e­dy genre, she feels refresh­ing­ly well-thought out. Though taste­less, kudos are also deserved for her abil­i­ty to rock a quiff held up sole­ly by bod­i­ly flu­ids. ALA

What are some of your favourite female com­e­dy per­for­mances? Let us know @LWLies.