Serial Mom

Housewife Beverly Sutphin (Kathleen Turner) seems to enjoy a life of domestic bliss. She has a loving husband (Sam Waterston), two fine teenage kids, and a beautiful Baltimore home. Hell, she even gives the birds in her backyard Christian names. Admittedly, she’s a little highly strung…

When Beverly goes on the rampage with a knife, chasing a scruffy teenager through the streets in her Sunday best, it’s in defence of all she holds most dear: family values, impeccable manners, road safety. Suburban conformity fosters its own pathologies. This is a killer comedy from the one and only John Waters (who says it’s his best film), with an uproariously funny, marvellously malicious performance from Turner.

During a time when shiny-haired tradwives in flowy dresses are attempting to turn motherhood into some sort of sacred blessing devoid of challenges, Beverly feels pretty relatable. She’s a matriarch who has had it, which is an emotional state that many of us can relate to. Beverly Sutphin isn’t real. Rooting for her doesn’t mean you’re a depraved lunatic. It just means you deeply understand that moms in this country need a freaking break.

Dina Gachman, New York Times (2026)

A funny, biting satire of suburban repression and hypocrisy, is as close as John Waters has yet come to making a mainstream film that retains the signature bad taste and biting anti-authoritarian streak of his early films.

Simon Abrams, rogerebert.com

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