The 11 Saddest Movies Of All Time

We typically associate all-time great movies with positive emotions. People often breathlessly recall how some of the most acclaimed motion pictures of all time were so exciting or made them laugh so hard. However, that's not the only way a film can creatively flourish for a viewer. On the contrary, films that leave you dabbing tears from your eyes can also be a tremendously rewarding experience. Art can be a powerful tool for processing emotions we might not be able to fully comprehend or tackle on a day-to-day basis, and watching a film, our guard gets let down. In that moment, we're vulnerable, so especially insightful and emotional storytelling can touch us in profound ways we'll never forget.

The 11 saddest movies of all time perfectly encapsulate how a bunch of flickering images can inspire staggering emotional responses. Their most affecting sequences are just as phenomenal as the funniest or most thrilling movie scenes. These projects vary wildly in terms of the eras they debuted in or the countries they originated from, and they also have a plethora of different, incredibly idiosyncratic qualities that make their particular brand of pathos so moving. But uniting all these disparate titles is one common element: the ability to move people to tears. Grab a box of tissues and gird your emotions — it's time to break down the saddest movies of all time and their many moving virtues.

When it first hit theaters, "Interstellar" received positive reviews but was also greeted as a "lesser" Christopher Nolan directorial effort. Some critics even dubbed it one of 2014's most disappointing movies, while jokes mocking its characters and dialogue ran rampant across the internet. Cut to the modern world and the film's reputation has changed drastically. Not only has it taken on a more universally acclaimed aura, but "Interstellar" has also been specifically praised for its pathos. 

A sequence where Matthew McConaughey's Joseph "Coop" Cooper watches, with increasing emotional intensity, a series of videos showing his daughter Murphy growing up has become especially revered for its poignancy. So popular is this scene, in fact, that it's become the basis for a meme format where people have "Coop" sobbing over superimposed videos like acclaimed new movie trailers. Meanwhile, countless TikTok users have reshared the most emotional moments from "Interstellar" throughout the 2020s, further increasing the film's pop culture reach. 

Nolan never goes for the small moment, and that includes the most profound tearjerker sequences in "Interstellar." These moments, accompanied by grand cosmic images and Han Zimmer's pronounced score, are so vividly emotional that they were always bound to impact people. Once upon a time, "Interstellar" was viewed only in relation to other Nolan movies, but now it's taken on a life of its own as an example of especially moving cinema. And just think, the original ending was supposed to be much darker.

"I haven't cried like that since 'Titanic'!" Woody Harrelson proclaims in "Zombieland" while recounting an especially sad story from his past. A mainstream comedy using 1997's "Titanic" as an instant benchmark for "sad cinema" reflects the movie's tremendous emotional power. All over the world, moviegoers are enamored with Rose (Kate Winslet) and Jack's (Leonardo DiCaprio) heartbreaking romance that ends in tragedy. But what is it about "Titanic" that makes it so powerful, reducing anyone, even "Zombieland" characters, to tears?

At its heart, "Titanic" is a movie about mortality. Everyone dies. Even the most prestigious ship can sink to the bottom of the ocean. What do we do with our finite time on Earth? The "Titanic" scenes that still make us cry unflinchingly portray how fleeting our lives are. It's a movie that lets audiences process a grim aspect of reality in safe, controlled confines. However, it also builds its soul around the profound connections that make our temporary existence worth having.

The movie's epic length really allows viewers to spend time with Rose and Jack. The film doesn't breeze through their romance in a montage. Audiences linger with the duo as they soak in the joys of the Titanic's various nooks and crannies. That intimacy wraps folks up in their romance ... and devastates moviegoers once death comes for Jack. Yes, James Cameron went all-in on spectacle and visual effects, but his dedication to unabashed poignancy also imbued "Titanic" with enough emotional power to become an all-time great tearjerker.

We all have relationships that go nowhere. Bonds between people that seemed eternal end up just fading away. Such a dynamic is at the heart of Celine Song's outstanding feature directorial debut, "Past Lives." Here, two former potential lovers, Nora Moon (Greta Lee) and Hae Sung (Teo Yoo), reunite in New York City both as adults and two radically different people. Their memories and traces of their feelings linger, but they're also leading lives they couldn't have imagined decades earlier. A pair of human beings who once seemed like soulmates now appear as strangers to one another.

Song's incredibly precise visual style makes "Past Lives" an achingly bittersweet story of romance and identity. For instance, just look at a quiet scene of married couple Moon and Arthur (John Magaro) discussing their complicated relationship. It's framed in an extended wide shot that lets a series of messy emotions simmer on-screen. Another wide shot of Moon walking home after a painful goodbye is also impactful. Similarly, perfect timing on a cut to the past, when Moon and Sung say farewell to each other, slices deeper into the soul than any lengthy soliloquy could. 

It doesn't hurt that a trio of unforgettable performances anchor the film, as each lead demonstrates a mastery of subtle but absorbing acting. "Past Lives" quietly examines complicated relationships that never can be. In doing so, it established Celine Song as a filmmaking powerhouse and itself as a new entry into the canon of outstanding sad cinema.

It doesn't take a genius to realize why "Schindler's List" is one of the saddest movies of all time. This was Steven Spielberg's cinematic time capsule of the Holocaust and the vicious, unspeakable horrors enacted on Jews and other marginalized European populations. Filmed in black and white with an achingly haunting John Williams score, "Schindler's List" is a devastating motion picture not for the faint of heart. After delivering popular escapism in iconic blockbusters, Spielberg crafted "Schindler's List" as a grueling recognition of humanity's most horrific behavior.

The sadness permeating "Schindler's List" isn't just present in the anguish of Jews at the hands of Nazis. It's also in smaller moments involving the film's titular lead, Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson). In a closing scene, Schindler looks around at the possessions still lingering in his house. No longer do they symbolize financial prosperity, but rather more missed opportunities to fight against fascism. He gradually realizes aloud how he could have bought the lives of more Jews if he just sold that car or dresser. World War II is officially over at this point and the Nazis have been defeated, but even with that development, Schindler is not a hero filled with triumph. Instead, all that he didn't do consumes his psyche.

It's a gut-punch moment ensuring "Schindler's List" ends its weighty story not on hagiography but with an appropriately heavy moment of reflection. This sequence, which hinges on Neeson's devastatingly vulnerable performance, also crystallizes the tremendous emotional power of a film that Spielberg made to combat Holocaust denial.

Everyone knows the opening montage of "Up" is one of the saddest sequences ever committed to film. Over 10 minutes and without any dialogue, audiences witness Carl and Ellie's entire life together: the ups, downs, the dreams left on the table, the joys shared, and everything in between. This montage concludes with Carl (Ed Asner) attending Ellie's funeral alone while clutching a single balloon, a reminder of the woman he's lost. Just thinking about this masterful display of silent storytelling is enough to reduce people to tears. But the film's pathos isn't just confined to this unforgettable opening. All throughout this movie one can find some of the most moving sequences ever put into a motion picture.

Later on, the waterworks start flowing once again for viewers when Carl, having arrived at Paradise Falls, begins flipping through Ellie's "Adventure is out there" scrapbook. This is when he discovers that their quiet, intimate memories were her life's great "adventure." Once again, director Pete Docter and the Pixar animators deploy deft, dialogue-free filmmaking that's rich with emotion. "Up" eventually concludes with another deeply moving scene in which Carl presents Russell (Jordan Nagai) with the "Ellie badge," passing along a physical memento of Ellie to the next generation. Throughout its entire runtime, "Up" constantly earns its reputation as one of the most moving films in history. That opening scene alone is fantastic, but there are endless other ways in which "Up" profoundly touches people.

Cinema is filled with stories about soldiers engaging in battle. This is especially true of American movies, which are jam-packed with projects concerning folks in the trenches or firing weapons at enemies. But what about the ordinary souls caught in the crossfire? What is it like for them to survive during unspeakable turmoil? "Grave of the Fireflies" explores this notion through the eyes of siblings Eita and Setsuko. 

Both recently orphaned youngsters are just trying to make it from one day to the next during the 1940s Pacific War. Their trials and tribulations inform this Isao Takahata directorial effort, which firmly stands as an anti-war narrative. To emphasize that theme, Takahata pulls no punches in depicting war's senseless tragedies and the innocent lives caught up in the carnage.

Decades after its release, "Grave of the Fireflies" is regarded as a masterpiece and one of the best Studio Ghibli movies ever, with modern assessments praising it for daring to examine lives often overlooked in pop culture. Its ability to wring tears out of any moviegoer still has many declaring it the saddest movie ever made. It's not hard to see why, given that Takahata dares to filter the Pacific War's horrors through the eyes of children. Putting such vulnerable souls in the middle of historical atrocities makes already gut-wrenching circumstances extra harrowing to experience. "Grave of the Fireflies" subverted war drama norms, with emotionally devastating results that still reverberate through pop culture.

It's impossible to talk about the saddest movies ever made without exploring an entry from the Italian neorealist movement. One of the most impactful film movements in history, this era of cinematic storytelling (born from Italy's post-World War II hardship) emphasized grim depictions of everyday reality, defined by adversity rather than catharsis. Director Vittorio De Sica was a master of this form, particularly with his 1952 masterpiece "Umberto D." This project focused on the elderly Umberto Domenico Ferrari (Carlo Battisti), who has one desire: to not become homeless. His cruel landlady keeps undercutting that desire while endless problems like briefly losing his trusty canine Flike plague him.

"Umberto D." ends with Umberto deciding to take his own life after suffering so much adversity. This heartbreaking decision becomes even more shattering to watch as he tries in vain to find a new home for Flike. After that goes nowhere, he tries to abandon the pooch ... yet Flike constantly find him again. This dog's kindness and loyalty simply reinforces what a grim world Umberto lives in. The only compassion around comes from this resilient pet. Even before this extended sequence of endless misery, Battisti imbues Umberto with such sorrow in every inch of his body that just watching the guy hobble into frame is enough to make your heart sink. "Umberto D." is a cutting depiction of how ordinary existence is often a challenging struggle, encapsulating Italian neorealism's bleak artistic virtues.

Kanji Watanabe (Takashi Shimura) is dying. But even before he's told he has stomach cancer and only a year to live, Watanabe has been stuck in a monotonous bureaucratic job for decades. He goes through life so rigidly that others referred to him as "a mummy." Writer-director Akira Kurosawa chronicles Watanabe's final year of existence in "Ikiru," an exercise that informs some of the saddest sequences in the history of cinema. 

Some revolve around Watanabe futilely trying to find satisfaction in life through shallow indulgences. Eventually, though, the bittersweet melancholy of "Ikiru" manifests in Watanabe wanting to leave a positive legacy before he perishes. Watching this man struggling to better the world in the face of so much government red tape is an incredibly moving sight. This quest, which eventually revolves around Watanabe trying to build a playground, culminates in the film's signature scene: Watanabe gently rocking back and forth on a swing set in the snow while singing "Gondola no Uta." Shimura's aching acting in this sequence, not to mention the striking visual contrast between the pitch-black background and the gentle white snow, is unspeakably moving. 

After this scene, Kurosawa further gut-punches the audience by having Watanabe's behavior inspire his co-workers at his funeral to change their ways. However, "Ikiru" ends with these men eventually returning to rigid adherence to schedules rather than other human beings. This reflection of humanity's penchant for always returning to a harmful status quo has left generations of moviegoers blubbering with tears for a reason.

In the Hays Code era, American movies had severe limits on how dark or gruesome they could be. Mandates that American cinema maintain a certain level of "decorum" ensured that especially bleak conclusions, for example, were often off-limits. However, even during this age of cinematic storytelling, some truly devastating American features snuck past the censors and reached theater screens. 

Case in point: 1937's Leo McCarey movie "Make Way for Tomorrow." The feature follows Barkley "Pa" Cooper (Victor Moore) and Lucy "Ma" Cooper (Beulah Bondi), a couple who are forced to leave their home. They have four children they could possibly live with, but none of their offspring are enthusiastic about having an elderly couple upend their lives. Eventually, "Pa" and "Ma" temporarily part and live with separate children. 

Viña Delmar's script, written in the final years of the Great Depression, holds nothing back in depicting the financial and social challenges faced by these elderly protagonists. This includes "Pa" having difficulty finding work at his elderly age and the awkwardness stemming from these living conditions. Incredibly tangible sorrow exudes off the screen as these family members grow increasingly frustrated with each other, and McCarey concludes this grim exploration of crumbling relationships with "Pa" going to live with their daughter in California. It's an emotionally harrowing ending rife with heartbreak. It's also a miracle "Make Way for Tomorrow" got such a shattering conclusion past the Hays Code censors.

Looking back on old home videos is a surefire recipe to make somebody cry. These snapshots of the past preserve yesteryear's greatest moments. In the 2022 film "Aftersun," writer-director Charlotte Wells ingeniously ponders what else is hiding within those archives of the past. What information and pain isn't communicated through a camcorder's eye? 

This concept is explored through the story of Calum (Paul Mescal) and his daughter Sophie (Frankie Corio), who go on a Turkish vacation together. While Calum puts on a happy face for his daughter and a MiniDV camera recording their vacation, the man is filled with pain. This dissonance is vividly and achingly reflected in the visuals Wells and cinematographer Gregory Oke concoct, such as a wide shot showing Calum in despair in the bathroom while Sophie sits in another room.

Recurring digressions to the future, showing an adult Sophie (now married to a lovely woman and having a kid of her own) watching home videos of this vacation, only accentuating the film's devastating qualities. Sophie is aware she may have never really known her father. Who was this man? Are there clues in these home videos? The search for traces of who our parents really are as people is an emotionally taxing exercise. "Aftersun" keeps reflecting that and Calum and Sophie's complicated relationship in such meaningful ways. The ending of "Aftersun," set to a trippy "Under Pressure" dance sequence, crystallizes the mournful atmosphere defining this film and its impeccable pop culture reputation. 

Steven Spielberg's 2001 movie, "A.I. Artifical Intelligence," initially received mixed critical marks due to a perceived overdose of sentimentality and emotional tidiness. Specifically, an ending showing robot child David (Haley Joel Osment) finally getting to experience the love of his mother was seen as classic Spielberg schmaltz, undercutting Stanley Kubrick's original darker intentions for the film. Decades later, though, "A.I." has been re-evaluated as one of the filmmaker's great masterpieces and a masterclass in pathos. More viewers now appreciate the brutal world David inhabits and just how moving it is to see this child persist in the face of endless subjugation. 

Meanwhile, that once-reviled ending has now been properly interpreted as actually one of Spielberg's grimmest conclusions. After all, it depicts that the only way David can be accepted by the ones he loves is by simultaneously embracing fantasy and death's embrace. No wonder this project has become iconic for its ability to reduce any moviegoer to a puddle of tears. Director Ken Russell famously wept profusely upon watching the film, while others have remarked that the ending of "A.I." is the most harrowing in Spielberg's filmography, lacking even the hopeful epilogue of "Schindler's List." 

The movie's grueling depiction of anti-robot sentiment, meanwhile, only feels more and more tragically relevant and potent with a modern rise in authoritarian governments. With "A.I.," Spielberg delivered one of his greatest, most tear-inducing masterpieces ... people just weren't ready for it.