Women balancing societal expectations, personal aspirations, and familial obligations has been a cinematic thread for decades, yet few films take as literal—or bizarre—a route as Marielle Heller’s Nightbitch. Adapted from Rachel Yoder’s novel, published in 2021, the film tells the unusual tale of a woman whose identity crisis leads her to believe she is transforming into a dog.  Yep, literally a dog.  Though its ambitious narrative doesn’t always land with the intended bite, Nightbitch wades through themes of motherhood, self-expression, and freedom and finds its strength through Amy Adams delivering a characteristically committed performance.

Adams (American Hustle) plays a character identified only as Mother, an artist-turned-stay-at-home mom whose world has shrunk to a size that fits into the predictable rhythms of domestic life. She cares for her two-year-old son while her husband (Scoot McNairy, A Complete Unknown) frequently travels for work, leaving her feeling isolated and restless. Soon, strange changes begin to emerge: patches of fur, heightened senses, and even a tail. These physical symptoms reflect her mounting psychological strain, leading her to believe she’s undergoing a strange canine metamorphosis.

Flashbacks to her Mennonite upbringing—haunted by her mother’s death and other unresolved traumas—deepen her crisis of identity while living among a TV-perfect suburbia of playground moms and library book-toting stay-at-home dads. Through this transformation, Mother discovers the artistic passion she thought she had lost.  However, the cost of this rediscovery strains her relationships with those closest to her and, eventually, her sanity.

Over countless roles, Adams has reliably become one of her generation’s most versatile performers, and her portrayal of Mother rocks between worry and liberation, capturing the unfiltered desperation of a woman unraveling under the weight of what society expects of her and her behavior now that she has brought life into the world.  Whether expressing the exhaustion of child-rearing to a core group of moms (including Zoë Chao, Mary Holland, and Archana Rajan) or reading up on the wild abandon of embracing her animal instincts through resources she’s steered to by an uncommonly wise librarian (Jessica Harper, Suspiria, the original and remake), Adams delivers a gutsy performance.  Even when the script takes big swings that don’t work, Adams makes Mother’s surreal journey believable.  Scenes that lean too heavily on metaphor or lack the nuance necessary to wrangle such an oddball topic sometimes force Adams to overcompensate, but her magnetic screen presence ensures the character remains always compelling.

Avoiding the clichéd portrayal of a clueless, distant spouse, McNairy is well cast as Husband.  Bringing a quiet authenticity to the role (something McNairy should teach one of those MasterClasses on at this point), he easily falls into step playing a man who is simultaneously loving and totally oblivious to the emotional toll his wife’s transformation takes on their family. 

While the script restrains them from going full out to where their sardonic chops can take them,  Chao (Where’d You Go, Bernadette) and Holland (Happiest Season) enliven the film when they show up. I’m such a longtime fan of Harper that seeing her enigmatic librarian character with hidden wisdom peer out from behind a book was a true delight.  All three have their moments, but the film obviously belongs to Adams and the adorable twins playing her son.   However, nearly all the supporting characters often feel more like thematic devices than fully realized participants in the story because the film doesn’t have the time needed to give them that greater definition….and perhaps with Mother’s inability to take more in/on, that’s somewhat the point.

Heller, known for Can You Ever Forgive Me? and A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood has a knack for exploring deeply personal narratives. With Nightbitch, she ventures into more inexplicable territory, blending magical realism with domestic drama. The film’s strongest moments are its dreamlike sequences at night when the animal within Adams gets to come out.  These evening occurrences, shot by Brandon Trost (Bros), depict Mother’s changes with beauty but never lets us forget the unease that hangs over the neighborhood. These scenes brim with visual inventiveness and align with the daytime glare shining off glossy children’s books and plastic toys.  The solid production design by Karen Murphy (A Star is Born) contrasts sterile suburban spaces with wild, untamed settings to a score from Nate Heller (Marielle’s brother) that heightens the tension with evocative, though occasionally overbearing, melodies.

Yet for all its valued ambition, Nightbitch struggles with tonal cohesion. The film’s exploration of metamorphosis and liberation feels, at times, forced with a heavy hand, its themes spelled out in bright letters rather than allowed to unfold organically. This odd lack of subtlety for a filmmaker skilled in crafting circumspect narratives diminishes the impact of its more profound moments near the end, leaving some sequences between Mother and Husband feeling more disjointed than daring. Too often, the film relies on visual metaphors that are striking but repetitive, sacrificing narrative momentum for symbolic flourishes.

The film thrives on its audacity, offering a raw and unfiltered look at the messiness of life’s transitions.  As can be the case, Adams’ performance alone makes it worth watching, as she embodies a relatable and occasionally utterly otherworldly character.  Mother’s transformation serves as a metaphor for the animalistic impulses that many women feel forced (or outright asked) to suppress, as well as the ways motherhood can alternately empower and isolate. It’s a potent concept, a real conversation spark-er, that often feels underdeveloped by Heller who hints at profound ideas within Nightbitch but doesn’t always delve deep enough to do them justice.