I think we’re meant to feel rage, but Nightbitch left me howling with laughter

Nightbitch
★★★
Disney+

Traditionally for women, having a child is the marker of the next stage in life – a maturation, a sign of transitioning to another plane of being. Suddenly, there is a whole new language to understand, a communion between yourself and other women like you – and that’s not even to touch on the new little person you’ve created, the one closest to you, a being both from and of you.

But what about the messiness, or the loss of self? More and more, stories are being shared of motherhood’s enormous sacrifice – and that these instincts might not come quite as easily, or at all, to some women. Rachel Yoder’s 2021 novel Nightbitch is one such story: a deranged howl, as an unnamed woman’s struggle being a stay-at-home mother manifests in a physical form. She transforms, suddenly and inexplicably, into a feral dog.

Marielle Heller’s film adaptation, with Amy Adams in the lead role, takes the premise literally with mixed results. The message is clear – parenthood is much harder for women than men, and the emotional and physical labour is often taken for granted – but rather than allowing the audience to draw this conclusion, the film repeatedly hammers it, to the point of didacticism.

Isolation leaks into every part of the mother’s life: at home with only the company of her child, as her man-child husband (Scoot McNairy) is absent even when physically present; among other mothers, over whom she feels a sense of superiority; among her former cohort of artists, as motherhood has taken her time and ability to create. She blends in with the scenery of parenting – everyone in the film other than her and her family is named.

The talented Adams is a versatile, convincing actor – small changes on her face betray the way she’s feeling, even when she is trying to be present for her lively two-year-old (played by twins Arleigh and Emmett Snowden).

Scenes are juxtaposed: the joy and brightness of the child’s view, clashing against her own dark thoughts. Flashbacks to Mother’s own childhood, her own mother, provide further provocations on the intergenerational echoes of this sacrifice.

So far, so relatable – it all plays out like a mundane domestic drama, highlighting the Groundhog’s Day nature of the toddler years. Where the film has more unique promise, and ultimately struggles, is in its magic realism. When Mother begins to realise her body is changing – a patch of fur here, some extra nipples there – Adams’ shock is evident, but the execution is sometimes laughable. The pack of neighbourhood dogs she ends up joining, her snarling and barking with a wild glint in her eye – the effect is more comedic than dramatic, and it’s hard to take very seriously.