In Nightbitch, monstrous motherhood has never been more mundane

The horror genre has long boasted a fascination with the reproductive power of women’s bodies. Ginger Snaps depicts a girl’s first period as an excruciating and awkward transformation; The Brood sees birth as a horrific, gory spectacle; insemination is an ungodly, violent act in Rosemary’s Baby. In Nightbitch, writer-director Marielle Heller’s fourth feature, the unyielding pressures of motherhood cause one woman (Amy Adams) to believe that she’s transforming into a growling, wild dog. Adapted from Rachel Yoder’s buzzy novel of the same name, Heller surprisingly veers away from the book’s bloodier components, instead focusing on a post-partum transformation—and the inherent violence of childbirth—that most mothers can easily resonate with. While Nightbitch certainly achieves relatability, it also presents a generic treatise on womanhood that reinforces more gendered conventions than it refutes.

Adams plays an unnamed, exasperated stay-at-home mom navigating a drab suburbia with her 2-year-old son (played by twins Arleigh Patrick Snowden and Emmett James Snowden), whose every task and desire is hers to meet and assuage. Her husband (Scoot McNairy) is blatantly obtuse as a parent, unable to complete any task without her explicit guidance. He spends most of the week away on business, anyway, meaning that she completes routine domestic tasks, and the majority of child-rearing, solo. In her daily interactions, she fantasizes about responding to people’s ignorant comments with unvarnished emotion, which ranges from slapping her husband across the face to expressing her parental anxieties to a total stranger at the supermarket. These harmless daydreams border on psychotic delusion when she begins to notice subtle changes to her anatomy—a heightened sense of smell, sharpened canines, and patches of oddly-colored hair—that cause her to embrace a sudden call of the wild.

Heller’s script differs significantly from Yoder’s novel, namely in ways that minimize the elements of magical realism and the protagonist’s intense isolation. The Field Guide To Magical Women recommended by librarian Norma (Jessica Harper, whose underutilized role was created for the film) plays a much larger role in the book, which possesses a first-hand account of a tribe of were-women that speaks directly to the protagonist’s own metamorphosis. The crazed hunch she develops about other local mothers secretly morphing into dogs themselves is also completely abandoned, aside from a stray observation that a mongrel she encounters at the park smells like uber-chic mom Jen’s (Zoe Chao) strawberry shampoo.

Perhaps most aggressively altered is McNairy’s character, who’s so one-dimensional in the text that Heller’s decision to exaggerate his flaws almost feels reasonable, although he is entirely void of any sort of nuance. He simply exists as a lightning rod for feminine rage, both in his wife’s ferocious reveries and, undoubtedly, from future audience members who themselves have navigated the stressful balancing act of parenthood. 

Yoder’s novel is far from perfect, and as such there’s certainly room for Heller to rework the material (which, notably, was acquired by Annapurna in 2020 before the book was even published). What’s disappointing, however, is that the filmmaker doesn’t elevate the author’s reductive view of divine feminine power as something that’s inherent to giving birth and becoming a mother. Women are “gods” only if they reproduce, capable of great strength only if they experience labor pains, and are biologically poised to sacrifice their entire personhood for the sake of their kin. These observations are far from radical—in fact, they’re rooted in heterosexual familial ideals—yet the protagonist acts as if she possesses a novel perspective.

The only other women Adams’ character engages with are either fellow young mothers, who she perceives as milquetoast airheads, or child-free colleagues from her former art gallery job, who are, apparently, snide and selfish for their decision to make art instead of babies. Had Nightbitch earnestly engaged with the unjust, patriarchal system that prevents women from being able to afford childcare—or, even more preferably, have access to robust maternity leave—as opposed to positioning other women as sources of tremendous psychological frustration, it might have been able to explore the natural inclination to envy those whose lives appear ideal from afar, but are likely plagued with the same rote obstacles that befall us all. Above all else, it positions this plight of the wealthy, white, straight, and conventional as an inescapable oppression without questioning if the protagonist resides in a privileged prison of her own making. (When many can’t even conceive of affording children, let alone suburban homes to be “trapped” within, it’s a bit hard to sympathize with this struggle.)

More disappointing than its simplistic feminist viewpoint is Nightbitch’s narrative incohesion. Characters are merely caricatures for the protagonist to poke fun or lash out at. What’s worse is that their inclusion or revision on Heller’s part doesn’t even create a more comprehensive plot. Feminine bonds aren’t fortified, nor are they dissolved in order to usher in a new era for Adams’ lead. Perhaps most perplexingly, the most intriguing aspect of the project—that a woman is, in some sense, transforming into a dog—isn’t explored or depicted in a meaningful way. There is no painful bodily transfiguration a la An American Werewolf In London, no tackling of motherhood taboos that made The Babadook so refreshing in its traumatic investigation. We’ve also seen Adams grapple with motherhood and marriage in far more intriguing roles, from Junebug to Arrival to The Master, and her stock has markedly declined since Hillbilly Elegy. This is far from the comeback the actress deserves.

It’s normal to become excited when one’s experience appears to be accurately represented on screen, but a successful film needs to be more than merely a mirror. While it emphasizes the unsung and vital presence of mothers, Nightbitch doesn’t probe the broader societal devaluation that actually causes women to feel unfulfilled and unimportant in their newfound roles as caregivers. It’s not solely the fault of pretentious artists, or inept fathers, or poised middle-class mommies, but rather the deeply misogynistic society that sees women as little more than reproductive vessels. Why not rally against this cultural misconception rather than make a film that largely reiterates its gendered expectations?

(This review originally ran on September 11, 2024 after the film’s TIFF premiere.)

Director: Marielle Heller
Writer: Marielle Heller
Starring: Amy Adams, Scoot McNairy, Arleigh Patrick Snowden, Emmett James Snowden, Zoë Chao, Mary Holland, Ella Thomas, Archana Rajan, Jessica Harper 
Release Date: December 6, 2024