Nightbitch, by acclaimed writer-director Marielle Heller (Can You Ever Forgive Me, A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood) is one of those films that will spark plenty of conversation. It’s a daring, sometimes messy take on motherhood, that blends surreal humour, body horror, and sharp social commentary.
At its core is Amy Adams, giving a courageous performance as a stay-at-home mum on the verge of something extraordinary—possibly a breakdown, perhaps transformation, or maybe both. Exhausted by the endless grind of raising a toddler, she starts to notice unsettling changes in her physical being. Her senses sharpen, her teeth feel different, and she starts to wonder if she’s turning into a dog.
Heller approaches this bizarre premise with her usual focus on the emotional undercurrents. She captures the relentless exhaustion of motherhood and the way it can strip away a sense of self. Adams embodies this perfectly – whether she’s stumbling through her day with unwashed hair and dead eyes or clawing at the ground like an animal, she’s utterly convincing. The film’s exploration of the pressures and inequities of parenting, particularly in the uneven division of labour between mothers and fathers, feels painfully honest. Scoot McNairy is brilliant as her well-meaning, but oblivious husband. Through him, Heller manages to highlight the disconnect many couples experience in these situations.
But for all its daring, Nightbitch doesn’t fully embrace its weirdness. The film’s dog-centric moment, while intriguing, often feel surprisingly restrained. There’s a sense that it could have pushed the transformation scenes further, really leaning into the chaos. Comparisons to iconic body-horror films like An American Werewolf in London reveal where it falls short. And while the script has sharp insights into motherhood, it sometimes spells things out too plainly, making it surface level stuff, when it should be so much deeper.
That said, the film’s honesty is its greatest strength. It’s rare to see the unvarnished realities of motherhood, messy, gruelling, and often very isolating, depicted on screen with this much authenticity and clarity. The film resonates most when it’s grounded in those very human moments. Heller’s ability to explore how gender shapes her characters’ lives shines through here, just as it did in her earlier work.
The ending ties things up a bit too neatly for my liking, which feels like a missed opportunity to leave a more lasting impression. Still, Nightbitch is a bold, thoughtful, and often funny exploration of a side of parenthood that’s rarely shown.
