Motherhood can be a real bitch, right? That’s the lessons for Nightbitch, a bizarre movie that juggles high-concepts and tones like a struggling new mother juggling time. Based on the novel by Rachel Yoder, Amy Adams plays Mother (yes, that’s how she’s credited), an artist who chose to become a stay-at-home mother to her two-year-old son, and her life has become an endless stream of days appeasing a small tyrant who she also unconditionally loves. Early on, Adams uncorks an imaginary monologue about demystifying the glamour of motherhood and the guilt she feels about not finding every tantrum and bowel movement a thing of bronze-worthy beauty. She’s grappling with significant changes, and that’s even before she thinks she’s turning into a dog. I can find thematic connection with motherhood and body horror, as our protagonist feels that she no longer recognizes her body, that she feels a lack of direction and agency in a life that no longer feels hers. The added body horror of transformation makes sense, but this element seems so extraneous that I wished the movie had exorcised it and simply stuck with its unsparing examination of parenthood. You would think a woman believing she is becoming a dog would dominate her life. The ultimate life lessons of the movie are rather trite: assert yourself, establish a balance to have it all, and fellas, did you know that being a stay-at-home parent is actually hard work? There are too many half-formed elements and plot turns that don’t feel better integrated, like flashbacks interwoven with Mother’s mother, not credited as “Grandmother,” as a repressed Mennonite in a closed community who disappeared for stretches. There’s also a few curious reveals relating to Mother’s perception of others that are unnecessary and obtusely mysterious for no real added value (“Why that library book died forty years ago….”). Adams is blameless and impressively throws herself into the demanding roll, going full canine with gusto as she trots on all fours and eats out of bowls. The problem is that all the dog material feels a little too silly when realized in a visual medium rather than a symbol of freedom and rebellion. Nightbitch is more bark than bite, and I’d advise viewers looking for an unflinching portrayal of motherhood to watch Tully instead and, if desired, pet your household dog at home to replicate Nightbbitch but better.

Nate’s Grade: C