Nightbitch Review

In Nightbitch, Amy Adams shines in a film that bites deep. A tense, feral exploration of identity, rebellion, and the gnawing isolation that can accompany parenthood, this is a story as strange as it is sad, a pitch-black metaphorical take on the primal urges buried beneath the veneer of modern motherhood. Adams plays a stay-at-home mother – a former artist whose creativity was mothballed after the birth of her son. Her days are an endless, isolating loop: caring for her toddler, shouldering the emotional labour of a household, and navigating the void left by a husband often away on business. She is restless, lonely, and tethered to a life that seems to have consumed the person she once was. But then, strange things begin to happen as she notices shifts in her body – a hypersensitive sense of smell, the emergence of extra nipples, and a creeping, almost undeniable suspicion: is she turning into a dog?

Director Marielle Heller deftly crafts a portrait of literal and emotional transformation. At its core, Nightbitch is a searing critique of the myth that motherhood requires self-erasure. Through the protagonist’s gradual metamorphosis, the film questions why primal instincts – anger, rebellion, and even desire – must be sacrificed on the altar of parental perfection. Adams embodies this dichotomy with unnerving intensity, her performance oscillating between moments of tender vulnerability and animalistic abandon. She paints a vivid portrait of a woman desperate to reclaim something of her former self, even as that reclamation veers into the grotesque. She doesn’t just perform here – she howls, growls, and prowls her way to greatness.

In the way the film dissects how societal expectations suppress maternal individuality, it also allows for exploration of what happens when that suppression boils over. Its metaphor is daring and absurd, but it works. The transformation is empowering – a reclamation of agency that comes with visceral, unsettling consequences. This duality of a mother as a nurturer and predator is the film’s beating heart. Yet for all its ambition, Nightbitch occasionally feels hesitant to fully commit to its body-horror potential. The unsettling premise cries out for Cronenberg-level grotesquery, but the film pulls its punches, opting for a more subdued, albeit still effective approach. This restraint still allows for the emotional beats to land with precision but may leave genre fans yearning for more visceral thrills.

Despite this, Heller’s direction ensures that the film remains a compelling exploration of motherhood’s darker corners. The script is sharp, weaving raw emotion and unsettling imagery into a story that feels both deeply personal and disturbingly universal. The film does not shy away from the sacrifices and contradictions inherent in parenthood but also refuses to condemn its protagonist for her rebellion. If anything, it suggests that those primal urges are not aberrations but essential parts of the human experience, ones that should not be ignored simply because a woman has become a mother. In the end, Nightbitch is a powerful, strange, and deeply affecting film that lingers long after its final howl. Adams is magnetic, carrying the weight of the film with a performance that is both ferocious and heart-breaking. It’s a savage attack against the platonic ideals of motherhood and it demands to be heard.

★★★★1/2

In UK cinemas now / Amy Adams, Scoot McNairy, Zoe Chao, Arleigh Snowden, Emmett Snowden, Jessica Harper / Dir: Marielle Heller / Searchlight Pictures / 15