Motherhood, according to Amy Adams's frazzled, unnamed mum to a toddler in Marielle Heller's Nightbitch, is perhaps the most violent experience a human can have aside from death itself. It's feral, primal and animalistic, an experience that strips away our fastidious qualms and sees us nose-deep in nappies and newly expert in a whole realm of physical indignities.
Nightbitch repeats the same points over and over, like a sleep-deprived new mum attempting to wrestle with a shopping list. Parts of the film work well, the dance of avoidance around marital tensions and festering grievances playing out in Adams's expressive face.
Having identified its allegory for motherhood, Adams's character finds herself turning into a dog – the picture doesn't know what to do with it. The film's uneasy middle ground feels like a missed opportunity.
Heller seems far more at ease with the domestic drama element than she is with the swerve into absurdist fantasy. Nightbitch would have worked better if it had been pushed further in either direction.
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