By Peg Aloi

Perhaps director Marielle Heller decided that Nightbitch‘s unusual premise had to be balanced with a decorous storytelling trope.

Nightbitch, directed by Marielle Heller. Screening at Coolidge Corner Theater.

Amy Adams in Nigthbitch. Photo: Searchlight Pictures

Marielle Heller’s debut as a screenwriter and director began with 2015’s critically-acclaimed The Diary of a Teenage Girl, a darkly comic coming-of -age tale based on the graphic novel by Phoebe Gloeckner, who co-wrote the adapted screenplay with Heller. Next came 2018’s Can You Ever Forgive Me? Adapted from Lee Israel’s autobiography by Nicole Holofcener and Jeff Whitty, the film received three Oscar nominations. Heller went on to even greater acclaim the following year with A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood, featuring Tom Hanks in a career-topping performance as Fred Rogers and Matthew Rhys as the reluctant, troubled journalist interviewing him. With her latest film, Heller continues exploring themes found in her previous work: messy human behavior, the boundaries and struggles of living a creative life, and redemption overcoming feelings of regret.

Adapted from Rachel Yoder’s novel, Nightbitch stars Amy Adams as a 42 year-old woman who has chosen the life of a stay-at-home mom over her previous career as an artist. The film opens with the unnamed “Mother” (Adams) standing in her kitchen, drinking coffee while her adorable son plays at her feet. As she stares into space while preparing breakfast, a voice-over monologue hints at a rich inner life as it bemoans a daily existence characterized by exhaustion and dull routines. “Husband” (Scoot McNairy) is a good guy, but he travels a lot for work, isn’t quite sure how the coffee maker works, and doesn’t help around the house nearly as much as he could. Also, Husband doesn’t notice his wife’s existential crisis until things come to a head. As Mother goes through her days — characterized by cooking, cleaning, and running errands — her internal monologue encompasses elements of frustration, anger, regret, and increasingly morbid fantasies. She spends most days alone with her young son. Her other social contacts are limited to being around other young mothers and their children, along with occasional chats with the local librarian (a great cameo by Jessica Harper), who may know more about Mother’s predicament than she lets on at first. Mother finds the other moms rather dull and, despite being desperately lonely and hungry for stimulating conversation, she rejects befriending them: all they have in common is being mommies. Mother begins to think she may be losing her grip on reality. Then she starts feeling connected to dogs in the park, eventually beginning to believe she is turning into a dog.

At this point the film can’t quite decide if it wants to be a socially-provocative drama or a domestic comedy with touches of magic realism. It can’t quite achieve the former because its cultural commentary is compromised by the rather bland, upscale suburban setting. If it is the latter, I’d have liked to see it venture further into the fantasy realm, delving deeper into the animalistic implications of Mother’s transformation. I wanted more out of Heller’s metaphorical juxtapositions of creativity and wildness, of family life and oppression, to explore what was driving the woman-becomes-dog trajectory. Instead, the narrative became contrived and clumsy, the human/animal overlay calling attention to itself without having much to say. Still, despite how lackluster and under-realized the vision, the dialogue is well-written. Mother’s voice-over speeches are often very funny, thought-provoking, and at times shocking. The bond between Mother and Son is tender and sweet, which makes the protagonist’s dilemma even more heartbreaking (though it keeps the film from straying into darker emotional territory). The parallel mother/child and human-dog connections were also underexplored; motherly love is also nonverbal, unconditional, and feral in its strength. Yet there is palpable emotional tension on display, entwined with a sense of fate, of paths not taken. Mother must be present during the child’s formative years while she feels her own youth fading, sees opportunities are passing her by, fears that her artistic talent might be deserting her. Eventually she chooses to follow her creative path, and the catharsis is freeing.

Amy Adams gives an effervescent, nuanced performance as an intelligent, vibrant artist who consistently holds in what she’s thinking for the sake of keeping peace at home. The escalating tensions between Mother and Husband are well played by Adams and McNairy, an Everyman sort of actor who effectively channels this character’s loving cluelessness (McNairy was also great as a nearly-wordless Woody Guthrie in A Complete Unknown). By its end the film devolves into a sort of Hallmarkesque vibe, and that is disappointing. Perhaps Heller decided that Nightbitch‘s unusual premise had to be balanced with decorous storytelling tropes. That said, the film is funny, inspiring, witty, and sometimes quite bold in its exploration of contemporary motherhood. But I wanted Nightbitch to dig a bit deeper, to run a bit further, to break free from its chains, to loosen its collar and howl, unfettered, unleashed, instead of being kept at heel by convention.

Peg Aloi is a former film critic for the Boston Phoenix and member of the Boston Society of Film Critics, the Critics Choice Awards, and the Alliance for Women Film Journalists. She taught film studies in Boston for over a decade. She has written on film, TV, and culture for web publications like Time, Vice, Polygon, Bustle, Dread Central, Mic, Orlando Weekly, Refinery29, and Bloody Disgusting. Her blog “The Witching Hour” can be found on substack.