In Nightbitch, motherhood is violent and primordial

When the first synopsis of Nightbitch, a Searchlight Pictures film written and directed by Marielle Heller, was released, Twitter erupted into 10 minutes of chaos and frenzy. Wait, what? Amy Adams is going to play a woman who transforms into a dog? Why can't we give her a film worthy of her talent? Why does nothing make sense? These were just a few of the questions flooding social media from fans of the actress as well as cinephiles worldwide. I—yes, I'm bragging here—jumped on the bandwagon for this movie back then, confused but curious to see how it would turn out. And now I can say it: I was right.

The meaning behind Nightbitch, now available for streaming

Nightbitch, available for streaming on Disney+ starting January 24, hides a lot beneath its layer of eccentricity, a certain level of boldness, and a touch of body horror. It’s a film that, if we look beyond its initial oddity, raises questions, tackles fundamental themes, and serves them up on a silver platter to the audience, who may laugh at times but will also feel a little uncomfortable. And rightly so—because that's how it should feel when confronted with motherhood and with art, whether it’s films, books, or other works. Finally.

Amy Adams as an angry mother: motherhood as a bloodbath

In this film, adapted from Rachel Yoder's novel of the same name, motherhood is portrayed as a violent, primal, carnal, and raw act—one that tears, breaks, takes, and transforms, causing both physical and emotional bleeding. Too often, we ignore this aspect, stripping away the animalistic elements from the concept of family, birth, and creation. But Yoder and Heller urge us not to. Instead, they encourage us to embrace, understand, challenge, and process them. Just like Amy Adams' character, who starts as an insecure, doubtful mother overwhelmed by responsibilities, guilt, fear of inadequacy, and regret for giving up her successful career as an artist. She doesn’t yet realize the power that lies in having given life. Her rage—which boils over and manifests as a nocturnal transformation into a fierce and powerful dog—frees her. It gives her the strength to tell her husband that she’s unhappy, that she needs space, that she needs to breathe, to chase her joy, to really try, to persist. And this doesn’t make her a worse mother; in fact, through her rage, she rediscovers a primal joy that connects her to her role as a mother, making her a better, more physical, more tangible, more primal parent. This transformation brings her back to her own mother and opens up new paths of connection.

Female solidarity as a balm, community as support

Our protagonist embraces this rage rather than fighting it. Her (maternal?) instinct, after an initial period of understandable disorientation, pushes her to connect with the animalistic and with all the mothers (and dogs) who came before her. And in these mothers (and dogs), she finds a community, relief, and support that she initially resisted. She realizes, better late than never, that other mothers experience feelings similar to hers, that something so natural yet almost supernatural links them in new, soothing, and healing ways. This is female solidarity taken to new heights, and it’s always beautiful to see it on screen—especially when it’s portrayed in a challenging way, when it’s impossible not to link motherhood and women’s ability to create life not only to joy but also to the dispiriting feeling of being breeding beasts, forever changed in body and mind.

A new wave of unsettling films about womanhood, relationships, and motherhood

From this perspective, it’s easy to place Nightbitch in a new wave of unsettling, sharp films about women, motherhood, relationships, our role in society, and how society views our bodies and what it means to age. I would pair it with Barbarian, the 2022 film directed by Zach Gregger that explores monstrous motherhood and exploitation through a fully horror lens, The Substance, and Companion, which will arrive in Italian theaters on January 30. But I won’t spoil anything for now—at least not yet.