Producers: Anne Carey, Marielle Heller, Sue Naegle, Christina Oh, Amy Adams and Stacy O’Neil   Director: Marielle Heller   Screenplay: Marielle Heller   Cast: Amy Adams, Scoot McNairy, Arleigh Patrick Snowden, Emmett James Snowden, Jessica Harper, Zoë Chao, Mary Holland, Archana Rajan, Ella Thomas, Adrienne Rose White, Stacey L. Swift, Darius De La Cruz, Ros Gentle, Kerry O’Malley, Michaela Baham and Nate Heller   Distributor: Searchlight Pictures

Grade: C

Coming from Marielle Heller, whose “Can You Ever Forgive Me?” remains one of 2018’s better films, this adaptation of Rachel Yoder’s acclaimed 2018 novel is a disappointment.  “Nightbitch” might have been a caustic, challenging metaphorical depiction of the costs and pleasures of motherhood, but in Heller’s transformation it becomes more an oddball sitcom-like ode to the idea of having it all, girl—but only if you unleash your inner canine.  Despite some early feints in the direction of horror, especially of the body variety, “Nightbitch” turns into what feels like a toothless feminist liberation fantasy that, in the end, wants to have it all possible ways—to have its cakes while eating them too.

Amy Adams is the unnamed Mother, who gave up a promising career as an artist to stay home with the son she has with her Husband (Scoot McNairy) and is beginning to regret that choice. She dreams of how as a girl (Michaela Baham) in a rural religious community, she watched her mother (Kerry O’Malley) abandon her chance at a singing career and her grandmother (Ros Gentle) intently prepare concoctions (meals?) from weird ingredients. 

Son (Arleigh and Emmett Snowden) is now a hyperactive toddler, whose care Mother finds exhausting and often aggravating, just as she finds her housewifely chores monotonous.  She imagines replying to questions about how she’s doing, like that posed pro forma by an old colleague, honestly, though in reality she recites the usual bromides about how she loves being a full-time mom—while her actual feelings are expressed in lots of voice-over narration.  When Husband returns from one of his frequent job-related trips, she snaps at the guy that evening for not giving her enough of a break from wifely-maternal duties.  Only twenty minutes in, she half-jokingly refers to herself as a nightbitch for berating him.

That’s just a precursor to the real thing.  Mother’s body starts to undergo strange physical changes—sharper teeth, a heightened sense of smell, and hair growths in unexpected places.  She attracts a pack of dogs while playing with her son in the park, and expresses her loathing of the family’s pet cat.  She enthusiastically enters into games with her son in which they both pretend to be canines.  Her search for answers lead Norma (Jessica Harper), the local librarian, to introduce her to a book about mystical shape-shifting women, even as she connects with a trio of neighbors (Zoë Chao, Mary Holland and Archana Rajan) at the library’s Book Babies sessions presided over by a guitar-strumming guy (Nate Heller).  She shares her observations on the demands of motherhood, both physical and mental, with them, and finds bonding surprisingly satisfying. 

And when Mother has an evening out with old art business colleagues (Ella Thomas, Darius De La Cruz, Stacey L. Swift, Adrienne Rose White), she feels out-of-place at the restaurant, starts woofing at them after reacting queasily to her kale salad and actually transforms, as she had one previous night, into a handsome Husky, running down the street in unbridled freedom.

All of which will lead her to confront Husband about her regrets, and to a revision of their “contract” that allows her to resume her artwork with time to herself.

And yet she doesn’t reject her marriage, or forget the absolutely joyous times she’s spent with Son.  To the contrary, as a postscript set some time later insists, she continues to embrace her maternal role, along with—presumably—her revived career.

One can imagine a version of “Nightbitch” that takes far greater risks than Heller’s does.  What she offers is a film that declines to challenge overmuch—and certainly not to offend or repulse.  The result is a picture that saddles up to the line of making a strong statement but then demurely pulls back.  It’s nicely made—production designer Karen Murphy and costumer Arjun Bhasin fashion a convincing suburban environment, Stuart White’s visual effects and Vincent Van Dyke’s makeup do their jobs without getting gross, Brandon Trost’s cinematography is unfussy but attractive, and the score by the director’s brother Nate is fine, in terms of both the little diddies he sings to the kids and his background music.  Anne McCabe’s editing is a mite bumpy, leaving one with the impression that things are a little repetitious and obvious, but that’s the script’s doing.

What the movie does have going for it is Adams’ performance.  She brings ferocity where it’s required and yet maintains a sympathetic, softer side, and her extended interactions with the Snowden twins (who together make a delightfully rambunctious kid) exude an affection that extends to the audience; one wonders how much of the action was extemporaneous and improvised, and how much effort the necessarily scripted portions took to achieve.  McNairy is okay in a reactive role, but he does catch both Husband’s obtuseness and his genuine admiration for his wife toward the close. Among the others Harper is the most notable, but one must confess that the rationale behind the changes in her character is about as bewildering as Mother’s transformation.

Nonetheless Adams’ committed turn can’t quite compensate for an approach to the material that never quite decides exactly what the writer-director is trying to achieve.