A woman pauses her career to be a stay-at-home mom, but soon her domesticity takes a surreal turn.
Chuck says:
Getting off to a fast, rousing start, Marielle Heller’s “Nightbitch” falls into a numbing, repetitive pattern that beats the viewer over the head with its obvious message. Adapted from the novel by Rachel Yoder, the best part of this primal scream for recognition is an inspired performance by the always reliable Amy Adams. Yet, the game actress isn’t enough to make what should have been a short film, worthwhile.
Moms are overwhelmed. That’s the message stated again and again throughout the movie and is displayed emphatically during the opening scene. We’re privy to a mother’s (Adams) internal dialogue in which she is recounting the “Before Times,” when she had a career as a burgeoning artist, reveled in her independence and was brimming with fresh ideas. She then concludes, “Now, I’m just dumb.”
Though she passionately loves her young son, raising him has sucked the life out of her. Her husband (Scoot McNairy) is often away on business, leaving her to hold down the fort on and wrangle their toddler. Always tired and lacking inspiration, she keeps her ever-growing feelings of resentment inside. After all, what kind of mother would she be, if she were to complain? Yet, these repressed emotions can’t stay tamped down forever and soon our heroine is having strange dreams in which she sees herself running the streets at night as a dog.
Of course, they’re not dreams, which introduces the main conceit of the film. Only when reduced to a more primal state can she express herself, a premise that’s initially intriguing but soon wears out its welcome. Mother goes from bonding with neighborhood canines and getting sharper teeth, to eating her meals on all fours.
Obviously, Mother is not alone in her plight; all the other moms we see are also putting on a brave face as their identities are leached away. Being either overly enthusiastic or assuming a childlike identity seems to be the most common coping experiences, all capitulations to being part of the Mommy Culture, seen here as a cult of denial and obeisance.
Heller and Yoder’s thesis is not without merit, as the role of the Nuclear Family mother is a stifling construct. This is never more obvious than when Mother meets up with former colleagues, only able to contribute stories about her child’s first words as they go on about their professional accomplishments. This and other moments of displacement are salient points, but they’re mentioned so often and in a such a heavy-handed manner they eventually lose their potency.
That none of the main characters have given names speaks to Heller’s belief that Mother’s experience is a common one and, by extension, that all husbands, in addition to being absent, are clueless. Broad strokes are taken in casting all men as the enemy, whether intentional or not. One can’t help but wonder why our heroine doesn’t consider divorce and single parenthood, a path many in her situation have taken. It may not lead to further independence but at least she’d no longer have a millstone of a partner weighing her down.
In the end, the fact that the movie looks at this complex problem in such simplistic terms is its Achille’s heel. The resolution seems far too pat and one that could have been reached in far less time than is taken. And despite Adams’ game performance, “Nightbitch” fails to develop its protagonist ‘s unique transformative powers to their logical, and potentially horrific, conclusion. In the end, Heller does a disservice to modern mothers by not telling their story in a more complex, intelligent manner.
2 Stars
