Amy Adams in Nightbitch (Searchlight Pictures)

Motherhood is one hell of a challenge. In her playful exploration of what it means to become a mother, Marielle Heller has crafted a provocative comedy that many women (and quite a few fathers) will instantly relate to, capturing the often unspoken horrors of parenting without overlooking its wonders. Based on Rachel Yoder’s novel, Nightbitch centers on a woman who, in mutual agreement with her husband, becomes a full-time stay-at-home mom. Heller adapts the screenplay from a story infused with fantastical elements, in which domestic life is upended by a peculiar case of transformation: The protagonist turns into a dog at night.

For such an extreme and borderline absurd premise, the film demands a believable and unsettling lead actress who can balance ferocity, humor, and vulnerability in a near-impossible role. It’s hard to imagine anyone more suited for this than Amy Adams. She plays the mother—no other name is given—constantly teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown or a wild transformation. In a vanity-free, physically demanding performance, Adams delivers what might be one of the best roles of her career. It’s a long-awaited comeback that restores her reputation after a string of critically panned projects (Dear Evan Hansen, The Woman in the Window, Hillbilly Elegy). Adams proves she can do it all—drama, comedy, and everything in between—especially in a film that plays to her strengths while challenging her with its genre shifts.

Nightbitch makes a strong statement of intent from the start. In the cold opening sequence, the quirky, exhausted mother pushes a cart through the grocery store while her infant son (played by debuting twins Arleigh and Emmett Snowden) demands her full attention. Her anonymity is shattered when she spots the substitute at the art gallery where she used to work. This figure represents a longed-for reflection of her former life and an involuntary judge, compelling her to confess her miseries. When asked how she’s handling life as a full-time mom, Adams delivers the first of many hilarious and moving monologues. This imagined response—a raw, honest rant about how insignificant and thankless motherhood feels—is juxtaposed with her real, polite, and unconvincing response, “wonderful.”

The next sequence features the opening credits set against a montage of her repetitive, methodical daily routine: being woken earlier than she’d like by her son, making breakfast, strolling in the park, feeding the cat, and managing the chaos created by a curious toddler. The father (Scoot McNairy) is a near-absent figure in this daily grind, working a job that keeps him out of town until weekends. He’s a kind and loving man but fails to fully grasp the existential crisis his wife is enduring. Marital drama gradually unfolds, culminating in a remarkable, no-holds-barred discussion that showcases Heller’s strengths as a screenwriter.

Heller fills the film with Adams’s monologues (not all imagined) and voice-overs offering reflective, occasionally on-the-nose commentary. Adams’s presence and voice transform these whimsical devices into powerful tools for empathy. Then there’s the make-or-break supernatural element: the mother’s physical transformation. Hair starts growing in odd places, her sense of smell becomes heightened, and her nocturnal escapades leave traces the next morning. Her literal metamorphosis into a dog each night may be read as a commentary on the primal, untamed aspects of motherhood, but it would be reductive to view it purely as an allegory. Within the film’s universe, it feels logical and organic—not as body horror (though there’s a hint of that) but as magical realism blended with dark comedy. What seems absurd on paper works seamlessly, thanks to Adams’s fearless performance and Heller’s sharp direction.

This clever film offers a heartfelt look at the struggles of parenting, elevating them to a level of grounded heroism despite what may initially seem like a cynical portrayal. Motherhood shouldn’t invalidate or overshadow the many other facets of womanhood, and in its own way, Heller’s film serves as a tribute to such complexity. Nightbitch is a perfect pairing of actor and director, a carefully crafted work that invites audiences to laugh and cry in absolute complicity.