Stop Mansplaining ‘Nightbitch’ NOW – The Shocking Commentary You Must Read!

Scoot McNairy, the actor, made a remark post the world premiere of “Nightbitch” at the Toronto International Film Festival on Saturday, saying, “What I gathered from working on this film is to never patronize motherhood.” He added, “I hope you all learn what I learned, which is to simply stay quiet and listen.”

The film, which is written and directed by Marielle Heller, features Amy Adams as an artist who becomes a stay-at-home mother. She grapples with anger and bitterness — and the persistent fear that she is morphing into a dog.

“Nightbitch,” one of the most high-profile films to debut at the festival this year, has critics and awards analysts on their toes. There is a pervasive sense of confusion and anticipation: Is this a serious film or a joke spun off “30 Rock”? As the premiere date approached, conjectures on the internet grew. Could the film, based on Rachel Yoder’s magical realist novel of the same title, finally earn Adams an Oscar after six unsuccessful nominations? Or would it turn out to be a disaster, resulting in countless agonizing dog-related pun headlines?

The trailer, launched last week, only added fuel to the speculation. It painted “Nightbitch” as a ludicrous, maternal comedy akin to “Teen Wolf” instead of what it truly is: a thought-provoking, dreamlike film about the pleasures and pains of motherhood and the sometimes unsettling ways becoming a parent can change women’s minds, bodies, emotions, and overall self-identity — even when they aren’t growing additional nipples or super-sharp canine teeth.

“The solitude … and the metamorphosis of motherhood and fatherhood, it’s a common experience, and yet it isn’t shared,” Adams stated during the post-premiere Q&A on Saturday.

The character Adams plays, referred to as “Mother” in the credits and remains unnamed throughout the film, has paused her once-promising career to bring up their irresistibly cute but sleep-averse 2-year-old son. Her husband (played by McNairy), who is also nameless, is frequently out on business trips, leaving Mother to prepare endless macaroni and cheese meals and take her toddler to dull singalongs at the nearby library, where she scans the room for potential mom friends. Her husband, although well-intentioned, is maddeningly oblivious, once telling Adams’ character that he’d prefer staying at home over working. (That doesn’t end well.)

As her annoyance and rage increase, Mother begins to observe unusual physical transformations: an enhanced sense of smell, an appetite for raw meat, a patch of dense white fur on her lower back. Initially shocked, she eventually decides to accept her wild side — this leads to a confrontation with her husband about their relationship.

When he questions what happened to the intriguing, eccentric woman he married, Mother replies, “She died during childbirth.”

“Nightbitch” is a subtle tonal balancing act, and it largely works because of Adams, who fully embraces the role and can also switch from cheerful kindness to blazing anger in an instant. In one of the film’s most unforgettable sequences, she sings along to the “Weird Al” Yankovic hit “Dare to Be Stupid.” She does precisely that — and pulls it off with flair.

Initial reactions to the film seemed resolved to portray the film as a repugnant mess. An early headline in Variety proclaimed “Amy Adams’ ‘Nightbitch’ Weirds Out TIFF With Dog Poop, Cat Killing and Shower Menstruation,” which is both peculiarly squeamish and underestimates the festival audience’s acceptance of dead animals and bodily fluids (both featured prominently in Ron Howard’s survivalist drama “Eden,” which played right before “Nightbitch.”)

Instant reactions like this overlooked the possibility that the audience’s groans might not be of revulsion, but of identification. I know that I audibly reacted to a scene in which Husband offers to bathe their son but then interrupts Mother’s couch nap with numerous questions he could easily answer himself, making the whole gesture futile. During the relieving scene in which Mother confronts Husband about his obliviousness, a woman seated near me exclaimed, “It’s about time!”

As more reviews have trickled in, the response has been mixed. Perhaps Heller didn’t delve dark enough. Maybe the dog metaphor is too strained. Maybe it’s all going to be off-putting to awards voters.

None of this should be surprising, given the subject matter. Like every other book, film, TV show or thought piece that attempts to comment on motherhood, “Nightbitch” will be divisive. It will ignite a billion hot takes, many of them poor, and might even win some awards. It won’t be for everyone. Much like motherhood itself.