W hile memories of the film itself might fade all too fast, it’ll probably take a while to tire of repeating the phrase “Amy Adams is Nightbitch”. The six-time Oscar nominee, stuck on a limp, losing streak of late with anonymous try-hard misfires like Hillbilly Elegy and Dear Evan Hansen , has taken on a goofy, lightly gory role in a film with one of the silliest, most attention-securing titles of the traditionally self-serious Oscar season. If only it was as daring or as mischievous as its name and logline: malcontent suburban mother turns into dog.
But the film is all bark and no bite, a shame for its lead – but moreso for its as yet infallible writer-director. Marielle Heller had yet to really miss with The Diary of a Teenage Girl, Can You Ever Forgive Me and A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood – a straight-out-of-the-gate trio of winners. But she can’t quite find a way to transform Rachel Yoder’s biting, absurdist novel into a worthwhile movie.
It’s all smug pointing and nodding rather than anything smarter or more savage, its targets just and understandable – motherhood is hellish, husbands are thoughtless, wider society is misogynistic – but its overly didactic methods repetitive and ineffectual. Adams at least gets to have more fun than usual, playing a one-time artist who stepped back to take care of her son, moving from city to suburbs and swapping exhibiting at MoMA to frying frozen hash browns for breakfast. She loves her son deeply but also res.