Rage on the Page: The howl of ‘Nightbitch’ the film barely echoes the novel

Published Jan. 23, 2025, 7:20 p.m., last updated Feb. 12, 2025, 9:28 p.m.

In her column “Rage on the Page,” Melisa Guleryuz ’27 reviews books about anger in women’s literature.

Expectations soared when “Nightbitch,” Rachel Yoder’s surreal and visceral novel from 2021, was announced as a film adaptation. Could a movie capture the raw intensity of a stay-at-home mom transforming into a dog while unleashing a scathing critique of motherhood and ambition?

The 2024 film delivers visually striking moments and a strong lead performance. However, it ultimately fails to fully embrace the novel’s biting edge, leaving audiences with a watered-down howl.

At its core, “Nightbitch” — book and film — explores the unraveling of an unnamed mother’s identity as she transforms into a dog. Yoder’s novel embraces the surreal and uses its protagonist’s canine metamorphosis to examine maternal rage, societal expectations and repressed ambition. On the contrary, the movie often plays safe, favoring literal interpretations and neglecting the novel’s psychological depth.

Directed by Marielle Heller, the film centers on the unnamed mother (portrayed with aching vulnerability by Amy Adams), who struggles with the suffocating monotony of motherhood. From the opening scenes, we see her navigating endless cycles of cleaning, cooking and caregiving. A brilliant montage highlights mundane chores that feel both exhausting and hypnotic. The cracks in her façade begin to show when she notices unusual physical changes: sharper teeth, new patches of fur — and a newfound craving for raw meat.

One of the film’s standout sequences occurs in the family bathroom. As the protagonist inspects herself in the mirror, the fluorescent light flickers and her shadow morphs into a feral creature, foreshadowing her transformation. These moments of body horror are masterfully executed, with close-ups of her hands and mouth that leave you squirming. The cinematography revels in these moments, effectively juxtaposing the mundane monotony of motherhood with bursts of feral intensity.

The climax of the mother’s physical transformation comes in a nightmarish scene where she runs through the woods under a full moon, shedding her human identity in both a literal and metaphorical sense. The moonlight bathes her wild sprint, and the camera alternates between shaky close-ups of her face and wide shots of her shadow that fully resembles a dog. Her transformation conveys the freedom and terror of losing oneself to primal instincts.

The movie falters in its inability — or unwillingness — to fully embrace the novel’s surrealist essence. Yoder’s “Nightbitch” is less about turning into a dog and more about what the transformation symbolizes: the reclaiming of joy, ambition and primal selfhood. The novel howls with anger at societal expectations and delivers biting humor as sharp as the protagonist’s new fangs. In contrast, the film feels hesitant to bare its teeth, often reducing the complex narrative to a straightforward horror-comedy.

Key thematic moments from the book — like the exploration of suppressed female ambition or the critique of selflessness as a “holy” virtue — are either glossed over or omitted entirely. Instead, the movie leans heavily on supernatural elements, which, while entertaining, strip away some of the feminist edge that made the novel so revolutionary.

One glaring omission is the book’s sharp internal monologue. In the novel, the mother wrestles with profound questions: “How many generations of women had delayed their greatness only to have time extinguish it completely?” This realization that the mother has been delaying her own greatness fuels her anger and ultimately her transformation, but in the film, these moments are replaced with surface-level exchanges with her husband and a few scattered voice overs that lack the book’s ferocity. 

One example of this shift is the protagonist’s artistic past. In the book, her identity as a former artist is central to her struggle, representing the sacrifices she’s made for motherhood. In the film, this is reduced to a few throwaway lines and a single, underwhelming scene where she stares longingly at an unfinished painting. The weight of her transformation is diminished, feeling more like a plot device than cathartic self-reclamation.

The novel’s sharp critique of societal constructs surrounding motherhood — particularly the idea that women must sacrifice their dreams for their families — is softened in the film. Instead of a biting indictment, we’re given a milder commentary that occasionally feels like it’s playing fetch with the audience’s expectations.

One of the most significant departures from the book is the ending. The novel concludes with a powerful, ambiguous moment where the protagonist fully embraces her dual nature, leaving readers to interpret her future for themselves. The film, however, opts for a more conventional resolution. In a climactic showdown with her husband, she finally bares her fangs, both literally and metaphorically. The scene is visually intense, with a fight that blurs the lines between human and animal, but the decision to offer a clear resolution robs the story of the novel’s complexity.

“Nightbitch” the movie captures glimpses of the novel’s brilliance but ultimately feels like a tamed version of its source material. Fans of the book may find themselves yearning for the novel’s raw energy and unapologetic weirdness. While the film is worth watching for its strong performances and stunning visuals, it lacks the depth and ferocity that made Yoder’s story so unforgettable. The movie may feel like a domesticated version of a wildstory. It entertains, but it doesn’t challenge or provoke in the way Yoder’s work demands.

Ultimately, while the book howls, the movie barks — and sometimes, it’s more of a whimper.

Editor’s Note: This article is a review and includes subjective thoughts, opinions and critiques.

Melisa Ezgi Guleryuz is a writer for The Daily. Contact them at news ‘at’ stanforddaily.com.

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