NIGHTBITCH (2024)

In tandem with the obligatory sex education videos that outline the mechanics of conception played in front us in elementary school, I recommend Nightbitch be viewed by all parties ready to yield the fruits of its base intention, as its visceral purpose is magical, transformative, brutal and, for the strongest among us, hilarious. It is the birth of parents. And what a transmutation it is. Our sweet, doll-faced Amy Adams (red-hot), is matron-made, ready to bite then bark at anyone and everyone after surviving the violence of childbirth and enduring the minding of said child, day after day, after day, after day, after day. Mated in this metamorphosis is her husband (Scoot McNairy, proving once again that he can emote the precise meaning and complex emotion of any exchange), who is also flailing, albeit from an opposing reaction to the throws of parental mutation. It’s raw, ugly, animalistic moviemaking with an unobscured daylight on the brutality of mangled identity and the holistic unleashing of one’s inner and outer bitch.

WATCH OR NOT: WATCH

Additional musings: I worry this film, being that it is female centric and displays a contrary version of a traditional mother, will be dismissed with a “progressive” misnomer. No. Its reasons are ancient and real.