Review
Culture
Film & TV
Identity
Weirdness
5 min read

Nightbitch’s metamorphosis of motherhood

In parenting the best things in life cost everything and nothing.

Krish is a social entrepreneur partnering across civil society, faith communities, government and philanthropy. He founded The Sanctuary Foundation.

A woman runs down a street at night accompanied by dogs
Amy Adams, running with the dogs.
Searchlight Pictures.

With birth rates declining, family breakdown increasing and what has been called an anxiety epidemic amongst children, a film about the raw challenges of motherhood – aimed at men as much as women - has to make us sit up and take notice.  

Nightbitch does exactly that. Based on Rachel Yoder’s lockdown novel of the same name, it tells the story of a stay-at-home mum who, faced with the brutal realities of modern-day mothering, discovers her feral side – and transforms into a dog. 

The film stars Amy Adams, an exceptional actress known for her roles in Arrival—a Denis Villeneuve masterpiece about aliens arriving on Earth—and other iconic films like Man of Steel (as Lois Lane), Enchanted (where she plays the central character), and Night at the Museum (as Amelia Earhart).  In this film she delivers a powerful and deeply emotional performance as another alienated character, once a successful artist with a promising career, now reduced to part-parent, part-nightbitch.  

The plot has echoes of Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, where travelling salesman Gregor Samsa wakes up one day to find himself transformed into a giant insect. While Samsa’s arthropod transformation signifies entrapment and helplessness, Amy’s canine alter-ego provides a contrasting sense of liberation, offering her an empowering path of fierce self-assertion amid the demands of motherhood that have become overwhelming and suffocating. Nevertheless, both magical realism narratives use animal transformation to explore profound feelings of loss of identity, isolation and inequality - themes that are especially relevant in a time when pressures on families are immense.   

Identity loss 

Introducing herself to a group of new mothers, Amy’s character, who remains nameless throughout, says, “I used to be an artist.” Her inability to articulate who she is reflects so much: her loss of purpose, loss of social identity, loss of external validation, loss of financial independence, loss of cognitive functions, loss of self-worth. But it is not only her transformation into a dog that depicts this. There’s a poignant moment as the film opens when Amy bumps into the woman who has taken her old job. The stark contrast between their appearances—Amy looks pretty rough compared to her perfectly turned-out replacement—highlights just how different her life now is.  It seems to me that this image of identity loss will resonate with all who face the struggle to reclaim oneself after a major life event, but especially with new mothers.  

Isolation 

Though Amy’s character is married, her husband is often absent, working long hours to provide financially. When he is home, he seems to want the pre-motherhood version of his wife, engaging only in the lighter aspects of parenting while avoiding the ongoing challenges. This dynamic leaves Amy’s character feeling alone and disconnected from her husband. Not only that, Amy’s initial attempts to connect with other mothers at her child’s nursery fall flat. Although they share the bond of motherhood, she finds their conversations unfulfilling. Similarly, when she reconnects with her old work friends, she discovers their lives have moved on without her, deepening her sense of displacement. She doesn’t fit in at home, at work, or in her community. She is trapped between worlds and is deeply isolated. Nightbitch offers a powerful antidote to Insta-perfect images of parenthood. The stark visual this film provides of the mother running away from the home at night as a dog challenges us to take seriously the need for mothers to escape claustrophobic societal expectations and to find autonomy, community and support.  

Inequality 

The third key theme explored in the film is the inequality between the male and female experiences of parenthood, as it portrays how much of the burden falls on women. Statistics only confirm the ongoing gender disparities, with women far more likely than men to reduce working hours and sacrifice their career prospects. Women disproportionately shoulder the long-term economic and professional consequences of parenthood, as well as the day-to-day duties of parenting. Add to this the emotional impact of isolation and identity loss, and the burden becomes almost insurmountable. This cumulative strain is faced by all those who are expected to seamlessly transition from independent individuals to selfless caregivers, often with little structural support. The film lays bare how these pressures, left unaddressed, can fracture not only individual lives but the entire stability of the family.  

The film left me with questions:  

Have I played my part? 

As a father, watching this film prompted me to reflect deeply on my own family dynamic. Do we divide responsibilities fairly? Have one person’s dreams or ambitions been side-lined for the sake of the others? Do I overlook or undervalue what my wife does?  What happened to the balance we originally envisioned and agreed upon as a couple?   

Where is the support? 

I also wondered about the structural support needed for those beginning their parenting journey. Then I remembered who facilitates tens of thousands of parent and toddler groups each week across the UK – the Church. Over a third of children under four attend these groups, translating to millions of parents and carers finding access to a lifeline – a welcoming environment and space for connection and mutual support. Do churches know what an important role they are playing? Do new parents know what is available to them there? 

Is parenting only a burden? 

While the film expresses brilliantly the challenges of parenthood, does it do so at the expense of expressing its joys? In my own experience parenting 30 children through birth, fostering, and adoption in almost the same number of years, I am still trying to work through the paradoxes. How can it be both overwhelming and overwhelmingly enriching. Both lonely, and connect us to the privilege of unconditional love? How is it that in parenting the best things in life cost everything and nothing? 

At the London Film Festival Premiere that I attended, Amy Adams also reflected personally on the film: 

“It gave me an opportunity to not only tell my relationship with my mother but also my sister and my friends…. There was a deep universality to the experience of motherhood but also the exploration of relationship inside of parenthood,, the relationship with husband. Everything just fell so true, relatable, and funny.” 

In the end, Nightbitch is more than a dark, fantastical, funny tale of transformation; it’s a powerful mirror held up to modern family life that everyone can benefit from considering. It challenges traditional gender roles and expectations, inspires reflection on sacrifices and struggles, and provokes important questions about identity, privilege and partnership in the complex journey of parenthood and beyond.  

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Article
Culture
Death & life
Politics
3 min read

Is a funeral the right backdrop for diplomacy?

Where there's an unavoidable collision between the universal and the individual.

Jamie is Vicar of St Michael's Chester Square, London.

Trump and Zelensky sit and face each other.
Ukrainian Presidential Press Service.

There’s an episode of Yes, Prime Minister where a state funeral provides an opportunity for negotiations with the French over the Channel. As ever, this particular satire has aged well. Most of the coverage of Pope Francis’ requiem mass has focused on either the ‘spectacle’ or the chance for world leaders to connect. It's tempting to think that the main stage of St Peter's Basilica was actually a sideshow to the fringe events of politicians carving up the world. With all the planning and confections that go into usual geopolitical summits, Vatican City has provided a spectacular impromptu backdrop. 

As an Anglican priest, I have mixed feelings about this. All the photos world leaders have been pushing out seem not a million miles away from the shocking taste of selfies in front of an open casket (any casket, for that matter). On the other hand, when there’s matters of life and death to discuss, there’s no better venue than a funeral. 

Of course, this presupposes that leaders have the presence of mind to acknowledge the dead body before them (not 'passed away'), rather than simply going through the motions and thinking about the photo op. But the cogs of death cannot be avoided. 

Tim Hamer, writing for the Lowy Institute, says, ‘bitter rivals can acknowledge the rituals of mortality.’ Some of the figures about leaders attending recent funerals are staggering. Pope Francis' funeral was no different. Along with those Francis prioritised - those pushed to the margins - there was also a critical 'mass' of those at the very centre of society. There were 170 delegations, including 50 heads of state, 15 heads of government and 12 reigning monarchs. Emeritus Professor of International Relations at the University of Leicester, Geoff R. Berridge writes that: 

 “Because death is always with us … there is little doubt that the working funeral is now the most important ceremonial occasion in the world diplomatic system”.   

Therefore, the off chance of bilateral diplomacy must be taken to its full advantage. 

It is precisely because, while the bodies are lowered, funerals elevate us out of the everyday, the 24 hour news cycle and the doomscrolling, that they provide us with an opportunity to connect with what really matters. Less than 24 hours before he died, the pope delivered the words on Easter Sunday: 'Christ is risen! These words capture the whole meaning of our existence, for we were not made for death but for life… God created us for life and wants the human family to rise again!' As our multilateral world order falters, the human family just might be able to rise again when the powers-that-be meet at a funeral.  

We will have to wait and see if there is any fruit from the geopolitical meetings that have taken place. We can live in hope. If world leaders learnt any lessons from the enigmatic late pontiff, they would see that he was like Teflon to the political labels people tried to pin on him. You get the impression that he was aiming for something more lasting than soundbites, quick wins and popularity. 

I would also add that funerals are for the living. Once we've brushed aside any theological quibbles over the efficacy of praying for the dead, funerals are there to help us to grieve. They help us to process loss, which is why the 'mortal remains' remain. The ancient declarations, the homily, the breaking of bread and pouring of wine, yes even the theatrics help us to situate our own lives on a world stage where we are both bit parts as well as worthy of the undivided attention of many onlookers.  

In a world where geopolitics threatens to depersonalise and dehumanise countless millions of people, funerals unavoidably collide the universal with the individual. The context of worship and thanksgiving also lifts us out of the orbital pull of the ephemera of nation-states and our own lives to discover the possibility of revolving around Someone far grander and steadfast. Just like conducting diplomacy, there's no better place to consider death than a funeral. 

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