The enthusiasm for this film was incredible: critics and prognosticators were wagging their tongues about how six-time Oscar nominee Adams would finally win the Oscar if she were nominated here for a seventh time. This was a success that people were desperate to achieve.

And then everyone got a look at the film. The tepid reaction was akin to running over an invisible electric fence while wearing an electric shock collar.

Festival shenanigans aside, “Nightbitch” will probably be a hit. Many people may find a soul mate in Adams’ nameless, dressed-up housewife who may turn into a dog. I wasn’t one of those people; If you read my TIFF coverage, you already know that I didn’t like this film at all.

Mother (as Adams is called here) has a useless, nameless husband (Scoot McNairy) who travels on business most of the year. When he’s home, he’s either playing video games or asking for sex. The last thing on his mind is helping the toddler who is in the terrible two phase.

Her marriage is one-sided and mother reconsiders whether she should give up her career to stay home with her son. The concept of motherhood and how every woman with children should be immersed in mom-based ideas and paraphernalia is questioned in inner monologues that we hear Mom speaking out loud. Adams does great work in these scenes, making you wish there were more of them.

Unfortunately, we have to deal with the plot that gives the film its title. Strange changes happen to mother. Your teeth become sharper and pointier. Strangely shaped patches of fur grow on her body. She has a preference for raw meat. And in the film’s only truly gross moment, she discovers that she may be growing a tail.

Mother also attracts packs of wild dogs who leave shredded animal carcasses on her porch. She enjoys running with them as they frolic through the night.

The husband tells the mother that it’s all in her head and both parties are far too casual about these hideous new developments. When he notices that Mother is washing a lot of dirt from her feet and legs in the shower – and correctly deduces that she was walking barefoot in the park in the middle of the night – both are indifferent.

If this were a horror film, you would expect the characters to behave unusually and do stupid things just to advance the plot. But “Nightbitch” doesn’t belong to that genre, and Heller does so little with its body horror elements that the requisite transformation scene is ineffective. Don’t promise me a marauding mutt and skimp on the Alpo.

Now it is The film barely explores the roots of Mother’s anger. That is, the idea that motherhood means suffering in silence and a loss of one’s identity. When the husband explains Mother’s concern about child care on the grounds that she needs structure in her life and that “happiness is a choice,” the mother slaps him hard. Then we realize that this is a fantasy sequence.

In the final third, “Nightbitch” devolves into a standard marital drama that is too polite to upset the viewer. All we’re left with is a bunch of complaints about how hard motherhood is, none of which are new. The film wants you to listen to his rant, but at the same time it strangely apologizes for the request.

Adams does her best, but the short version of the material gets her into trouble. McNairy makes his character so clueless that the solution to Mother’s problems is as obvious as Heller’s script giving the family a cat. You know what happens to this poor creature.

“Divorce your husband!” I wanted to scream at the screen. “Or better yet, turn into a dog and eat it! Then take your bratty child to the animal shelter!” This kind of advice is why I don’t write the “Love Letters” column here at the Globe. But “Nightbitch” is a satire that should be more fearless and dangerous. Instead, its bark is far worse than its bite.

★

NIGHTBITCH

Screenplay and direction: Marielle Heller. Based on the book by Rachel Yoder. With Amy Adams and Scoot McNairy. At Landmark Kendall Square, Coolidge Corner, Suburbs. 98 minutes. R (The swear words and sex might give you paws, I mean, break.)

Odie Henderson is the film critic for the Boston Globe.