In *If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You*, Rose Byrne’s visage emerges as the deeply personal canvas for a disturbingly gripping comedy-drama. Penned and helmed by Mary Bronstein—her first feature in 17 years following *Yeast*—the narrative centers on Linda, a mother on the brink of a protracted emotional collapse. With an atmosphere thick with anxiety and a daring audio-visual approach, the film appears poised to disintegrate yet ultimately offers a spine-tingling and unexpectedly comedic journey. In short, it’s remarkable.
Byrne and Bronstein create an influential partnership, shaping one of the most intriguingly uncomfortable lead characters in modern cinema. Linda’s gradual disintegration rivals Marianne Jean-Baptiste’s Pansy in Mike Leigh’s *Hard Truths*. Together, they depict a character who is profoundly flawed yet beautifully human, making her decline impossible to turn away from.
### A Daring Investigation of Motherhood
The film is as enlightening as it is distressing, presenting a candid and unflinching portrayal of motherhood seldom depicted in Hollywood. While recent works like *Nightbitch* and *Tully* have ventured into similar themes, *If I Had Legs, I’d Kick You* carves its own niche with a distinctive narrative and visual language. Produced by Josh Safdie and Ronald Bronstein (a longtime ally of the Safdie brothers), it has been likened to *Uncut Gems* addressing postpartum depression. However, its mesmerizing stylistic elements and relentless close-up psychological portrayal render it entirely unique.
The narrative unfolds with a meticulously structured dramatic format, commencing with four escalating scenes, three of which are therapy encounters. The opening shot—a stifling close-up of Linda while a doctor (portrayed by Bronstein herself) discusses her daughter’s care off-screen—sets a foreboding tone. Linda’s preschool-aged daughter (Delaney Quinn) is fed partly through a feeding tube, which Linda contends is unnecessary. Right from the start, Linda’s capabilities as a mother are put into question. Nonetheless, Byrne’s performance radiates such raw magnetism that one finds it difficult to entirely condemn her, even as the camera steadfastly lingers on her deterioration.
As Linda exits the doctor’s office, the tension remains palpable. The camera remains uncomfortably close while her daughter, always present yet unseen, bombards her with repetitive inquiries. At home, disorder reigns, crescendoing with the collapse of her bedroom ceiling, compelling the family to move to a rundown motel. Linda’s existence is a maelstrom of anxiety, and the film ensures the audience experiences each moment intensely.
### A Layered, Imperfect Lead
Linda’s second therapy session, featuring a whimsically deadpan therapist played by Conan O’Brien, exposes her self-sabotaging behaviors. Yet it is the third session that unveils the most astonishing revelation: Linda herself is a therapist. This duality creates an intriguing cycle of advice and therapeutic jargon that she gives or receives, yet never implements in her own reality. Equipped with the tools and language for success, Linda is nonetheless engulfed by a traveling husband who criticizes her over the phone, a doctor who questions her parenting, and a daughter in constant need of care. She’s ensnared in an unending loop, finding no space for self-nurturing.
Bronstein depicts Linda’s despair with a visual approach that strikes a balance between protracted and frenetic, rendering her suffering nearly unbearable to witness. The film confronts the unvoiced uncertainties surrounding motherhood with a blend of compassion and harsh truth, showcasing Linda as a character who is profoundly imperfect yet achingly relatable.
### A Heart-Wrenching Audio-Visual Journey
One of the film’s most notable decisions is its portrayal of Linda’s daughter, who is seldom shown on screen. Instead, the emphasis remains on Linda and those who intersect with her life—her doctor, therapist, a persistent parking attendant, and even the motel’s benevolent superintendent James (played by A$AP Rocky in a rare acting appearance). Linda’s engagements with these figures are often tinged with bitterness, and some of her outbursts carry subtle racial implications. She is far from virtuous, and Bronstein doesn’t attempt to paint her as such.
By keeping her daughter predominantly off-screen, the film emphasizes Linda’s emotional detachment. Her interactions with her child come across as mechanical, akin to fulfilling a societal obligation rather than fully immersing herself in motherhood. The incessant beeping of the feeding bag serves as a haunting symbol of Linda’s robotic existence, anchoring her down as she grapples with her reality.
There’s an undercurrent suggesting that Linda’s detachment is not merely a survival tactic but a repressed secret longing. Society pressures mothers to excel at the unattainable ideal of perfect parenting, and Linda’s inability to meet these demands intensifies her guilt and self-hatred. This internal struggle is vividly rendered in Byrne’s performance, portraying the character’s anguish with heartrending clarity.
### A Masterclass in