Mary Bronstein’s If I Had Legs I’d Kick You moves with the rhythm of a woman pushed to her edges yet still reaching for tenderness. Rose Byrne’s Linda stands at the heart of this storm—she’s a psychotherapist, a mother, witnessing her own unraveling, and searching for small moments of mercy. The film’s poetic rhythm comes from how Bronstein depicts exhaustion as a tide—constantly coming back, reshaping the shore beneath Linda’s feet.
The story kicks off with Linda’s daughter, who remains unnamed and unseen until the very end—a sweet child dealing with a pediatric feeding disorder. Every night, you can hear the gentle mechanical hum of a gastric tube, which becomes almost the heartbeat of the film. Byrne captures these moments with a genuine and steady touch, painting a heartfelt picture of a mother who loves intensely and worries about her own limits.
Sleep slips from Linda as the feeding pump clicks through the night. She steps outside, seeking air, silence, and a moment when her body can loosen its grip on fear. Wine, marijuana, junk food, and music become her small rituals of release. Byrne plays these scenes with a quiet ache, as if Linda is trying to remember the shape of her own breath.
Christian Slater’s Charles calls from the sea, a ship captain adrift from his family. His voice carries distance, adding a sense of longing, and Linda’s shoulders tighten with each conversation, reflecting her growing concern. At the day hospital program, Dr. Spring, with her calm and precise approach, offers a comforting contrast to Linda’s swelling worry. The pressure continues to mount as Linda hears repeatedly that her daughter must gain weight, meet goals, and rise, emphasizing the weight of these expectations.
Professionally, Linda works with clients who mirror her own fraying edges. Danielle Macdonald’s Caroline, a new mother in crisis, leaves her baby mid-session, and Linda steps into a role she never expected. Conan O’Brien, playing Linda’s therapist, brings a surprising steadiness even as Linda’s boundaries blur. These scenes expand the film’s emotional landscape, showing how care can stretch a person thin.
James becomes a comforting presence during the late hours at the motel. He helps by buying drugs for her on the dark web, listens without judging, and shows kindness to her daughter. One late-night visit to the damaged apartment leads to James falling through the floor and breaking his leg, a moment Bronstein captures with surprising calm, as if the world is quietly collapsing around Linda.
The hospital group meeting marks a heartfelt turning point. Linda opens up about her earlier abortion, her worries about failing her daughter, and her deep desire for forgiveness, all swelling inside her like a wave she can no longer contain. Byrne portrays this moment with touching vulnerability, her voice shaking under the heaviness of years gone by.
Caroline’s sudden return in the midst of her crisis prompts Linda to hurry through the night, chasing after a woman who reflects Linda’s own feelings of desperation. The beach gently swallows Caroline, leaving Linda with only the distant echo of her disappearance. In the cozy motel room, Linda gently removes her daughter’s feeding tube, a heartfelt gesture filled with hope, fear, and an unwavering belief in her child’s resilience.
The final movement gently brings Charles back home, with the ceiling repaired and the truth finally revealed. Linda runs to the ocean, repeatedly stepping into the waves, as if hoping the water might guide her toward understanding. The sea gently returns her to the shore, her daughter by her side, smiling warmly. Linda’s promise—“I’ll be better”—resonates softly, like a heartfelt prayer.
Bronstein leaves the film with a warm feeling of renewal, as the mother and daughter are gently washed clean by the tide, embracing a new beginning with hope and openness.
LETTER GRADE: B+. On HBO MAX.
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