Joyce Glasser reviews If I Had Legs I’d Kick You (February 20, 2026) Cert 15, 113 mins.
Films about mothers in, or on the verge of a nervous breakdown are increasing, along with the women writers, directors and producers making them. These women are out to dispel the comforting myths about the joys of motherhood promulgated by the patriarchal Hollywood system of yesteryear. This year alone, two outstanding A-list actresses, Rose Byrne for If I Had Legs I’d Kick You and Jessie Buckley for Hamnet are up for Oscars in their roles as mothers left at home alone with sick young children.
The voters’ job is to decide which actress (neither wears make-up) best conveys a woman overwhelmed by the loss of self and engulfed in a tsunami of grief, despair, helplessness, and resentment. If there’s a tie, it might come down to which film is based on the life of the most famous playwright in history and on a best-selling book.
Buckley’s no holds barred performance is borderline misery porn, a ruthless doom fest. And just like the eponymous hero of the neo-noir thriller John Wick fights off a never-ending string of assassins, so Byrne faces a flow of obstacles so relentless that the film borders on black comedy.
The title of writer-director Mary Bronstein’s film expresses both the protagonist’s helplessness and her rage. The opening shot, a close up of Linda (Byrne), a psychoanalyst and exhausted mother of a critically ill daughter tells us we will be experiencing events from Linda’s point of view. The whining daughter (voiced by Delaney Quinn) is heard in the background like a tormenting conscience.
At a private clinic in Long Island for pre-teen eating disorders, Linda’s first battle is with Dr Spring (Mary Bronstein as a sadistic paediatric physician). Linda’s unnamed daughter is hooked up to a machine via a tube through her stomach which Linda has to keep working. Linda wants the tube removed; Dr Spring insists the girl must first reach a certain weight or – an unveiled threat – she’ll require further interventions.
On the way back from the clinic Linda tries to appear cheery and orders take-away pizza – her daughter’s favourite – but with the cheese separate. Once at home, it’s Linda who stuffs the pizza in her mouth. An ironic recuring motif is Linda gorging on junk food, as if to help her self-destructive daughter reach the target weight.
At the start of the next challenge, the daughter calls her mother into the flooded bathroom. Linda traces the source to a giant crack in the living room ceiling that soon collapses, leaving water flowing through a gaping hole. The hole is real but also a metaphysical illusion and a metaphor for the abyss swallowing Linda’s life.
Women everywhere will empathise. Linda now has to arrange for the repairs, contact the insurance company and move into a motel with her daughter. On top of all that, she has to show up at work where her patient, Caroline (Danielle Macdonald) is having issues with her own recent motherhood. Halfway through the session Caroline suddenly runs off towards the ocean, leaving Linda literally holding the baby, and unable to run after the at-risk mother.
Suffering from prolonged sleep deprivation, back at the motel, Linda relies on neighbourly James (the rapper known as A$AP Rocky) for a supply of cocaine. The two become complicit but are far from accomplices.
Meanwhile, there are phone calls from Charles (Christian Slater), Linda’s judgmental and noticeably absent husband, more eager to criticise than to help. Charles is another nagging voice and so unsupportive you wonder why Linda ever married him.
Films about mothers facing the darker reality of motherhood are sought after by actresses wishing for that ultimate challenge and a stab at the big prizes. Charlize Theron in Tully; Jennifer Lawrence in Die My Love; Amy Adams in Nightbitch, and Olivia Coleman in The Lost Daughter all emote in what are thought of as women’s films. But men like Charles need to see what is going on closer to home than they realise.
This is a tough watch and while always engaging, Byrne’s performance is not in service to the story, but becomes the story. Scenes with Linda’s therapist, (the former Saturday Night Live and Tonight Show writer and host Conan O’Brien), stand out. The complex relationship between patient and colleague is electrically charged, as the compassionate therapist struggles to remain objective in the face of Linda’s meltdown.
So, in this year’s battle of the beleaguered, battle weary mothers, who will win? Whose Cri de Coeur will resound loudest in the Academy voters’ ears?
