Rose Byrne won a Golden Globe and is nominated for an Oscar for her performance in If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. It’s a film about frayed mother Linda (Byrne) coping with her daughter’s strange, unspecified feeding disorder.
In director Mary Bronstein’s words, the film is “a surreal, horrifying, blackly funny portrait of a mother simultaneously kicking against and coming to terms with her maternal instincts”. Bronstein has drawn from her experiences with her own child’s illness, responding to what she sees as a gap in film and TV of authentic depictions of motherhood – or as she puts it: “Fully dimensional portraits of women who feel they can’t do it [and] are traumatised by expectations and circumstances.”
Representations of psychotherapy are foregrounded in the film. It opens in a counselling session with a paediatric specialist. An intense close-up holds on Byrne’s face as she defends herself from accusations that as a mother, she lacks boundaries and discipline. According to her daughter (Delaney Quinn): “Mommy is like putty [while] Daddy is hard.” When Linda crossly refutes the comment, the doctor tells her that “perception is reality”.
The film goes on to present the reality of Linda’s perception, as she becomes increasingly exhausted and overwhelmed, experiencing wild supernatural visions. The camera interrogates her psychologically, rarely disengaging from Byrne’s face and mostly shooting her fraught reactions in extreme close-up.
This makes for an extraordinarily intense, probing experience that requires an actor of Byrne’s level: every gesture, facial tick and shift in expression is finely calibrated. It is an unsettling choice that we are not shown her daughter’s face – the film is entirely focused on the mother’s reactions to her suffering child.
Linda is a psychotherapist who has her own psychotherapy sessions with a colleague, played superbly for comic effect by US talkshow host Conan O’Brien – who drops the charm of his host persona for a performance of harassed awkwardness.
In the tradition of TV and film psychology professionals – think Frasier Crane from Cheers! and Frasier, Robbie Coltrane’s Fitz from Cracker, Jimmy Laird from Shrinking – the film plays wholesale into the trope of therapists who appear to need therapy more urgently than their patients.
Frustrated by the apparent lack of progress in her weekly session, Linda responds to her therapist’s assurance that a line of conversation can be continued at the next session: “We won’t talk about it next time. There’s no thread, there’s no thread at all!”
Psychotherapy is a fragmentary process. As anyone who (like me) has embarked on long-term talking therapy will recognise, it is in the nature of the experience that continuity between weekly sessions is elusive. Each conversation will follow its own unexpected twists and turns, despite any concerted intention by the patient or therapist to maintain control and return to where the last session finished.
If I had Legs I’d Kick You echoes this. It becomes rambling and disjointed by design, picking up and dropping threads like the human mind in freefall.
The film trades on the cliches of how psychotherapy is commonly portrayed. Navel-gazing narcissists make unhealthy demands on Linda’s time and she has limited ability to maintain boundaries. Her own therapy sessions are fraught, combative and unhelpful, and her self-involved patients are mined for comedy and ridicule rather than sympathy and compassion.
These broad representations may be recognisable as truisms of the profession for therapists themselves, but the film shows little optimism towards talking therapy’s ultimate value.
A therapy horror film
The film deploys several conventions of the horror film in its depiction of Linda’s maternal guilt and mental unravelling. There is something of the eerie discomfort of Repulsion (1965) and Rosemary’s Baby (1968) in uncanny scenes where the world around her starts to shift and contort.
In one scene, the ceiling of Linda’s apartment caves in, leaving a huge hole. As the film progresses, she returns to scrutinise it: each time the hole becomes wider, stranger and more livid. It is unclear whether this is a symbolic fantasy of Linda’s dissociative mind, or signals something more sinister and supernatural.
Courtesy of A24
With its supernatural ambiguity, the film shares themes and style with last year’s Nightbitch, adapted from Rachel Yoder’s novel, which featured a brittle, vulnerable and very funny performance from Amy Adams as the struggling mother of a toddler.
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The mothers in both films find solace in the suburban streets at night, away from public scrutiny, where they are unguarded and free to express their unvarnished selves. While Adams’s character in Nightbitch morphs into a predatory hound prowling the neighbourhood, Linda seeks escape through late-night drinking. She attempts to relive her carefree youth by taking drugs with her neighbour James, played sympathetically and with nuance by American rapper A$AP Rocky.
A series of cameos by instantly recognisable male actors is distracting and derails the film rather than aiding it. It is jarring to watch Danny Devito as a parody of an officious parking lot attendant, and a curious choice to feature the instantly identifiable voice of Christian Slater as Linda’s absent husband Charles. The comic effect of these intrusions took me out of the moment and jarred with the emotional intensity the film strives for.
Bronstein sets out to establish mood and ratchet tension to often unbearable levels. As the film reaches its crescendo, it becomes increasingly fraught and formless.
While Nightbitch suffered from an over-neat tying together of plot strands in its final minutes, here the opposite may be true. Perhaps that’s why, though Byrne is deserving of her best actress nomination, the film has not received Oscar nominations in any other category.
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