Anyone who has been a caregiver—whether taking care of a child, caring for someone who is seriously ill, or parenting an elderly parent—will absolutely relate to the character at the claustrophobic center of If I Had Legs I’d Kick You. Experiencing this film may not make you feel better (the movie is triggering, to say the least), but it will make you feel seen.
The camera sticks close—very close—to Linda (Rose Byrne), a 40-something woman who has a young daughter suffering from an undefined serious illness that consumes all of her literal and emotional time. This is on top of having a career (as a therapist) and an involved but absent husband (who is away weeks at a time for work). When her ceiling literally crashes in, splooshing water and debris all over their home, it comes across as one of those relatable, “Well, of course this would happen…” moments. Linda and her kid move to a hotel for the short-term.
In an intriguing choice by writer/filmmaker Mary Bronstein, Linda’s family is off-screen. Her child isn’t shown—we see stockinged feet, or hands, or a sleeping form—but the kid clearly dominates Linda’s existence. She’s a constant whining, crying, sometimes just breathing off-camera presence. Her husband isn’t shown either. He’s an active-enough parent (in his mind) for simply being available on a work trip. But he’s constantly irritating on their phone calls, insisting like a backseat driver that Linda simply isn’t trying hard enough—with their daughter, with the repairs, with managing their home.
It’s darkly amusing that Linda is a psychiatrist. She sneaks down the hall for her own therapy sessions with a colleague (dryly played by Conan O’Brien, with perturbed disassociation). In her profession, she knows exactly what to say to an overtaxed patient in her own situation. But in reality, she finds herself always slipping out of control. Well-meaning folks constantly give her advice (whether her husband, calling from a work party, or her child’s doctor, insisting on the next steps in care), but Linda is completely overwhelmed. It’s no surprise that Linda seeks booze and drugs to self medicate.
Rose Byrne is simply fantastic in this. The camera focuses tightly on her face, immersing us with uncomfortable intimacy. Her laughter seems desperate, and her smiles are more often of disbelief rather than joy. Even her kid can tell that her eyes are sad. Yet she is never a villain. She is just one of the many overworked, overwhelmed, and simply unseen folks (usually women) who are expected to simply step up and shoulder the burdens of caregiving on top of everything else.
Meanwhile, the hole in the ceiling keeps dripping and growing. Whether it’s symbolic of the portal of her sickly child’s feeding tube or a larger, seeping representation of the maw of never-ending darkness that is her life is up for interpretation. Needless to say the destructive power of this hole is obvious, just as others’ lack of urgency to fix it is. This abyss holds Linda hostage, swallowing her desperate screams for help… any help. This is not how it should be.
