Mary Bronstein’s latest film, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You, has landed squarely in the spotlight, earning critical acclaim and a cascade of award nominations, including an Oscar nod for its star, Rose Byrne. Released in cinemas on February 20, 2026, the 113-minute drama is already sparking conversation for its raw, unvarnished depiction of motherhood under siege. With a 92% score on Rotten Tomatoes, the film is being hailed as a modern touchstone for its unflinching portrayal of maternal exhaustion, guilt, and resilience.
At the heart of the film is Linda, played by Byrne in what critics are calling a career-defining performance. Linda is a psychotherapist whose life is unraveling as she cares for her seriously ill, ten-year-old daughter—a character who remains unseen throughout the film. This narrative choice, as Byrne explained during an appearance on The One Show, was a deliberate one by writer-director Mary Bronstein. “The conceit is that you are forced to reckon with this parent,” Byrne said. “And I think as soon as you put a child on screen, rightly so, your empathy goes with the child. And she’s taking that choice away from the audience. It’s a very big swing with the cinematic language that Mary Bronstein, our writer-director, chose.”
The daughter, played by Delaney Quinn, is ever-present through sound: the persistent beeping of medical equipment, her cries, her arguments, and her longing for a hamster. This immersive sound design, orchestrated by Filipe Messeder, creates an urgent and claustrophobic atmosphere that draws viewers deep into Linda’s increasingly chaotic world. According to RTÉ, the film’s editing—handled by Lucian Johnston—carves a rhythm of unease, amplifying the sense of psychological mayhem that permeates Linda’s daily life.
Linda’s struggles are not limited to her daughter’s illness. Her husband, played by Christian Slater, is a boat captain who is mostly absent, both physically and emotionally. He appears as another voice on the phone, chastising Linda for perceived mistakes and offering little support. Linda’s work as a therapist is equally fraught; her clients, including a particularly demanding patient named Caroline (Danielle Macdonald), add to the cacophony of needs and expectations pressing down on her. Even Linda’s own therapist, portrayed with grim-faced detachment by Conan O’Brien, offers little solace. In one particularly wrenching scene, Linda pleads, “I’m asking you what I’m supposed to do... I just want someone to tell me what to do.”
The film’s visual style is equally intense. Bronstein keeps the camera trained on Byrne’s face, often in extreme close-up, forcing the audience to share in Linda’s anxiety, shame, and mounting dread. The effect is almost suffocating, as if the viewer is trapped inside Linda’s head—an approach that critics have compared to the work of the Safdie brothers, with whom Bronstein’s husband, Ronald, frequently collaborates. The relentless focus on Linda’s perspective means every slight, every moment of blame, is felt with full force.
Disaster strikes when the ceiling of Linda’s apartment collapses—a literal and metaphorical breaking point that forces her and her daughter to move into a motel. There, Linda finds herself locked in a battle of wills with a jobsworth receptionist (Ivy Wolk), whose stubbornness over the sale of wine is both maddening and darkly comic. A$AP Rocky makes a memorable appearance as James, a motel employee who offers Linda a fleeting moment of human connection amid the chaos.
Throughout, the film refuses to sentimentalize motherhood. Instead, it lays bare the thankless drudgery, the loss of selfhood, and the tangled web of resentment and guilt that can come with caring for a chronically ill child. As The Guardian noted, “Bronstein is brilliant at conveying mounting panic and a terrible, all-consuming sadness.” The film’s tone is unsparing, at times even overwhelming, but it is precisely this refusal to soften its edges that has resonated with audiences and critics alike.
Byrne’s performance has been singled out as the film’s anchor. Newsday praised her for refusing “to take the easy way out, to collapse into overwrought hysterics. She tells us who Linda is gradually, in close-up, and without compromise.” The Independent went further, describing her work as “less performance, more self-administered open heart surgery. Come on, take a look inside – there’s no poeticism and no beautiful agonies, only piles and piles of viscera.” Even in her character’s lowest moments, Byrne imbues Linda with a fierce, if battered, love for her daughter—singing softly at her bedside, trying to comfort her when she can, and never quite giving up hope.
The film’s reception has been overwhelmingly positive. In addition to its Oscar and BAFTA nominations for Byrne, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You has been lauded for its direction, sound design, and editing. Critics have drawn comparisons to other recent films that explore the complexities of motherhood, such as Nightbitch and Die My Love, noting a broader shift in American cinema away from idealized depictions of mothers toward more honest, sometimes harrowing, portraits of their inner lives.
Bronstein’s decision to base the film in part on her own experiences caring for a sick child adds another layer of authenticity to the story. According to The Conversation, “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You shines a glaring and uncomfortable light on aspects of motherhood which are usually kept in the shadows: the thankless drudgery, the loss of selfhood, and all the resentment and resultant guilt these carry with them.”
As Byrne prepares to attend the BAFTA Film Awards this weekend, she finds herself in the company of other formidable actresses—Emma Stone, Jessie Buckley, Renate Reinsve, Chase Infiniti, and Kate Hudson—all vying for Best Actress in a Leading Role. Yet, it is Byrne’s raw and unfiltered portrayal of Linda that has captured the zeitgeist, challenging audiences to confront the messy realities of motherhood and the invisible burdens so many women carry.
In the end, If I Had Legs I’d Kick You is not an easy film to watch, but it is an important one. Its unrelenting honesty, coupled with Byrne’s extraordinary performance, ensures it will remain a touchstone for years to come—an imperfect, chaotic, and utterly unforgettable meditation on what it means to love, to endure, and, sometimes, to break.