Mary Bronstein is a writer/director based in New York City, known for her raw style, auteurist approach, and unflinching focus on stories about complicated women. Her best-known work, the cult-classic “Yeast,” earned her a dedicated following in the independent film world. Now, she returns with her long-awaited second feature, “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You,” produced by A24.
What began in a cramped California motel room—while caring for her seriously ill daughter—slowly evolved into a bold, emotionally charged film that blurs the line between personal truth and expressive fiction. In this candid conversation, Bronstein opens up about the real-life experience that sparked the story, the emotional toll of caregiving, and how writing became both a coping mechanism and creative lifeline.
She also reflects on the long road to production, including years of industry rejection, her refusal to compromise the script, and the eventual partnership that allowed her to bring the story to the screen—her way.
Anchored by a visceral performance from Rose Byrne, “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You” is a darkly absurd, psychologically intense exploration of motherhood, therapy, and the human limits of caregiving. With her signature mix of tragedy and biting humor, Bronstein delivers a film that’s both deeply personal and universally resonant.
In addition to her film work, Bronstein has contributed original feminist theory to several academic publishers, further cementing her voice as both an artist and a thinker. What follows is a conversation about art born from crisis, the absurdity of the therapeutic process, and what it really means to make an uncompromising independent film.
The film screened at The Chicago International Film Festival on October 16th, and is screening now in select theaters, and nationwide this Friday, October 24th.
I thought we could start by talking about the inspiration for this film. It was a long journey for you—maybe you can tell us a little about that process over the past seven years?
It’s actually been eight years now. I don’t even know what day it is—October, right? Yeah, about eight years. So the seed of the idea, the impetus, came from a real-life situation with my daughter. She’s 15 and a half now and doing well—thank you—but at the time, when she was seven, she became quite ill.
We’re New Yorkers, and we had to go to California for a specific treatment she needed. My husband stayed home for work, so it was just the two of us there for eight months. When we first spoke to the doctor, I asked how long we’d need to stay, because we were completely uprooting our lives. She said six weeks—eight weeks, worst case. We were there for eight months.
We lived in a tiny motel room—two twin beds—it was awful. And at night, the lights would go off and that machine, in real life, it just showed floating numbers in the dark. But in the film, I made it expressive—the whole room flooded with red—because that’s how it felt. The machine became a character. Oppressive. Always looming.
I didn’t do all the things Linda does in the film, but I always say it’s not autobiographical—it’s emotionally true, expressively true. What I did do was hide in the bathroom at night. I’d turn the light on, drink disgusting $9 wine, eat junk food—Jack in the Box, peanut butter cups, whatever was for sale in the motel lobby. Just binge eat and binge drink. I’m not afraid to say that now. I don’t do it anymore, but that’s really where the film began. In the bathroom. Writing.
It’s been eight years total—about two years writing and refining the script while still caring for my daughter, so it wasn’t full-time. Then four years of trying to get it made. That was a lot of no’s. A lot of “We could do it if…” And that’s when I would say no. “If you pull back on this,” or “Can we lose the mystery?”—No. Hard no.
I actually have a ring I made for myself when we picture-locked the film. It says tenacity. Because that’s what it took—to say, “I’m not going to compromise the vision.” That takes a psychotic level of confidence. Otherwise, I knew I’d be looking at myself five years later thinking, I blew it. I told the story wrong.
Eventually, I found my partners at A24. By that time, I had all these experiences and was like, “This is the script. This is the movie. I’m not changing it.” And they said, “Cool, let’s do it.”
That was two years ago—right around Halloween—we wrapped. Then a year ago now, we locked post. And now we’re screening. So that’s how the eight years broke down.
And I always say: That’s independent filmmaking. When you don’t have ten other films under your belt. When no one really knows your name. It feels like pushing a boulder uphill. That’s what it is.
Thank you so much for bringing this story to the screen. I feel like so many mothers—and women in general—are going to connect with this.
They have. Yeah, they really have.
And I love that Linda is a therapist, surrounded by therapy. What inspired that choice?
There was inspiration! I actually still have a journal from when I started writing this. One of the first notes in it is: “Linda – therapist?”
Some people think the film is an indictment of therapy. It’s not. I believe in therapy. I go to therapy. I’ve been in therapy since I was 14. I’ve had good therapists, bad therapists—every kind.
At the time, I was in therapy with someone in New York. This was before Zoom therapy existed, and he would do sessions with me over the phone while I was in California. I’d be in bed in that motel, having dropped my daughter off at treatment, just so depressed—watching a lot of Dr. Phil, Judge Judy—and then I’d have therapy on the phone. It was intimate. He’s in his office, I’m under the covers.
But when I got back to New York, that relationship imploded. Sitting in his office, I realized: this is a one-sided relationship. I have one therapist. He has, like, fifty clients. And I started to feel the limits of that. He once mentioned his therapist in a session, and I just shut down. I thought, “Wait, he has a therapist?” Of course he does. But then who is that guy’s therapist? It’s like Russian nesting dolls. Who’s at the top?
There’s an absurdity in that. And the film plays with that absurdity—just like the classic comedy/tragedy masks. There’s deep pain in the movie, but also absurdity. Like when Linda leaves her therapist’s office, and you think she’s leaving the building—but she’s going to see her own client.
And the whole Mr. Rogers quote—“Look for the helpers.” It’s comforting as a kid. But as an adult, sometimes there are no helpers. Or the helpers aren’t helping. That’s what I wanted to explore. Not the limitations of therapy, but the limitations of human beings. Linda hits her limit. Her therapist hits his. Her client hits hers. We all do. That’s the emotional core of it.
And Rose Byrne—she’s just amazing. I read that you saw her on Physical and that was part of your inspiration to cast her?
Yes! I saw her on Physical and thought she was phenomenal. And I’m such a performance-driven person. I revere performance—film, theater, dance. And close-ups are unique to film. So I really wanted to use that tool—to make the audience feel like they are inside Linda’s head.
The film opens in a very tight close-up. That was actually the first scene we shot. And then we go even closer, until we’re basically in her eyeball. That was me saying, “This is what the movie is. We’re up in her head.” By the end, you know every pore, every line in her face. You’re with her in her pain. And it’s a way to lock out any doubt—whether something is “real” or not. It’s real to her. Perception is reality. That’s one of the first lines in the movie, and it’s the foundation of the whole thing.
Talk to me about the prep process with Rose. I heard it was very intimate?
Yeah, we had this amazing period—just by chance—where we had five or six weeks to prepare before the production office even opened. We met at my apartment, sat at my kitchen table. I’d drop off my daughter at school, she’d drop off her kids, and we’d just dive in.
We went through the script over and over, but we also talked—deeply. About real experiences. I shared a lot of personal stuff, she did too. Stuff about being a mom, about being a teenager, about our relationships with our own mothers. These were the kinds of conversations you only have with very close friends. That trust was essential. I don’t think either of us could have done what we did without it.
And what Rose brought, that I hadn’t even considered, was asking: who was Linda before? Not just before the crisis, but before she had kids. What was her relationship with her mom? That added a whole other layer. It made Linda not just an idea—but a full person. And I think you can see that on screen.
Definitely. And last question—what do you hope people take away from this film? Especially the audience here in Chicago tonight?
What I hope is that people see something in themselves. That they have that moment—when something hits them and they snap a little—and realize, that’s about me. It’s not necessarily about the material or the situation. It’s something personal.
And also, I hope people can find themselves in the movie—even if they’re not parents. I’ve had amazing responses from men, from young people, from non-parents. Because who hasn’t felt like the whole universe is against them? Like you’re walking against the wind and trying to survive.
This film is an expression of that. And I hope it makes people feel seen.
Yes! I’m not a mother, but I completely related to that feeling of trying to fit into a certain mold, to just be seen.
Exactly. She’s literally screaming in people’s faces: “See me. Help me.” And unfortunately, that’s such a universal experience for women—parent or not.
I can’t wait to see it on the big screen.
Thank you! I’m so glad you’re going. You’ll really get the full sound experience too—it’s a whole other thing.
