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Years back, the director Mary Bronstein’s daughter, then just seven years of age, became quite unwell. Bronstein accompanied her to San Diego for care, absenting her husband in New York. “We existed like cohabitants in this truly awful lodging,” Bronstein remembered. “There was nowhere one could go. I felt immensely confined.” Every evening, following her daughter’s bedtime at eight, Bronstein would retreat to the restroom with provisions and a budget-friendly bottle of wine, grappling with what she now identifies as a profound crisis. It wasn’t merely the strain and detachment—she also feared what awaited on the distant horizon, after her daughter recovered and Bronstein went back to her previously arranged existence. “Who am I? What is my purpose? What should I be doing?” she would ponder. She stayed there for a duration of eight months.
Eventually, her daughter’s health improved, and Bronstein translated this experience into a script bearing the markedly pessimistic title “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You.” Her initial endeavor, the independent comedy “Yeast” (2008), featured Bronstein and Greta Gerwig as friends in their early twenties who take a camping excursion and encounter a couple of men portrayed by Josh and Benny Safdie. “If I Had Legs” addresses a decidedly distinct life stage. The protagonist, Linda, works as a therapist on Long Island, enduring a Job-like sequence of calamities. Her daughter struggles with weight and requires a feeding tube. Her husband is away commanding a ship. Water infiltrates her roof and swamps her apartment, compelling her and her child to relocate to a dreary motel. She continually faces censure from a parking employee at her daughter’s rehabilitation center; one of her patients vanishes during a session, leaving Linda with a crying infant. “Time consists of simply enduring events,” Linda laments. “Each aim is like a precipice. There’s nothing at the end of it, only another cliff.”
Bronstein conceived the script lacking a particular actress in mind, merely a blank persona—yet she recognized she wished to capture that face in unwavering closeup, to intensify the sensation of confinement. “As I was reaching its conclusion, I thought, This is a substantial demand that someone is going to need to meet,” Bronstein shared with me. “Who will take on this role?” She contemplated Rose Byrne, the Australian actress, following her viewing of the “Physical” pilot, the Apple TV+ series where Byrne embodies a self-despising, Reagan-era homemaker with bulimia who discovers self-empowerment via aerobics. Early on, we observe her sheltering in her lavatory amidst a party, gazing with loathing at her own appealing, relaxed features. “Observe yourself,” she says to herself, via internal monologue. “Seriously. Do you genuinely believe you’re pulling this off? This youthful, seductive persona, at your age?” She then detects a blemish. Bronstein was persuaded. “I simply knew,” Bronstein disclosed to me. “She’s perfect. It can’t be anyone else.”
After Byrne agreed to join “If I Had Legs,” the two individuals convened frequently at Bronstein’s residence, located in Chelsea, following their children’s drop-off at school. They engaged in in-depth discussions of the script, “then we’d revisit it again, beginning anew, halting to have profound, intimate dialogues pertaining to motherhood, womanhood, and our formative years,” Bronstein remembered. Byrne wanted insight into Linda’s identity before the onslaught of tribulations, before maternity altered her existence. They reasoned that Linda had been unconventional and spirited during her youth; she had not yet realized that motherhood would present the most daunting challenge to her character.
At a certain juncture, Bronstein presented Byrne with the journals she had maintained during her daughter’s ailment, unseen even by her spouse or therapist. These hastily scribbled records of dosages, caloric intake, and physician appointments revealed the essence of the character’s predicament. “Something about witnessing her handwriting and the written expressions genuinely touched my heart,” Byrne disclosed to me recently. “I instantly grasped the degree of worry Mary would have experienced in that scenario—as any parent would. It unexpectedly manifested through these basic journals regarding schedules. I understood it completely.”
I encountered Byrne at a coffee shop in Carroll Gardens, near her home with her longtime companion, the actor Bobby Cannavale, and their two sons, Rocco and Rafa. Byrne, age forty-six, donned a comfortable, striped button-down shirt over an earth-toned top, along with oversized Mr. Boho sunglasses, which she had previously misplaced and rediscovered in a jacket pocket. (“It’s akin to finding five dollars!”) She removed them, unveiling eyes that descended slightly at the outer edges, imparting a drowsy essence, and ordered a caffeine-free tea.
In “If I Had Legs,” issued by A24 this weekend, Byrne’s clear face undergoes nearly aggressive examination—during filming, the lens frequently approached so close that she perceived its whirring, registering each pore and line. In one scene, we view her through a vehicle’s rearview mirror, as her daughter’s querulous voice resounds from the back seat, and Byrne communicates her anguish with a recurrent eye twitch. Her hair appears unkempt, featuring an undercut in the back—a retro two-thousands style chosen by Byrne to signify that Linda was “stuck.”
The movie initially screened at Sundance in January, and was subsequently featured at the Berlin International Film Festival, where Byrne earned the Silver Bear for Best Leading Performance. Any early speculation regarding an Oscar nomination stems not solely from the beautiful-actress-transformed factor—think Charlize Theron in “Monster”—but also from recognition of Byrne’s exceptional versatility and boldness. Since her breakthrough, around the era when that undercut was fashionable, she’s starred in horror (“Insidious”), historical dramas (“Troy”), science fiction (“Sunshine”), legal procedurals (“Damages”), comic-book adaptations (the X-Men series), acclaimed limited series (“Mrs. America,” as Gloria Steinem), and a musical (“Annie”), and she’s established herself as a remarkable fixture in comedies, such as “Get Him to the Greek,” “Spy,” “Neighbors,” and “Bridesmaids,” in which she portrays the impeccably poised contrast to Kristen Wiig’s chaotic character.
In the Apple TV+ comedy “Platonic,” now in its second season, Byrne embodies Sylvia, a stay-at-home mother who reconnects with a longtime hipster friend, Will (Seth Rogen). The show chronicles Sylvia’s quest for satisfaction beyond her semblance of domestic happiness, whether through launching her own event company or indulging in tipsy antics with Will. Yet Byrne’s most humorous moments arise from observing Sylvia’s composure crumble under pressure. In a recent episode, she exclaims her frustration at her husband (Luke Macfarlane), who has left his law practice to pursue writing detective novels. “Guess what?” she informs him, in a terse outburst. “Considering your availability today, perhaps you might drop off the children at school and then take Simon to the orthodontist, and afterward, following pickup, you might escort Frances to her SAT preparation, Simon to his bass lesson, and Maeve to Tae Kwon Do.” Nicholas Stoller, who created the show with Francesca Delbanco, his wife, stated, “It’s unfortunate, but also somewhat amusing. A purely dramatic actress might interpret that speech as despairing, but with a purely comedic actress, it wouldn’t necessarily be credible. She simply portrays it authentically.”
Spanning “Platonic” and “If I Had Legs,” one might assert that Byrne has crafted a duology of overwhelmed mothers. “Platonic” embodies Apatow-esque comedy, whereas “If I Had Legs” envisions motherhood as a form of horror flick, where the monster isn’t a chainsaw-wielding murderer, but instead the burdens of midlife. (The synopsis could be ” ‘Uncut Gems’ for Mothers!”—understandable given that Bronstein’s husband, Ronald Bronstein, co-wrote “Uncut Gems” with the Safdie brothers, and that he and Josh Safdie are producers of “If I Had Legs.”) Yet even my implication of a shared motif evoked hesitation from Byrne. “People will readily offer you similar roles to your most recent one, should they appreciate your performance, and you are presented with countless stressed-out mom characters,” she clarified. “That lacks creativity. I aspire to portray an accomplished C.E.O.!”
Byrne’s own mother, according to her account, raised four offspring without showing any sign of struggle. “She possessed the most steady and composed demeanor of utter calm,” Byrne relayed. This occurred in Balmain, a Sydney suburb, where her mother worked as an administrator at an elementary school emphasizing Indigenous children. Her father, a statistician, collaborated with the cinema conglomerate Village Roadshow; Rose, the youngest, would assist him in questioning nearby shoppers about their cinematic habits. (Her father also enjoys wagering on horses, having once won a superfecta, successfully predicting the top four finishers in order.)
Byrne commenced acting at age eight, with the Australian Theatre for Young People. At twelve, she secured her initial film credit, in “Dallas Doll” (1994), featuring Sandra Bernhard as a bisexual golf enthusiast who romances each member of an Australian household—apart from the teenage daughter, played by Byrne. Shortly thereafter, Byrne landed on the soap opera “Echo Point,” portraying a “naive adolescent with a checkered background,” she described. The series dispatched her to shopping centers to greet admirers, molding her into a teen idol. Her parents bolstered her acting ambitions (in a subtle, “typically Australian way”), while prioritizing her schooling. At eighteen, she filmed “Two Hands,” an Australian criminal comedy, alongside Heath Ledger. She characterized him as “a generous individual, slightly withdrawn.” Furthermore, she admired his dedication to acting, which she lacked. “I recall his declining various soapy TV shows and persevering,” she noted. “That’s a difficult feat when particularly young.”
Byrne, contrarily, took whatever assignments arose. Even within Australia, the route to Hollywood was hardly veiled in the nineties, forged by the likes of Nicole Kidman, Naomi Watts, Guy Pearce, and Toni Collette. Following rejection from drama colleges, Byrne enrolled at the University of Sydney, attending gender studies lectures—encountering Foucault instilled the notion that “gender is a fiction,” she remarked—but dropped out as job offers persisted. In “Star Wars: Episode II—Attack of the Clones,” filmed in Australia, she appeared as Natalie Portman’s attendant, uttering eloquent phrases such as “Not I, milady. I am concerned for you.”
By 2004, she secured a pair of substantial ingenue parts in Hollywood productions: the romantic thriller “Wicker Park,” co-starring Josh Hartnett, and the sword-and-sandal spectacle “Troy,” where she played Briseis, a captured priestess bestowed upon Brad Pitt’s Achilles. Peter O’Toole, portraying King Priam, surprised her by suggesting that her role stood out and amused her with his dry, British humor. “I recall him ascending some stairs, smoking and coughing,” Byrne recalled. “The A.D. suggested, ‘Peter, maybe you should abstain from smoking.’ And he retorted, ‘Maybe I should abstain from stairs.’ ” (Her mimicry proved impeccable.)
By then, Byrne had become more conscientious regarding her acting—she dedicated a summer to studying with the Atlantic Theatre Company in Manhattan—yet didn’t perceive herself as humorous until cast in Sofia Coppola’s “Marie Antoinette” (2006), assuming the role of the dilettantish Duchess of Polignac. Coppola urged her to improvise, and she discovered a talent for comedic creation. In a scene, adorned with feathers and finery, she converses with Kirsten Dunst’s Marie Antoinette in an opera box: “Look how corpulent the Marquis has become. I trust he does not shatter the chair!” “That signified the beginning of my exploration into comedic acting,” Byrne stated. “I believe comedy presents a greater challenge. We collectively concur on moments of sadness, yet humor proves more subjective.”
Her comedic shift would require patience. Following a period residing in London, she relocated to New York to co-star alongside Glenn Close in “Damages,” the FX legal program, which debuted in 2007 and lasted five seasons. Byrne portrayed an innocent yet astute junior associate entangled in Close’s machinations for power. Similar to Elisabeth Moss in “Mad Men,” which debuted on television that year, Byrne embodied a follower who evolved from reserved to commanding over the course of the show’s run. Her performance solidified her status as a potent dramatic presence and garnered her two Emmy nominations.
Not until Stoller was assembling the cast of “Get Him to the Greek” (2010), featuring Russell Brand as the unkempt rocker Aldous Snow, did Byrne finally unleash her inner comedian. She made a conscious decision to pursue comedic parts, yet Stoller was perplexed by her audition for the role of Jackie Q, Aldous’s outlandish pop-star girlfriend. “I had seen Rose’s work in ‘Damages’ and ‘Sunshine,’ ” Stoller clarified. “I learned of her impending audition, and my first thought involved, Why is Rose Byrne reading for this? She seems overly dramatic. Subsequently, she impressed. It was one of the most entertaining auditions I have witnessed.” (The audition is available online.) On location, Stoller recalled Byrne as an “improvisational prodigy,” especially during her “flirtatious exchanges with the now-fallen and discredited Russell Brand.”
Soon, she was enjoying a wave of popular big-screen comedies from the 2010s, notably “Bridesmaids” (2011), potentially possessing the most outstanding female comedic ensemble since “All About Eve.” (She reunited with co-star Melissa McCarthy in “Spy,” playing a haughty antagonist.) In 2014, Stoller again directed her in “Neighbors,” concerning a conflict between a young couple with a baby and a fraternity house next door. Assuming the role of Seth Rogen’s wife might have placed her within Katherine Heigl’s realm, yet, as Stoller recalled, “Her principal note on the film, which was appropriate, was ‘I don’t wish to portray a nag.’ She stated, ‘If I’m married to Seth, I’m his partner in crime.’ ” In one unforgettable scene, her breasts experience such intense lactation that her husband is required to express her milk—a type of risqué humor typically associated with male anatomy, not the sacred maternal image. (Stoller shared that Byrne had hesitations regarding the scene until he confirmed that it occurred in reality to the spouse of one of the writers.)
Byrne’s rapport with Rogen proved so effective that Stoller reunited them for “Platonic.” “She has an astonishing capacity to portray vulnerability,” Stoller stated. “She will embrace a less dominant role, yet her eyes express a yearning for prominence.” The press responded favorably and seemed intrigued that a seemingly genteel leading actress appeared to possess the spirit of Jonah Hill. Vanity Fair, in 2018, labeled her a “Comic Superstar Flying Surprisingly Under the Radar,” impressed that, following “Damages,” she had skirted the “conventional tier: that of the dramatic actress who appears regularly in bleak, Oscar-contending, and introspective independent films.”
Skeptics might brand “If I Had Legs I’d Kick You” as bleak, Oscar-directed, introspective fare. Nevertheless, following a decade and a half of comedic roles, it strikes one as a move both more surprising and unavoidable for Byrne. It occasionally descends into utter dejection. At one point, Linda engages with her own therapist (portrayed, in a truly unexpected genre shift, by Conan O’Brien), who treats her with dispassionate restraint. “Simply tell me what to do,” she pleads, sobbing and curling up on his couch. “I only wish someone would instruct me.”
“During the shooting of that scene, it reached emotional depths,” Bronstein disclosed. “Subsequently, Rose approached me, stating, ‘I’m concerned I didn’t fully convey that.’ I replied, ‘Are you insane? You captured it perfectly. I would never proceed without your success.’ I discovered that her concern didn’t involve the quality of her performance, but rather that she remained immersed in the emotions she had tapped into. She was experiencing anguish as a person and couldn’t detach from it.”
However, Byrne also recognized the screenplay’s veiled, dark humor. In a moment of weakness, Linda yields to her daughter’s incessant desire for a pet hamster. During the car ride home alongside the rodent, it claws at its container—Bronstein envisioning Jack Nicholson in “The Shining”—and amidst the tumult, Linda’s vehicle suffers a rear-end collision. She emerges to confront the other driver, the hamster absconds, and subsequently . . . let us simply state that no hamsters incurred harm during production.
Byrne, mother to sons ages seven and nine with Cannavale, required little external study regarding the chaos of parenthood. “My residence reverberates with activity,” she remarked. “Blaring music, animated conversations. When I discover tranquility, I disengage from all sensory input. I relish silence. They are forever amplifying in my house, while I strive to decrease it.” Upon my introduction of the hamster subplot in “If I Had Legs,” Byrne responded, “I deeply identify with that, as a parent. How often do we stumble! And we perceive ourselves as failures for being unable to ensure that our child manages without X, Y, or Z. That is not their doing. It is my fault that they are insufficiently resilient or capable. And an immediate feeling of guilt ensues, unceasingly.”
Rafa, one of Byrne’s sons, urgently desires a pet chameleon, but she has remained steadfast. Instead, he enlists his mother’s improvisational skills. “He consistently poses questions, ‘Hey, Mom, what if we ventured outside and encountered a chameleon on the road, compelling you to rescue it and give it to me? What would you do? Enact it! Embody it!’ ” Seated across from me, she mimicked her contribution: discovering the imagined chameleon, lifting it, and delivering it homeward. Remarkable that her son covets a chameleon when he possesses one already. ♦
Sourse: newyorker.com
