In Vitro

Chris O'Rourke
15 minutes ago
3 min read

Eimear Barr and Clodagh Mooney-Duggan in In Vitro. Image, Al Craig

***

Mark Twain claimed you should never let truth get in the way of a good story. When it comes to Aoife O'Connor's intriguing In Vitro, it's sound advice. Only the advice isn’t heeded. Its eagerness to share truths about the pressures of surrogacy undermining, and undermined by, O’Connor’s far more effecting story. That of a troubled couple, Sam and Lily, together two years, living together one, thinking of having a child together. One partner endlessly complaining it can’t be done to the other who's already doing it. In Vitro offering less a treatise on the challenges of surrogacy for same sex couples so much as a picture of a couple completely unsuited to having a child in the first place.

Indeed, you could be forgiven for thinking In Vitro is trying to convince you to believe the opposite of what’s right before your eyes. Given weak back story and exposition, you infer, but never quite believe, that Sam and Lily sincerely want a baby. Lily, yes. But Sam talks the talk while clearly not ready to walk the walk. Leaving you certain that whatever their problem, it has nothing to do with the expense, pressures or legalities of surrogacy. Indeed, the cumbersome process is made to look like a justifiable safeguard offering a blessing in disguise. In Vitro also undermining its claims that surrogacy inordinately impacts on the working class. Sam's tough tomboy with a troubled past, from a dysfunctional, unsupportive family, having low income with chips on the chips on her shoulder is portrayed as a completely unsuitable parent, reinforcing the case for stringent safeguards. In contrast, the maternal, middle class, family supported, financial responsible, privileged bank employee, Lily, is mothering made flesh. Both political stereotypes, with no evidence to suggest Sam would be a good parent under any circumstance. Didactic rants might make intriguing points, but the story never makes a compelling case.

Clodagh Mooney-Duggan and Eimear Barr and in In Vitro. Image, Al Craig

Where In Vitro succeeds is in its detailed depiction of a young couple deeply in love. O’Connor’s evocations of everyday affections effortlessly charming. The play’s circular structure and easy flow of scene and dialogue almost cinematic. It’s a sign of an astute writer, and director, when they allow scenes emerge in silence. Letting lights by Colm Maher negotiate mood, Mar Parés Baraldés claustrophobic set establish homeliness, HK Ní Shioradáin’s sound design underscore emotion before a word is even spoken. In which the crackling chemistry between Eimear Barr's tetchy Sam, and Clodagh Mooney-Duggan's eternally patient Lily ignites. A couple blinded to a truth everyone can see for fear of losing the other. Their touching reality conveyed by two impeccable performances.

With In Vitro, it's hard to buy Sam and Lily as a couple who desperately want a child, let alone one beat down by expenses and legalities. Rather, you see the process as revealing, rather than causing, their inherent issues. Leaving you to fear for any child they might have. Yet in its depictions of a loving relationship, O'Connor confirms she is a writer of serious promise. Equally significant, In Vitro reveals Katie O'Halloran as a skilled and brilliant director. Composition, performances, energy, pace; nothing escapes O'Halloran's detailed gaze. Not car keys on the hook, nor an empty and full bottle of beer. Even transitions are packed with information and action, ensuring In Vitro never lags. Ending, poignantly, as it began, with a silent, powerful image.