In Vitro Review: Atmospheric Brilliance in an Unsettling Sci-Fi Tale

In Vitro immediately plunges the viewer into a chillingly familiar near-future, presenting a science fiction thriller framework that resonates with profound dramatic undercurrents and palpable atmospheric horror. We are introduced to Layla and Jack, a couple whose existence on a remote Australian cattle farm is anything but idyllic.

Their struggle is set against a stark backdrop: a climate crisis has decimated traditional agriculture, making natural resources perilously scarce. In this world, meat is largely a factory product, a synthetic echo of what was. The couple has staked their hopes and dwindling finances on pioneering cloning technology for cattle, a desperate bid to cater to a population still yearning for the “real thing.”

From its initial frames, the film masterfully cultivates a mood of pervasive foreboding. The vast, empty landscapes amplify their isolation, while a palpable bleakness seeps into their interactions. The tension in their marriage is an unspoken third presence, intertwined with the cryptic nature of their work, particularly the ominous activities centered around a mysterious tank in their barn.

The Fraying Knot: Characters Under Pressure

The film’s emotional core lies in the fractured relationship between Layla and Jack, a dynamic that feels as weathered and strained as the arid land around them. Layla, portrayed by Talia Zucker, is a study in quiet desperation. She yearns for her son, away at boarding school, a tangible symbol of a life and connection slipping from her grasp.

Her unease with their isolated existence and Jack’s increasingly erratic behavior builds steadily, her journey becoming one of unsettling discovery as she begins to question the very foundations of her reality. Zucker’s performance is commendably grounded; she embodies Layla’s fear and growing resilience with a physicality that speaks volumes, making her plight deeply felt.

Opposite her, Ashley Zukerman’s Jack is a man consumed by his failing cloning experiments. He moves with a febrile energy, his preoccupation bordering on obsession. There’s a subtle, yet undeniable, controlling aspect to his demeanor; his interactions with Layla often suggest he views her less as a partner and more as an extension of his will, a possession within his isolated domain.

Zukerman delivers an impressively alarming portrayal, creating an unsettled atmosphere whenever he is present. Yet, his performance allows for a sliver of understanding—not forgiveness—for the desperate actions of a man unraveling under immense pressure.

This intense depiction of a marriage drama, reminiscent of the character-driven focus seen in some Indian parallel cinema where relationships are tested by external and internal crises, provides a robust psychological bedrock upon which the science fiction elements are disturbingly built. The film consistently prioritizes these human dynamics, making the ensuing genre twists more impactful.

The Sound of Silence, The Shape of Fear: Crafting Dread

In Vitro’s potent atmosphere of dread is not accidental; it is meticulously constructed through its technical artistry. The setting itself—a remote, isolated, and starkly rendered Australian cattle farm—is a character. Cinematography captures the bleak, lonely landscape under dark, looming skies, fostering a profound sense of claustrophobia despite the open spaces.

This visual language, marked by a sparse, lean quality, effectively traps the audience with the characters, amplifying their psychological distress. It is a visual minimalism that forces attention onto the internal, much like how Satyajit Ray used sparse settings in films like Pather Panchali to magnify the emotional weight carried by his characters.

The sound design, however, is perhaps the film’s most commanding technical achievement. Composer Helena Czajka, supervising sound designer Matthew Perrott, and sound editor Paul Reeves have created an auditory experience that is both unsettling and immersive. The soundscape is rich with strange electronic textures and aural gradients, an intense workout for the ears.

Specific elements stand out: an ominous drumming, like a mechanical, alien replication of a heartbeat; eerie whistling noises; unsettling brassy vibrations; and metallic sounds that seem to simultaneously approach and recede. This intricate sound design projects the characters’ internal turmoil onto the vast landscape, imbuing the physical terrain with a disquieting, almost sentient quality.

Even simple lines of dialogue acquire a heavier, tinny resonance, the words lingering in the oppressive air. Directors Tom McKeith and Will Howarth exercise tight control, their spare approach building anticipation with remarkable efficacy.

They generate genuine tension without resorting to cheap scares, a discipline that keeps the audience engaged. The film’s concise 88-minute runtime is a testament to this focused storytelling, ensuring the suspense remains potent and never overstays its welcome.

Unearthing Anxieties: Narrative Twists and Deeper Questions

As In Vitro progresses, it skillfully transitions from an atmospheric mystery into a genuinely gripping thriller. The narrative takes a significant turn around the midway point when Layla stumbles upon a startling discovery: Jack’s cloning ambitions reach far beyond cattle, venturing into deeply troubling territory.

This revelation propels the story into a more action-oriented phase, featuring an extended chase sequence that powerfully utilizes the desolate, unforgiving landscape as a silent antagonist. The plot takes an unexpected direction, culminating in an ethically challenging ending that offers no easy answers, instead leaving the audience to grapple with its unsettling implications.

Beyond the immediate suspense, the film delves into a rich tapestry of thematic concerns that resonate with contemporary global anxieties. It probes the ethical quandaries of cloning and unchecked technological advancement, questioning the fine line between human ingenuity and hubris—the temptation to “play God.”

This exploration of humanity’s relationship with technology it creates but may not fully understand echoes concerns seen in speculative fiction worldwide, including certain thoughtful science fiction narratives emerging from diverse cinematic cultures. The film also intensely examines themes of control—the desire to dominate nature, and more insidiously, the manipulative control exerted within intimate relationships.

It lays bare the potential consequences of unchecked ambition, self-interest, and pervasive deception. The psychological toll of isolation is a constant hum beneath the surface, as are broader societal fears about the pace of technological change outstripping our collective wisdom and the increasing fragility of our exploited ecosystem. In Vitro cleverly uses its science fiction premise not as an escape, but as a lens to magnify these profound issues, all refracted through the agonizing prism of its central, unraveling human relationship.

In Vitro premiered at the 71st Sydney Film Festival and was released in Australian cinemas on March 27, 2025.

Full Credits

Directors: Will Howarth, Tom McKeith

Writers: Will Howarth, Tom McKeith, Talia Zucker

Producers: Will Howarth, Lisa Shaunessy, Rachael Fung, Bec Janek

Cast: Talia Zucker, Ashley Zukerman, Daniel Ciurte, Will Howarth, Stephanie Arezzi, Hayley McCarthy, Luke Anthony, Kate Ure, Hamish Young

Director of Photography (Cinematographer): Shelley Farthing-Dawe

Editors: Luca Cappelli, Paul Murphy

Composer: Helena Czajka