Film and television tend to be thought of as predominantly visual mediums, a bias reflected in the very term motion pictures. But productions such as the Australian sci-fi thriller In Vitro encourage us to rethink this preconception because hot damn our ears get a great workout – fed all sorts of strange electronic textures and aural gradients.
Co-directors Tom McKeith and Will Howarth keep a tight control of the film’s visuals, bringing a sparse, lean quality to the remote cattle property where the two lead characters reside and much of the drama unfolds. But sound-wise, this film travels to far-flung corners of the cosmos; hats off to composer Helena Czajka, supervising sound designer Matthew Perrott and sound editor Paul Reeves for stellar work.
In Vitro unfolds in a not-too-distant future: a word sequence laden with dystopian associations and often involving Black Mirror-esque commentary on dangerous technology. Times are tough for cattle farmers like wearied married couple Layla (Talia Zucker) and Jack (Ashley Zukerman), the climate crisis having terribly affected the agricultural industry. During introductory moments, we see a newspaper article pinned to a wall, with a headline reading “Local man bets big on new tech”. The couple have invested in cloning technology, which, we learn, delivers products “for a growing population, still hungry for the real thing”.
The heavy, slightly disaffected ways that Layla and Jack interact suggest there’s some distance between them, though we’re not sure whether these gaps are bridgeable and to what extent their union has soured. Thanks largely to strong, understated performances from Zucker and Zukerman, you buy the film first and foremost as a marriage drama. This provides a strong psychological foundation upon which McKeith and Howarth can pivot to sci-fi elements and unravel an “uh-oh” plot trajectory.
We clearly sense early on that either Layla or Jack – or even both of them – are being deceptive, with a strong inference that their secrets are abstract and actual, a satisfying combination. You can feel the film’s momentum gathering, like a large stone tumbling down a hill, with things starting to really sizzle around the 45-minute mark. The directors maintain a spare approach, building anticipation for an interestingly peculiar final act that pushes the actors (one in particular) in perhaps unexpected directions. They were wise to keep the runtime at a trim 88 minutes; this is the sort of suspense-filled production that can lose viewers if it starts to feel too heavy and cumbersome.
McKeith and Howarth infuse visions of the vast Australian landscape with a sense that psychological space is being reduced, the air pinched by sinister forces. The film’s terrific sound design plays a key role in this. The score projects the characters’ emotions and stretches them out over the land, imbuing physical terrain with a disquieting feel – not quite menace, initially, though one can sense the gravitational pull of this world tilting in that direction.
Sometimes Czajka’s score contains an ominous drumming noise, which sounded to me as if an alien had been tasked with replicating the sound of a heartbeat, returning with something not entirely wrong, rhythmically speaking, but lacking a fundamental human quality. There are whistling noises and brassy vibrations; there are metallic sounds that feel like they’re both coming towards us and drifting away. These noises have a profound effect, reaching every corner of the mise en scène and every gesture from the actors.
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Simple lines like “I don’t feel right” and “what did you do?” sound heavier and tinnier than usual. Words that come out linger in the air, not wanting to leave. The same can be said of the film itself: In Vitro has an amorphous, floating quality, like an ominous grey cloud sticking to the horizon.
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In Vitro opens in Australian cinemas on 27 March
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