One of the most indelible images of the TV series Weeds was the opening credits of the first few seasons, which referenced the identical nature of suburban housing projects. In Lorcan Finnegan’s latest feature Vivarium, the suburbs literally become a nightmare landscape from which there is no escape; a metaphor for the kind of life wherein residents are resigned to mundane repetition, boredom, ennui and eventual death.

Opening with a none too subtle pre-title sequence in which several baby birds are pushed out of the nest to their deaths, the film follows Gemma (Imogen Poots) and Tom (Jesse Eisenberg) on their latest house hunting foray. Despite the fact that neither are all that interested in the cookie cutter suburb community of Yonder, they accept the invitation from Martin (Jonathan Aris), the sinister automaton working in the development office, to take a tour. They’ve been looking for a house for some time, and Martin is quick to reassure them that Yonder’s disgusting mint green community is selling out quickly. When Tom and Gemma are looking through house #9, however, Martin disappears, and they soon discover that they are alone and unable to leave the picture-perfect community.

Within ten minutes Vivarium has already established its premise and deposited the couple to live out their days according to a mind-numbing routine. The script, written by Garret Shanley, is clever in the way that it delivers the kind of commentary about life in the burbs that audiences expect, but does so in ways that continually manage to surprise. Take, for example, the moment that – after spending an entire day walking through backyards and over fences only to discover they’ve made no progress – Tom burns down the house. The next morning when they awaken in the street, covered in soot, not only has the house been completely restored, but there is a box in the street with a baby in it and instructions to “Raise The Child and Be Released”.

These hints of omniscient interference suggest that Tom and Gemma are trapped in a giant simulacrum or some kind of psychological experiment to evaluate their reactions to various situations, but Vivarium isn’t driven by a desire to answer questions about the motives of the people pulling the strings. At its core, the film is interested in exploring the life cycle of a couple over time: moving to the suburbs, rearing a child, settling into traditional gendered roles that dictate household responsibilities, the discovery of new hobbies and a slow, drifting separation.

Given the parameters of the film and their isolation, Eisenberg and Poots are basically the only actors, but the film truly belongs to Poots. As the put-upon defacto parent of a child she refuses to name or accept responsibility for, the British actress exudes exhaustion, frustration and a reluctant tenderness. For every exasperated “I’m not your fucking mother!” she hurls at the boy, there is a corresponding incident where Gemma can’t help but concede to her maternal instincts.

The fact that Tom becomes increasingly fixated on a mundane task that drives a wedge between them, meanwhile, allows Eisenberg to deliver a darker performance. Eisenberg has never been a particularly emotive actor and this role doesn’t demand much more of him than what audiences are familiar with, although he’s doing what is required to sell the dramatic conflict.

Also deserving of praise is Aris, who inhabits his small role as Martin with a rigid, by the book demeanor that is both uncomfortable and mildly threatening. Aris accounts for a significant amount of the film’s comedy (the film is actually quite funny early on). Aris also provides the voice of the boy as he ages, which makes for a disconcerting, uncanny experience, particularly when the child perfectly mimics the adults.

Arguably its most significant technical accomplishment is Vivarium’s pitch-perfect set design. The look of the house, which is based on a real Irish housing project, is perfectly familiar and instantly evokes the suburbs. It is akin to a dollhouse, or an IKEA showroom; there is an inherent artificiality to it that is mirrored by the perpetually sunny sky and uniform clouds. This is then offset with the house’s mint green exterior, the artificial grass, and smaller touches like the discomforting inclusion of paintings of the same room that they are hung in. All of these elements contribute to make Tom and Gemma’s life in Yonder as dull, unpleasant and artificial as possible. Watching the interminable days pass is almost as much of an endurance for the audience as it is for its protagonists, which can make Vivarium a uniquely empathetic viewing experience.

Ultimately the film is built on some pretty deep ideas about life goals, capitalism, gender roles and parenting. Despite the stagnant environment and the everyday sameness, the film is mildly reminiscent of mother! in its exploration of how cyclical repetition can lead to chaos and psychic breakdowns. While Vivarium is significantly less polarizing than Aronofsky’s film, it certainly won’t be for everyone. For audiences willing to embrace its artificial staginess, its consideration of the mundane and its dark sense of humor, however, Vivarium is well worth the trip out to the burbs.

Editor’s Note: This Fantasia review was originally published on July 15, 2019.