Undoubtedly, Inter Alia – where the main character, a high-powered judge, presides over numerous cases of men abusing women – is very much the sister play to Prima Facie. However, I experienced it less as a story about rape and the legal system, and more as one about the invisible labour and mental load borne by women juggling motherhood with a career.

Both the script and Rosamund Pike are spectacular in demonstrating the challenges we working mothers face. The way Pike changes in and out of clothing – like the endless donning and shedding of personas – is a brilliant device to illustrate the almost split personality required to compartmentalise these often irreconcilable aspects of our existence: directive and decisive at work, yet understanding and supportive at home. This is amplified through the superb use of the stage, which continuously transforms, shifting depth and perspective.

This struggle leads into the matter of unfair societal expectations placed on mothers versus fathers. I see no issue with the husband having cheese delivered; in fact, I’m surprised the rest of the groceries weren’t—Amazon and Ocado are my core buoyancy aids, helping me work smarter, not harder. Yet, the play offers subtler examples that reveal the guilt and even shame women often feel. This can result in a deadly combination of being both overprotective and not present enough – we make up for our absence by swooping in to resolve all challenges our child faces, immediately taking their side, not wanting to explore their behaviour lest it holds a mirror to our own.

Another powerful device, the blending of childhood memories with the present, deepens this emotional narrative. It embodies that fleeting grasp you have on your children – at first, their whole world is encased in the word ‘mother’, everything in their minds is what you put there, and you know their every thought, often before they’ve crystallised it themselves. Then suddenly, you’re helpless as you no longer know what’s going on inside their heads. You find yourself relieved when they respond with a perfunctory “OK” to a question, giving you an excuse not to dig deeper, for fear you might uncover something you’d rather not. There’s an overwhelming sense of loss as they assert their independence and become their own selves, and part of you wants to keep them close, mother them forever, tuck them in at night. But, as you grow alongside them, this is hopefully replaced by pride in the good human being you’ve raised.

Yet, losing sight of your child at a playground is nothing compared to losing sight of the virtual world’s influence on them. Jessica blames her husband for not explaining boundaries to Harry. But the truth is, ethics and morality cannot be contained in a set of taught rules but need to be imbued into children throughout their upbringing. In fact, Harry knew the boundaries but chose to trespass them, the chats on his computer evidence of the subculture that had swallowed him up. No longer a sensitive, vulnerable boy but an incel of a man. Misogyny found fertile ground, fed by the obvious resentment emanating from the husband towards Jessica’s success, like an intravenous drip of poison into the boy’s unsuspecting psyche. The positive feminist narrative nurtured by the mother proved insufficient to inoculate him, but just enough to make him realise that he was not the victim.

Regrettably, we hear too little from Harry, leaving us unaware of the transformation he underwent. Here, Inter Alia falls short of Prima Facie’s impact. The self-narration device and the technique of playing multiple characters—also used in Death of England plays—work brilliantly in a solo performance, presenting the entire story from one character’s perspective. In Inter Alia, however, introducing the son and husband undermines this approach. Initially, they feel like pawns with minimal dialogue, still consistent with the premise. As the play progresses, their lines increase, culminating in full dialogue by the end. This creates a paradox: they have too much presence to be mere devices, yet too little development to feel like fully realised characters.

This flaw connects Inter Alia to Prima Facie in another way—Suzie Miller struggles to craft satisfying endings, succumbing to heavy-handed didacticism. This lack of subtlety, exemplified by the yellow coat worn by both the young and the 18-year-old Harry, feels patronising to the audience’s intelligence. This is a pity, as is it seriously weakness what would otherwise be another powerful play.