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Imagine your Tinder profile was your real life. That jokey pose, those three hand-picked adjectives, the winged eyeliner it took you forty minutes to get right in the mirror — imagine you had to live out this illusory self-portrait at any moment you were faced with a member of the opposite sex. This is the plight of Mike (Manus Halligan) and Matt (Bob Kelly), Gwen (Nichola McEvilly) and Roxy (Sophie Jo Wasson), the cast of Ellen Flynn’s Five Minutes Later, which recently finished its run at The Lir.

Flynn’s exploration of the wasteland that is today’s dating scene makes use of some extraordinary characters, picking out the loners and losers of those who are desperately looking for love. The cast of four couple up into Mike and Roxy — a cancer patient paying for the company of a buxom blonde — and Matt and Gwen — a Nice Guy who thinks he’s found The One, a married mother who doesn’t know what she thinks anymore. The cast also pair up into comrades: two women egging each other on in their flirtations, and two men desperately trying to find somebody to rely on. All meet at a speed-dating night, and the play follows months of their lives and relationships.

The play has a few alternating moods and genres, and has alternating strengths for each. When it is a comedy, it is best bolstered by appearances from Manus Halligan as Mike. The ease at which he sinks into his role is heart-warming, switching between ratty dweeb and pitiful victim. On the other side of the spectrum we have Matt, played by Bob Kelly. Kelly’s ventures into violence as Matt’s isolation tipples into a hatred of women, turn the play into a tragedy, and it is his message which is the most disturbing and most memorable of the entire performance.

The structure of the play sees it broken into segments that are divided by some very nifty design tricks. Colm McNally has carefully devised what must be infinite cues for four mirrors that also act as windows when turned towards the right light. The play opens with each of the characters appearing behind their own pane of glass and the lighting used creates an effect reminiscent of Amsterdam’s Red Light District. It’s soon clear these are the characters’ profile photos with which they offer themselves online. Some of the greatest moments in the production are down to this design feature; at times the characters not in the scene will appear behind a pane, their images lighting up to the sound of an iPhone buzz as others on the stage ignore their call.

Flynn’s ambitious project is carried out fairly well by Sugarglass Theatre, but the desired effect is not always achieved. Without an interval, the segmentation only serves to show how long some acts drag on, especially those scenes involving Nicola MacEvilly’s character. Gwen, the cheating waitress who nobody deserves, has been written to be repulsive and unlovable, and MacEvilly plays exactly that. At times, however, Gwen becomes a bit much to bear.

All in all, the play might be served better by a shortened run-time. The resounding feeling, though, is one of appreciation for the playwright’s approach of such an ugly topic, an effort that should be commended.