Ben Taylor directs Jack Thorne’s screenplay chronicling the dogged progress in the 1960s and ‘70s of the team behind an important breakthrough in medical science.

It’s hard to build dramatic momentum out of scientists hunched over microscopes peering at petri dishes. Indeed, director Ben Taylor struggles to clear that hurdle in his conventional but watchable enough account of the development of what became known as in vitro fertilization. While it’s more compelling as human drama than science, the film benefits from timeliness, given right-wing efforts to curb women’s reproductive freedoms and recent moves by Senate Republicans to block a bill protecting the right to IVF. That factor, plus the very capable cast, should help Joy find an audience on Netflix, though anti-choice extremists won’t be among them.

That team is formed when Jean Purdy (Thomasin McKenzie), a nurse and future embryologist, is hired as a lab manager in the Department of Physiology at Cambridge, working under Robert Edwards (James Norton). After making initial headway with the study of human fertilization in the late ‘60s, they take their findings to obstetrician and gynecologist Patrick Steptoe (Bill Nighy), at that time considered something of a pariah by the British medical establishment for his championing of laparoscopy.

As work on the project inches forward, the three dissimilar personalities — along with Muriel (Tanya Moodie), the brisk, no-nonsense senior nurse who insists on being addressed by her job title of Matron — gradually build a harmonious professional relationship.

But the focus tightens on Jean as the central figure. A churchgoing Christian cut off by her loving mother Gladys (Joanna Scanlan) when she refuses to abandon the controversial work, Jean is revealed to have a personal investment in women’s fertility issues. This becomes especially relevant for her when her unintended romance with Cambridge lab colleague Arun (Rish Shah) gets serious and he proposes, making it clear he’s eager to start a family.

One of the more enjoyable parts of the movie is Jean’s rapport with the disparate group of women signing up for the experiment, who forge a sense of community during their hospital visits. Jean’s manner of dealing with them as she administers regular hormone injections is detached and clinical at first — much like her earlier consent to have sex with Arun, on the condition that he form no attachment.

A heated scene in which the Medical Research Council declines to provide development funding, arguing that the research will benefit only a small handful of the population, underscores Jean, Bob and Patrick’s frustration as they try to make people grasp the concept of infertility as a treatable condition.

The one-step-forward, two-steps-back pattern of positive results followed by disappointment becomes a bit static. But after Jean learns that her still estranged mother is dying, she breaks with the group, dismissing their efforts as a failure and parting on bitter terms with Bob. That allows for the inevitable resumption of work when stinging loss galvanizes Jean back into action.

The final stretch leading up to the first successful “test-tube birth” in 1978, acquires welcome notes of suspense and emotional power — the latter amplified by text at the end of the film revealing that 12 million babies have been born thanks to IVF in the decades since. We also learn that Edwards, the last surviving member of the team, was awarded the Nobel Prize for their work in 2010.