Twenty years on from Frank McGuinness's imagined study of daily life as a political hostage inspired by the experiences of Brian Keenan, this piece looks more pertinent than ever.

By placing an American, an Irishman and an Englishman in chains in an airless cell in Beirut, the survival strategies they cling to go beyond initial sparring about colonialism, invasion and all the other indignities caused by organised religion to get to some sense of solidarity by default.

As with most of McGuinness' work, it's pretty much unbreakable, and Rachel O'Riordan's new production simply lets it speak for itself, as Adam, Edward and Michael move from fantasy Desert Island Discs to the 1977 Wimbledon Ladies Final to get them through their plight. The blacked-out stage curtain slams down to punctuate each scene on Gary McCann's tilted set, suggesting that any glimpse at other worlds is shut out come night time.

When awake, there's a kind of madness inherent in the things the men cook up, which, as the trio question their own manhood, lean more to the homo-erotic fantasia of Kiss of the Spiderwoman than the angry hysteria of Midnight Express.

The interplay between Joseph Chance's laid-back Adam, Stephen Kennedy's bluff Edward and Robert Morgan's academic Michael borders on absurdly comic routines, as if they were merely finding common ground in some post-pub piece of male bonding. Yet when Edward is released, leaving Michael to survive alone, despite the sun that shines through the now open door and the sentiments expressed, this is no end of summer camp, but an experience that will mark them forever.

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