Frank McGuinness’s weighty anti‑war play had its UK premiere at Hampstead in 1986, and, given the large numbers of young soldiers at present deployed abroad, this revival feels apt.

McGuinness focuses on eight Ulster volunteers fighting in the British Army in the First World War. Framed by the memories of the only one of these young men to survive, the action follows them from their first bluff encounters to the moment they don their orange sashes as they prepare to go over the top at the Battle of the Somme.

The central figure is Pyper, the black sheep of a smart family. Pyper is not senior to the others but we never see an officer, and in the absence of a conventional authority figure he provides a robust alternative — ironic given his attraction to Craig, a blacksmith from Fermanagh.

Other members of the platoon also pair up (platonically) and spar like brothers. But the group’s local loyalties and inevitable tribal tensions recede as they find themselves bound together by a heroic sense of community. They are martyrs united by Protestant ritual, patriotism, masculinity and their flight from the banal.

McGuinness’s writing is concentrated and compassionate — especially perceptive about relationships — and the performances are bright. Richard Dormer’s Pyper is an incendiary feat of camp cynicism and sinewy philosophy.

There’s also a fine menacing turn by Mark Holgate as McIlwaine, who beats a huge Lambeg drum until his hands are bloody, and strong work from Eugene O’Hare as Craig.

However, John Dove’s production is too often static, and rhetorical rather than dramatic. The set, haunted by a Red Hand of Ulster that looks more like the Gruffalo’s paw, feels both flat and overcontrived, and, the powerful climax notwithstanding, this revival proves less moving, intellectually nourishing and politically astringent than it should.
Until 18 July (020 7722 9301).