On its première at the Young Vic late last year, Joe Murphy and Joe Robertson’s play was lauded for being important and imaginative if not necessarily sophisticated. I think that sells it short. This play about the refugee camp that grew up at Calais earlier this decade is thoughtfully structured.

It pretty much has to contain a harrowing first-person account of an inhabitant’s experiences in getting even this  far and an unambiguous denunciation of the British government’s active complicity in the origin and maintenance of such a huge and supposedly officially unsanctioned settlement. However, these are saved until after the interval, when we have been drawn in by a fast-moving, kaleidoscopic, at times seemingly chaotic first half. It’s morally extremely dubious to call the presentation of such matter “exciting”, but Murphy and Robertson – who spent several months working at the camp – are well aware both of what they want to say and how it needs to be delivered for maximum impact.

In noting how the play’s viewpoint is shaped, I’m not in any way dissociating myself from that perspective itself. Even if such dissent were possible, the presentation of this piece would be remarkable. I don’t think I have ever seen a West End theatre’s space so thoroughly and immersively remade. The Playhouse’s capacity has been reduced to around 400 by Miriam Buether’s complex-ramshackle set which seems to seat us in the Afghan restaurant that became a social focus of the camp: makeshift seating, earth floor, graffiti which both marks the territory and expresses the hope of acceptance, action which explodes on the tables in front of us and in the passageways around us. Stephen Daldry and Justin Martin’s staging is intricate and intimate (especially on the second show of a high-summer day: we feel the intimacy in every pore).

The cast of two dozen seethe around us, including Alex Lawther as posh-boy volunteer Sam, John Pfumojena as Sudanese refugee Okot whose testimony of his experiences crossing two continents puts paid to any attempted “economic migrancy” dismissal and Ammar Haj Ahmad as Safi, the flawed narrator figure. Recognising that the message is packaged does not detract one jot from the importance of that message.

Written for the Financial Times.