Barely pausing to draw breath from their successful run of productions over the fortnight-long EUSA Fringe, Bedlam is once again in full flow, bringing one of Sartre’s most existential plays to the stage.

When three strangers find themselves forced together in a sparsely furnished room—Sartre’s unique vision of Hell—they start to question this unexpected scenario and plunge the undertow of their twisted identities to uncover the reasons they have been brought together.

Using the small stage to their advantage, the set is as minimal as Sartre described: a door, three chairs and a mantelpiece displaying only a vase. The four-piece cast helps to add to the intimate nature of the play; in this claustrophobic setting, every word feels calculated, every action measured. The riling suspense grows from the very first scene. Although there is nothing particularly audacious about this production in terms of design or vivid reworking, this is no foible: it succeeds as a strong and faithful adaptation of the original text. There is no need to overindulge and dress up Sartre’s words with unnecessary extras, and Bedlam’s pared-down production manages to emphasise the power behind his ideas.

While the acting is initially a little forced, the performers soon settle into their roles to convey a strong understanding of their characters. Alice Bonifacio, as Inez, is especially convincing as the severe postmistress, though so good is she at the crueler aspects of her character that her more tender flirtations with Estelle aren't quite as believable. When Garcin (Solomon Mousley) demands everyone to eschew speech and concentrate on their pasts, the apprehension from the rest of the cast is palpable.

The tension is cajoled by the trio’s personalities; lost souls vying for dominance, with every word clipped and loaded and culminating in Sartre’s notorious adage that "Hell is other people". Here, the suspense has been wound so tightly by the cast’s performances that the statement rings piercingly true. This is a triumphant vision of the text, emphasising Sartre’s bitter view of life: after feeling your own emotions strain their way through the wringer, it’s a shame no palliative is provided afterwards.