A Night at A&E @ Victoria Hospital

Although it has the length of an early twentieth century interpretation of Chekov - and the language might as well be in Russian - A Night At AandE ends with an interlude of intimate physical theatre that might even make Red Bastard stutter. Divided into three distinct phases (The Minor Injury Clinic, The Waiting and The Cubicle), A Night at AandE has been refined over fifty years - experimental versions were staged during the Second World War, and the current version was heavily defined by the agit-prop performance of the 1980s in response to Conservative economics - it stands as one of British Theatre's defining runs: as persistent as The Mousetrap, and as predictable as Macbeth.

Its attraction is perhaps in the rotating cast of characters. The claim that 'all life is here' might be spurious, yet the current line-up does reflect Scotland's distinctive multi-cultural identity). The receptionist, who has provided much of the dramatic tension in earlier versions, is now doubled up. However, the decision to encase her behind bullet proof glass shifts her from the Kafkaesque harridan of the 1960s version to a more vulnerable presence.

Ricky, waiting on his daughter, has become more important: his haggard appearance, home-made tattoos and swigs from a blue plastic bag mark him out as an outsider. The smart Asian business man, and the young couple sitting in comfortable silence, provide a marked contrast to Ricky's wired anxiety and, ultimately,  the climatic formal agon.

A Night At AandE is one of the earliest examples of immersive theatre - its influence on Punchdrunk or You Me Bum Bum Train is obvious. But where much performance is contact to make this immersion the focus - sometimes reverting to a simple experiment in style - A Night proposes that this immersion is merely a tool towards a great appreciation of the central theme. Traditional productions emphasise the irony of the human intelligence, so limitless and free, being contained within a frail body. 1973's edition (subtitled Mummy Told You Not To Touch The Iron) referenced Beckett's Godot by expanding The Waiting to four hours - the audience shivering on a bed in a corridor.

2013's interpretation subtly incorporates current anxiety about immigration. When Ricky launches into his racist tirade, the script is predictable (they are 'coming over here to use our NHS') and hackneyed: the quality of his language, however, undercuts any possibility of sympathy. Having built Ricky up as the plucky outsider (drunk but polite, and evincing a convincing concern for his daughter), he is suddenly revealed as the villain. His statement is made all the more ignorant when the hero of the third phase is revealed as a female Asian doctor.

This play is perhaps one that most people are happy to ignore - like a local attraction, its omnipresence can blur its fundamental importance. Fortunately, the new cast, and the current director, have discovered that its essential meditation on the nature of health and sickness in a universe apparently governed by chance can be adapted to examine the underbelly of contemporary values.