OF ALL the harrowing, white-knuckle experiences available on this year's supremely serious Fringe, Charlie Victor Romeo has to be the most nerve-wracking, and one of the most impressive. First seen in New York in 1999, and since acclaimed across America, Charlie Victor Romeo is an early verbatim drama, which uses the precise words of aircrew, recorded by cockpit "black box" equipment during catastrophic or near-catastrophic accidents, to create a sequence of scenes set in the cockpits of six aircraft which faced disaster, in the years between 1985 and 1996. In three of the cases, the aircraft crashed with no survivors; this is therefore a show which runs a high risk of the worst kind of voyeuristic sensationalism, as audiences sitting comfortably in theatres across the world hear actors repeat the words of real people facing the possibility of imminent death.

It's therefore a huge tribute to the integrity of everyone involved with this show – co-creators Bob Berger, Patrick Daniels and Irving Gregory, and the seven-strong cast, of which they are a part – that in the end, it leaves audiences feeling enriched and humanised, rather than drained and sullied. This achievement is due partly to the simple visual intensity of the production, with its brightly-lit simulated cockpit backed by a screen offering factual details; but mainly to the tremendous quality and integrity of the acting, which elevates this verbatim text into a genuine and subtle study of the human response to threatened catastrophe – the depths of chaotic, bickering mismanagement to which we can descend, the heights of courage and grace to which we can aspire, and the arbitrariness of the fate which determines whether our best efforts are rewarded or not. In America, this intense 75-minute show has become a key training instrument for institutions from the US Air Force to the National Patient Safety Foundation. And although it's not ideal entertainment for those who suffer from fear of flying, it is an immensely rewarding piece of theatre; and, in the end, an oddly life-affirming one, too.

• Until 25 August. Today 7:40pm