With the greatest respect to the families, the only way to have made this programme was with an uncompromising presentation of the damning facts of the fire and a vivid depiction of the catastrophic consequences that they led to.

The horror begins with the waiting. We see some teenagers prepare for their night at the disco, watch them fret over who got a Valentine's card from who, or talk about who might be lucky enough to hit it off with a certain boy or girl.

From the ironic perspective of the viewer, the banality and innocence of this section seems pitiful.

And when the tragedy is recreated, it is terrifying. It begins, about halfway through episode one, with the smoke creeping into the dance area, then the flames licking across the ceiling.

Towards the end of the episode, we witness numb parents waiting in the city morgue, observe awful knowledge breaking on their faces.

In between, the most desperate image is of blackened figures trying to squeeze through a gap between padlocked doors.

None of this seems gratuitous or sensational. It never feels like entertainment. The production is very sober, exemplified by the absence of camera trickery and musical underscoring.

Although the tone is not strident, naturally the film is polemical; there would have been no reason to make it if it did not have a cause to champion.

Stardust makes it clear those who were culpable in causing the deaths of so many people: the fire prevention department of Dublin Fire Brigade, and, most damningly of all, Eamonn Butterly, the club's owner, who, the tribunal of inquiry admitted, was "guilty of a recklessly dangerous practice" in chaining the fire exits.

The film also identifies those who failed to serve justice to survivors and victims' families: the tribunal itself, and the government and its qualified victim compensation scheme.

Episode two, to be aired tomorrow night, is effective in showing how an unbidden, disastrous event can come to utterly dominate so many lives. It depicts ordinary families having to quickly grapple with the complexities and added traumas of the legal system, and the sensation of futility that such people have when faced with the pomposity of the law and the unfairness of a system which privileges the wealthy.

The film reminded me a lot of other docudramas based on real tragedies, such as the ones about the Hillsborough disaster and Bloody Sunday of recent years. I remember the feeling of rage the Hillsborough programme incited in me towards the South Yorkshire police.

I felt the same about Eamonn Butterly after Stardust. I'm not sure if it was right that I felt that way . . . Butterly was never even accused of manslaughter . . . but that's the way I felt all the same.

Stardust brought me from pathos to terror to anger and back to pathos again. I felt I was in the hands of gifted and responsible filmmakers.