"Punk". BT Studio

We’ve all had the experience of waking from a bizarre dream that seemed to make perfect logical sense whilst asleep, and then spending several minutes clawing our way back to reality, nonplussed at the notion that what seemed so sensible in our subconscious has become total insanity now we’re awake.

Imagine if your entire life was like that.

That’s the experience of Punk’s central character Emory: a man who seriously believes that he is turning gradually into a machine; a man who lip-synchs the narration of his life through a faceless stand-up comedian; a man who relives his parents’ deaths through illicit videos exchanged with mysterious women on park benches. In Punk we see the world through Emory’s eyes, and it’s an unnerving, viscerally challenging, but ultimately unique experience.

At the start of this play I found myself on the outside looking in. Why were all these characters behaving so weirdly when they seemed quite normal at first sight? For example, at one point two of Emory’s new friends visit his flat, and suddenly break into almost unbelievably violent outbursts of aggression at the noisy neighbour upstairs. It’s the sort of scene that can either totally alienate an audience (because it seems to make no sense) or it can intrigue them. Which of these routes the audience takes is of course crucial to the play’s success. By half way through, I felt like I was on the inside. And it has to be said, Aaron Low’s script makes absolutely no compromises. It doesn’t throw us a single bone to help us into the world of the play. Instead, Low sticks to his guns, and effectively tells the audience either to catch up or drop out.

I can certainly imagine some audiences just not getting on the right wavelength. But that’s their loss. In fact, it’s the very courage of Low and his talented cast, their dedication to the world they’ve created, that steers this ship of paranoid post-realism safely through its 80 minutes of madness.

Behind the antics there is a serious point being made here. Punk highlights the crushing mental impact of an unforgiving society towards people it considers slightly different. And it does it by making us feel the confusion and awkwardness of that individual. It’s angry, surreal, and dripping with the threat of violence.

Imagine David Lynch and John Osborne both visiting a Red Room on the dark web. Not nice. But fascinating. And to quote one of the characters: ‘Sometimes shit is just weird.’

Critic’s bonus observation: during the scene when Emory is flicking through various videos while lying in bed, and we hear short clips of the audio, I am sure there was a brief snatch of what I can only describe as Porn Yoda. Like Punk or loathe it (and I liked it) that was a moment of pure gold.