Christopher Gray enjoys a five-star production from Punchdrunk and the National Theatre

A weird wonderland awaits the ambulant audience of 600 at The Drowned Man, from ‘immersive theatre’ specialists Punchdrunk and the National Theatre. The vast former GPO sorting office hard by Paddington Station — so convenient for us Oxonians — has been turned into the headquarters (supposed) of film company Temple Studios, whose activities in its dying days of 1962 are shown in amazing, multi-faceted detail.

Judged a huge success already, with booking now twice extended, the show from directors Felix Barrett (also design) and Maxine Doyle (also choreography) is one no serious aficionado of the stage will wish to miss, if only for the novelty value of the whole thing.

Equipped with white masks, the better to lend atmosphere and distinguish us from the bare-faced actors, the audience is admitted in small groups from the studio lift, into a black, maze-like corridor. What follows is reminiscent of a fairground ghost train or house of fun, as surprise follows surprise with suitable smells along the way.

On our journey through the five studio levels we watch, as if through the lens of the camera, as some of the films in progress are shot in strange atmospheric settings that include a trailer park, a desert, icy mountains and a forest of soaring pines.

Meanwhile, we are supposed to share in some of the backstage dramas of the cast members.

I say ‘supposed’ because frankly — and not really disconcertingly — you are unlikely to hear what the characters are saying above the thunderous soundtrack, even if you happen to chance upon the action in the first place. I, for instance, missed both murders in the parallel stories which are based — not though you’d notice — on Büchner’s Victorian shocker Woyzeck.

Great dancing is a feature, including a gleeful cowboy hoedown that erupts into a bloody fight, homoerotic writhings by two guys polishing a long dining table with each other, and slinky moves among the ice to one of the many tingly songs by the Shangri-Las that help set the tone of teenage angst.

There’s lots of taking of drugs, lots of nudity; hence presumably the no-under-16s rule. Maybe there should be an upper limit too. Obliged to squat among wood shavings at the ‘all-together’ finale, I wondered if the ‘downed man’ would ever rise again. He did.

Did I say there is a cocktail bar? Cabaret? Conjuring?

The Drowned Man: A Hollywood Legend
Temple Studios, London
Until June 29
Call 020 7452 3000 or templestudioslondon.com