Truth be told, I’ve always been extremely uncomfortable around contemporary art, and five minutes into Room 328 I’m itching to leave. This is not a bad thing. That is what the contemporary is supposed to do. Throw you into the deep end when you don’t know how to swim. Turn off all the lights. Leave you disoriented and uncertain about what you believed. You will not be disappointed.

A hand breaks through the plastic and beckons us to enter. It sounds like monkey boys from the projects throwing down in there. Raucous laughter. Psychotic closeness. ‘Language for mature audiences’. I am warned that I am allowed to leave at any time if I feel uncomfortable, and do not have to participate in any activities. I am worried. What is going to happen in there?

Surrender yourself. The guys at Room 328 mean well. They only want to show you want they know. This could be anything, banal or serious or both.

Don’t sit down. Don’t get comfortable. You’re not here to watch Room 328. You’re here to experience it.

After ten minutes in total confusion, you’ll be up on your feet, moving with this guy and the next, downing shots of tequila, mooning the government, trading trash talk, administering ‘heroin’ and encouraging stupid behaviour. You’ll be yelled at, you’ll be asked to dance.  You’re as much a part of this psychotic gang as they are.

When everything starts to disintegrate, you don’t know what to do. She’s crying. He’s dying. He’s in a muumuu and all he wants is a hug. You’re watching, but you’re also feeling. You stand uncomfortable as an audience. You feel like you should be a friend. How can we all be friends?

Room 328 is a poignant elegy for youth. It’s the seemingly inextinguishable energy, the hour of total darkness, the crippling misunderstanding, the confidence or stupidity that breaks through all social convention, the physical, the anarchy and ultimately, the fear of growing old.

This experience is dizzying, mortifying, moving, well executed and worth every penny.

Don’t miss it if you’ve got the balls.