When one of four powerful, masculine performers questions why gay sex is so frequently associated with trauma, it is hard to avoid the conclusion that Party Scene, ultimately, follows the same line that they are excoriating. Dancers in darkness; rough, heaving choreography; interludes with bodies either in extremis or wasted and prone: Party Scene poses as hedonistic abandon, even resistance, but rapidly degenerates into anxious phone calls and an urgent quest to find out what exactly happened in the night.

A few of the monologues celebrate pleasure and rejection of the heterosexual morality of repression, while the music’s energy allied to this ensemble’s grooves speak of wild nights of physical joy. Yet the message remains that drugs and sex can lead to destruction. Each of the four performers establish distinctive personalities: whether naïve or knowing, strident or shrinking, they pursue their desire and flee their demons. It is a harsh mixture, with the pounding club beats both bringing them together and containing them in personal, alienated patterns where words cannot breach the rhythm’s uniformity.

Refusing to flinch, embracing the dangers, ignoring the wounded: the production marches to its inevitable bleak finale, the stage lights looming like approaching truck headlights. Party Scene is raw and heady: the montage of bodies having sex while still reading their phones has a chilling resonance for those who simultaneously preen and fail to connect. Yet the joy of vigorous movement and power of unashamed passion rides Party Scene towards oblivion. 

Party Scene, Summerhall, until 27 August, 5.35pm.