The actors of Magnificent Bastard Productions, Ltd. take their craft very seriously—their craft beer, that is. Clad in sparkly pink Converse high-tops and minstrel-like garb, cast leader The Compère (Lewis Ironside) introduces the show by revealing the (impressive) quantity of alcohol consumed by the actors before the performance and dubbing the front rows the “vom zone.” From the start, it is clear that this isn’t going to be your average Shakespeare production; “Shit-faced Shakespeare,” which just announced an extension through June 20 of its run at the Davis Square Theater, is an unconventional interpretation of the beloved classic “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” The performance’s interactive nature and bawdy humor engages the audience from the start and sets the stage for a fast-paced hour that is less a play than a wild, bizarre, and wholly satisfying experience, one that belongs just as much to the audience members as to the actors.

Advance knowledge of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” or any Shakespeare at all, is unnecessary to enjoy the event. A brief review of the plot, while helpful for any audience members interested in more dedicatedly following along, does not necessarily guarantee an understanding of the madcap action taking place onstage. The story serves as more of a backdrop than anything else; the only explanation Helena (Stacey Norris) provides for the irregularities in her slurred soliloquies—such as “to die like an orgasm is dying”—is “if you know Shakespeare it’s fine.” In the middle of a dramatic speech by Lysander (Saul Marron), Helena additionally interjects with a giggly, “What does that mean?”—a sentiment likely echoed by many audience members struggling to follow the play’s plot.

Yet even in the moments when it’s impossible to comprehend her lines, Helena shines in her role as the cast’s main imbiber. As she knocks over props and tries to kiss Hermia (Beth-Louise Priestley), slurring her professions of love and interrupting other actors’ attempts to deliver various, slightly-more-intelligible speeches, Helena entertains spectators and her openly-laughing fellow cast members alike. She continues the interactive style of the show by pulling various audience members onstage for light mockery and telling all who try to interfere with her antics to “fuck off.”

As the show proceeds and blood-alcohol levels rise, the cast’s humor becomes more and more risqué. If audience members were to take a shot every time Helena says penis, every viewer would have to use the free Lyft code included with their ticket to get home. When she points out that Lysander appears a bit too prominently through his tights, for instance, he bashfully replies that “it doth groweth, not showeth.” Proving that the only size that matters is that of the handle of vodka she has consumed, Helena exclaims, “Give me that teeny tiny penis!”—forcing the director to intervene on both actors’ behalf while Helena playfully licks his face. While her antics and crude gestures are consistently amusing and undeniably the highlight of the show, they are occasionally distracting enough that she is played off the stage with an aggressive musical interlude.

The interactive nature of the show ensures that each performance is unique. Warning the wielders of these tools not to “blow their load too early,” The Compère presents members of the front row with a gong and a horn to be banged and blown, respectively, if the actors seem to be sobering up. It’s often hard to tell which moments are staged and which are spontaneous. Helena’s use of the word “cunt” brings Ironside running from behind the curtain to chastise her, leading to the impassioned proclamation, “I’m reclaiming it—then they can’t use it against us! Revolution!” Her outbursts are made no less amusing by the possibility that they are planned—but the show would benefit from a slight reduction in their frequency, should the cast care to implement some semblance of continuity in the plot.

The real hero of the story might be Hermia, who spends almost 20 minutes of the show lying down pretending to be asleep and admirably resisting the urge to laugh at the nonsense occurring above her. Puck (Mac Young) serves as a happy medium between Helena’s carousing and Hermia’s relatively more serious demeanor, flamboyantly delivering eloquent lines while continuing to interact with the crowd and tailoring his performance according to audience response. As a transition between one of his scenes and one of Lysander’s, a minstrel-style “Rather Be” plays in the background, driving home the unapologetically upbeat nature of the show.

When the horn blows as the play nears its close, right before the requisite, if slightly random, sword fight episode, Helena cracks a Sam Adams and sprays her “love juice” on several unlucky-but-uncomplaining victims in the proximity. In lieu of a bow to end the show, the actors fittingly exit by raising a beer to an adoring crowd. A sparklingly irreverent show that would be just as much fun to watch sober as drunk (well, almost), “Shit-faced Shakespeare” is a without a doubt a worthy contribution to the Boston theater scene. This is no stuffy English classroom or overly-pretentious performance: It’s chaotic, it’s crass, it’s fun, and it’s a show that certainly should not be missed.