I just went to one of the weirdest plays I’ve ever seen. You should see it, too.

I went to see a play about life after the apocalypse on a day when the world was literally on fire.

The drive to the Round House Theatre in Bethesda last weekend was a hazy one, the product of Canadian wildfire smoke that left more than a dozen states, including Maryland, subject to unsafe air quality. As I walked to the theater, some fellow audience members donned N95 masks to be safe, an eerie flashback to pandemic times.

Then, onstage, came a story about what happens to people who live through unprecedented times — and what the hell they’re supposed to do in the aftermath.

“Adrift: A Medieval Wayward Folly,” an 85-minute play originally produced by Baltimore’s Happenstance Theater and running at the Round House through Aug. 2, tells the story of five fools in the Middle Ages who board a ship to a new life after a fiery apocalypse destroys the lives they once knew.

“What do we do now?” they repeatedly wonder as they find themselves in increasingly odd situations with unknowable outcomes.

It was so weird. And also one of the favorite shows I’ve seen so far this year.

A minimalist set sparks creativity, as the fools row themselves in a boat symbolized by a singular wooden hoop that they all squeeze into. It’s the Monty Python rule of comedy: Sometimes the funniest gag is the simplest.

Back on land and figuring out how to live in a postapocalyptic landscape, they weave through a delightfully odd tale of jesters and doctors, demons that won’t get off their backs and witches who make the audience’s troubles disappear, old worlds burning and new chickens hatching. And a giant dancing egg and strawberry duo?

Don’t be fooled by the promotional materials that explain how the show was partially inspired by 14th- and 15th-century paintings and tarot archetypes. It’s rooted in intellectualism but remains delightfully stupid, even in its most poignant and emotional moments. The five actors use puppets, magic tricks, live instruments and sound effects made with their mouths. At one point, a jester plays a flute that he pulled out of a two-dimensional cardboard cutout of a butt.

It’s strange and smart, but never pretentious — even the peasants in the audience can understand the meaning behind all of the oddities. And they might even get to participate in the show during a Q&A improv scene with an all-knowing oracle. (The show I attended featured existential answers to audience questions about D.C.’s Reflecting Pool and AI’s enduring impact on humanity.)

And then, there was that question again: “What do we do now?” When you’re living through the dark ages, how do you not only survive, but keep living?

“Be not afraid,” the oracle advises. Easier said by an all-knowing god than done.

As the show moves through a series of seemingly unrelated vignettes, it’s not always clear what the overall narrative is trying to say. But its ending, which I won’t spoil, finally makes it clear: Life is, in fact, a series of moments that you don’t always get to make sense of when they’re happening. That’s sort of the beauty of it all.

A worse version of this show might be the kind of pseudo-intellectual black box theater that “Saturday Night Live” likes to poke fun at. Instead, it remains accessible yet odd and original enough to be memorable.

If you find yourself a skeptic, as I was at the beginning of the show, remind yourself to embrace the fact that things will unfold the way they’re going to unfold. Just try not to get so caught up in the horrors and uncertainty that you forget to enjoy the weird, wild journey that remains.