Barraging us with the images that usually signal intellect-flatline, Caden Manson and his Big Art Group throw half-naked chicks, cheesy murder mysteries, and girl-on-girl action into a techno-melee.The plot of “House of No More,” now at Dance Theater Workshop, is a sketchy tale of abductions and hot cabana boys, sloppily stolen from Raymond Chandler. The characters, each two-dimensional but always shedding clothes, are jumpedup pornography. Eventually, “House” becomes more than the sum of its parts: Each layer is completely superficial, but Big Art accrues enough of them that they collage into a kind of depth.

Mr. Manson’s crack video team turns trash into treasure by mixing live footage with taped backdrops, cutting and pasting images on the fly. Referred to as a Real Time Film, “House of No More”takes place in two spaces at once: the stage, covered in green-screen (the neutral backdrop used by special effects artists), and on three large screens which hover at the front of the stage.

Actors deliver their dialogue into video cameras and technicians add backdrops, props, and even scene partners into the projected images. Despite the shiny white laptops, the edits are intentionally low-tech. You see someone holding a piece of wood in front of one of the cameras, which he then “opens” like a door.A curtain is established with a single scrap of cloth held close to the camera lens. The result – a horrendous movie – exists only on the screens, which you dutifully watch even though the real performers are standing right in front of you.

The thriller plot then accelerates into meaningless hysteria.You meet Julia (played by both Heather Litteer and Amy Miley) right in the middle of her breathy pleas for help. Some awful violence has befallen her and her missing daughter. Gary wants to help, though his titillation at Julia’s situation grows increasingly disturbing. Manipulative, narcissistic Julia, flipping her flaxen blonde wig and heaving her bosoms around, can’t even remember if she made the whole thing up.

Soon the Julias begin to multiply – one continues to goad Gary into acts of violence, while her alter-ego seduces a pool-boy (Edward Otto, in an impressive amount of glitter.) “You know how you keep replaying images in your mind?” one Julia complains. Apparently, she has an awful inner landscape. Dreadfully confused car chases, massacres, and orgies proliferate.

As always, the line between clever subversion and exploitation seems whisper-thin. Just because Mr. Manson has his tongue in his cheek, doesn’t mean he hesitates at giving us an eyeful.Yet in all of the sexual and vengeful chaos, the actors never touch. If Julia bats her eyelashes at Gary, she might be standing a full stage away from him. An audience steeped in jump cuts, we accept what we see on screen as real.

The first two acts of “House of No More” set a record for adrenaline rush per second.Unfortunately,the third act has nowhere to go but over the top. By the last part of the hour, the actors are screeched out, and the audience is ready to turn down the volume. But this is punk theater, and punk is better when it’s loud.

Until December 22 (219 W.19th Street, 212-691-6500).