Lawrence Dodd @ Gilded Balloon Teviot

“This is all there is,” says Lawrence Dodd. Like the show’s title, it’s a sentiment that can be taken in a couple of ways: a barb pointed at himself for a show built around not all that much written material. Or a more cosmic, hands-reaching-out reminder of what we’re all doing here.

This Can’t Be It is a show that lives in that tension, between the grand and the mundane; between the infinite possibilities of the stage and what one performer can really achieve in an hour. It’s a tension Dodd makes clear from the get-go: “This is the type of show that’s going to make you feel something you’ve never felt before,” he declares, standing on a chair in the middle of the audience in the little shorts and ripped shirt of a castaway rugby teacher.

By that point, he’s already greeted the audience in the hallway, offered several shoulder massages, and clambered throughout the audience. Before the whole thing’s over, there will also be rapping, a guided meditation, plenty of up-close contact time with the performer, and invitations to link hands and sway. That’s a list that will make some potential audience members – including, in the interests of candour, this reviewer – wince and pucker. Others will be energized. For the latter camp: buy your ticket now. For the former: go carefully, but there might be something in here for you too.

Whichever camp you’re in, Dodd’s ardour as a performer is undeniable. It’s an improvised hour: there are beats, of course, to fall back on, but in every second, Dodd’s keen concentration on attempting to pull the performance as far as possible from the rules of the game is palpable. As he does so, he’s often funny, always exciting and (to repeat a gentle warning) a little scary for some, too.

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Lawrence Dodd: This Can't Be It, Gilded Balloon Teviot (Nook), until 30 Aug (not 19), 8.40pm, £10.50-£13.50