The lights go out, and out of the darkness steps Henry, who has come on a mission to tell us something we don't already know. He is a youngish man, snappily dressed and clearly very nervous at first. Preparation is, he knows, the mortal enemy of spontaneity, but he tries a few rehearsed jokes first. They don't work, and he is thrown out of his stride.

There's always personal history to fall back on, so he tells us something about his parents, an army man and a nurse, but goes into a curious vocal tic whenever he uses the words father and mother. He was an only child, which didn't please his sister, who was really his mother; Henry's losing it here, but who wants to talk about that? On he struggles, to and through young manhood, by which time he has long known that he is gay; but who wants to . . .?

There are things he has succeeded at, and of course other things. He wrote a book about the Flood, featuring Noah, another bastard of a father, tic. Later on, and he has a lover with whom he shares an apartment and quarrels bitterly. He enters a final phase of downbeat disillusion, leading to the thing we don't know; what happens after death. Henry finally squares his circle.

Canadian Daniel MacIvor plays Henry with an assured technique that elevates neurotic hysteria to new heights. For perhaps half the 75 minutes of his performance, he comes across as a stand-up comic with an original stance, physical and vocal. But as the mood of the piece (created by himself and his director, Daniel Brooks) darkens, the laughter is harsher, like the crackling of thorns under a pot.

For a surreal excursion into creative and sophisticated comedy, take note that Henry's in town.