Something of a sideways step this year for Rob Auton, as he channels his existential musings and poetic, philosophical thoughts into his first narrative piece. Recounting the tale of a man called Can, who becomes the world's leading motivational speaker, the three-act structure affords the Yorkshireman clarity of purpose, a strong vehicle for channelling the feelgood feelings of optimism and humanity that have always shone in his best live work.

An example of nominative determinism in action, the affirmative Can's origin story is an unsophisticated one. Struck by the sight of a man doing litter picking all wrong, he hatches a simplistic plan to change the world. Conveniently overlooking the impact on labour markets and the environment of mass mail order deliveries, he starts to put positive change into the universe, encouraging his loved ones to follow their dreams, leaving him behind in the process.

Moving online to spread his message, he becomes an inspirational figure for children, and through them, their parents. Soon he's being sought out by big business and ultimately, the squabbling leaders of nations, who gather at a Davos-style summit to hear his wisdom. With Can's open, beatific vibe and Auton's long, flowing hair, beard and fondness for a gnomic utterance, the Messianic aura is unmistakable.

Auton jumps out of the story at points but his perspective is only marginally more limited than Can's. He struggles to describe life on Earth to inquisitive aliens because he's overwhelmed by the variety and majesty of it, the simple and inexplicable pleasures of existence.

Unlike Can, who is pure positivity until he isn't, Auton can feel the potential dodginess in someone being slightly too keen on the tactile touch of a pet. But when he proclaims that he likes people and likes to feel part of something bigger, you absolutely believe him.

More cynical and seasoned character acts might invoke the dangers of cults and charismatic leaders. But Can is unimpeachable, a force of good and nature, his zeal only beginning to falter as he runs out of worlds to conquer and his selflessness gnaws away at him, occasionally reminding him of a girl in a South American rainforest.

The lack of plot complexity is both a positive and a negative, as Can is a beacon of Pollyannaish, can-do spirit that has you looking benignly on your fellow theatregoers in these Dark Times beyond the venue. The innocent ways that Auton can find joy in phenomena you've taken for granted your entire life is also inspiring and consistently, whimsically funny.

Still, it's a foundation built on sand that won't survive first contact with reality. Escapism and inspiration is all very well. But you're left scratching your head as to Auton's deeper motivations, Can's impassioned plea for the destruction of death-dealing weapons notwithstanding. Maybe just an hour's respite from a world of war and famine is enough.