“Awkward”. “Weirdo”. “Dweeb”. “Git.” All words that Dylan, the autistic protagonist of this one-man play, uses to describe himself – or at least, to describe how others see him. Perhaps there’s an element of self-loathing there, but it’s also a characteristically unfiltered statement of an uncomfortable reality. And there’s a deeper reality underpinning the monologue, one that feels almost contrarian at this neurodiversity-positive Fringe: that while Dylan’s autism might sometimes be a superpower, it more often feels like his personal Kryptonite.

We get a sense of that friction early on, when he grows overwhelmed by background noise and yells at the tech box – it’s scripted, of course, but it’s jarring all the same. It comes through next in physical, twisted anxiety as the childhood Dylan tries to learn the art of conversation, and the emotional tragedy of his failure as an adult to recognise a conventional white lie. He talks most poignantly, and for me most revealingly, when he explains that he’s always trying to be kind; it’s an effort that leads so some blunders, and leaves him dangerously open to manipulation too.

But there’s humour there as well, in the caricatures of teachers, or the rather fine imitation of a certain tousle-haired politician from the covid age. Dylan’s played by Joe Dennis, who is himself autistic, and there’s a powerful and effective physicality to his performance: we see the nervous energy as Dylan struggles to connect, and the joyful self-acceptance of his “cringe-worthy” dancing (in truth far better than any shapes I’ve ever had the courage to throw). Black-and-white sketches cover the edge of the stage, and Dylan’s art pad proves a versatile prop, summoning characters with a drawing of a face or offering the necessary context to move the story on.

So, as a call for compassion Tides packs some punch… but it’s harder to pin down what it’s asking us to do. When Dylan tells other characters about his autism, he finds they understand him better and generally treat him well – yet it’s also clear that the demand to define himself for others causes him great pain. On a practical level there’s a tension there, which the script could do more to explore; and until it does, there’s at least a risk that we’ll take a completely unintended message away.

Ultimately though, this isn’t meant as an instruction manual on how to interact with the autistic people in your life. As well as playing Dylan, Dennis wrote the script – and his true objective is revealed in the last few moments, in a quietly affecting conclusion that masterfully draws the diverging threads together once more. This is a bittersweet show, filled with humour and candour, and compellingly performed. See it if you can.