David Reed: Shamblehouse

On a micro scale, Penny Dreadful David Reed's first solo show follows the same trajectory as many solo careers: it starts brightly, fades into mediocrity, and then ends abruptly. John Lennon would wryly approve.

Having graced the Fringe since 2006 with his Victoriana-inclined chums, Reed has left the security of the Dreadfuls’ nest and struck out on his own. Fittingly, his gaggle of characters are all loners too: the child who loves space Vikings, the penniless Alan Bennett-style antique dealer, the needy South African pilot stranded in an airport, and the worst ghost in the world.

But it quickly becomes apparent that they would benefit from other characters to bounce off. Their isolation is their point, but also their undoing. Too many fail to ignite. They remain all too lonely on stage, armed only with well-crafted but strangely cold soliloquies.

But this being Reed, it is always impeccably acted. His opening salvo—playing a suave Mexican version of Sean Connery who peddles a fine line in snake-oil wisdom—sparkles. As does an early sketch involving a phone conversation with Morgan Freeman and Al Pacino, in which Reed gently needles his gift for impressions.

And then it ends all too quickly. It builds to a crescendo that fails to arrive. The deathly aftertaste of "is that it?" is on several audience members’ lips as they file out.

It might be time to get the band back together.