7 Sins

From all over the world, major stars of stage and screen are converging on Edinburgh to bare all in full autobiographical detail. The plastic face of Joan Rivers has been plastered across the pages of countless magazines; former Bond girl and international pin-up Britt Eckland is here to spill the beans on life with Peter Sellars, while Scotland’s favourite son, Sean Connery appears at the Edinburgh Book Festival to launch his autobiography, explaining how he went from milkman to world-famous superstar.

And then, bringing up the rear, is James Judd.

Anyone?

No?

Regardless of a complete lack of fame, interest or notoriety, Judd has decided that his ego deserves stroking for a full hour of self-indulgent navel-gazing. Prancing onto stage, as camp as Christmas and hamming it up to his audience of twelve, Judd declares, “This show is all about my favourite topic. Me!” to general indifference.

Whereas Rivers was the finest female comedian of her own and two other generations, Judd got to the semi-final of a fifth-grade book review competition. While Eckland was among the first international sex symbols, Judd got a job at a telecom company and didn’t really do anything. Connery travelled the world as James Bond. Judd went to China as an incompetent technology reporter.

The main flaw in this show, as you may have guessed, is that Judd hasn’t realised that he is thoroughly uninteresting. No matter how loudly he screams or how much he waffles on, Judd has nothing under his belt that merits an hour of unconditional indulgence.

This is a show that lacks anything in terms of warmth, insight or humour. In fact, there are three words that perfectly summarise this show. Waste. Of. Time.