2023-12-09 08:00:49
A man, a scoundrel on his head, a cibiche in his beak, a double-breasted suit, a marlou’s appearance, the ghost of a lost lover, waits on a street corner. A woman appears dressed all in black, dress and coat, with a bulky crocodile travel bag which she places on a chair, taking the time to stop on the shadowy path of her past.
The man (Philippe Vincent) has returned to darkness. It will come back intermittently, fleeting passages. All that remains is her, this enigmatic woman, reeling off the ball of her vanished loves, the common thread of an original show, designed and performed by Myriam Boyer. She performs around twenty songs, saying them without singing them, giving them a new, truly incredible depth, revealing a literary density that their melodies had hitherto covered. As on a barrel organ, from which the scores have been removed, the musicless refrains of Cocteau, Boris Vian, Mouloudji, Queneau, Trénet, Carco, Prévert, Aragon, Georges Chelon…
In the small, intimate room of the Théâtre de Poche in Paris, Myriam Boyer reconnects with the very essence of theater. A body and words, nothing but embodied words that shine in the darkness like precious diamonds. The shine of the spotlights captures the eyes, so expressive, of the actress who leads the ball of memories, turns the carousel of memory. In his hoarse voice, weighed down by the weight and trials of a life, laughter mixes with tears.
Vibrant, she touches the borders of amorous madness and despair: moving in her solitary wandering, mischievous at times, scoundrel at others, Myriam Boyer deploys the range of eventful feelings, the vast repertoire of dead loves and vanished lovers. THE “all that was and is no more” that the songs peddle, these popular tunes from which she detaches the texts, stripping them of their ornamentation. And we suddenly feel, thanks to her, how these street poems are not a minor art.
Saint-Saëns, the music of Cinema Paradiso, the trumpet of Miles Davis sometimes accompanied his steps. The chiaroscuro of this room, stripped of all artifice, magnifies the work of this actress, alone on stage, with the play of her appearance as an instrument. A background of melancholy surrounds this cabaret reminiscence that Myriam Boyer colors with a hint of Parisian banter.
Just a memory, by Myriam Boyer. Tuesday to Saturday at 9 p.m., at the Théâtre de Poche (Paris)
#Myriam #Boyer #quay #love