The Stand Comedy Club, Edinburgh
As the lights dim and the music cuts, and the candles flicker amidst stifled giggles and a drum roll, bare feet emerge from a smooth, sultry velvet suit and slip ostentatiously into the spotlight. A seductive glass of red wine polishes a clichéd French alter ego, as this deliciously obnoxious but seductively smooth persona, moulds an evening of hilarious philosophical flair.
Marcel Lucont enjoys contrasting the parody and crassness of the British with the eloquence of their sophisticated French cousins amidst a delivery knotted in soft, dry charisma and sharp-witted observations. His jokes are well structured and intelligently formed, and his delivery is impeccable. The soft eloquence of his monotone insults roll steadily with expert timing and confident pause, to allow the audience time to erupt before dropping another quick-witted, cynical consideration.
Hilarious observations ‘You rarely meet a gay fascist’ pucker his monologue before he delves headfirst into a sharp assassination of Calvinistic and depressing Scottish conditioning, his disgust of festivals, children and monogamy and a whole array of his personal distastes and dismays, all of course delivered with an air of French superiority. ‘Do you like cake? Yes, sure, like cake, same cake til you die..?!’ One online feminist regrettably took umbrage at his sexism and shameful ‘plugging’ of his (ficticious) autobiography Moi giving credit to his expert and sophisticated ability to immerse himself fully within his outrageous clichéd alter ego.
He peppers his set with colourful and interesting use of projector, narrates outrageously funny, and well composed poetry, and concludes the first part of his show in euphoric, lyrically flared song, keeping his set entertaining and punctuated. Overall his set is impeccably well constructed and intelligently delivered, giving justification for his recent flood of acclaimed awards. A Smooth and delicious French martini of a poet, comedian and philosopher… FOUR STARS
Reviewer : Teri Welsh