As we arrive for the opening night of Marcel Lucont’s latest Comedy Festival show, we are given a questionnaire to fill out. On it we are asked to write down our worst experiences regarding work, love and travelling overseas. These are collected and form the basis of the Whine List for which the show is named.

Lucont, a creation of stand-up comedian Alexis Dubus, is a character who has enjoyed a great deal of success in recent years. He represents the stereotypical Frenchman: arrogant, sarcastic and smug. His delivery is deadpan and dry to the point that at times it feels like the audience is struggling to pick up on some of the laughs inherent in his turns of phrase. He is measured in his approach, with an impressive sense of comic timing which speaks volumes to his vast experience in the role. 

Having audience responses form the basis for the show could be seen as a risky move. Luckily on this opening night at the San Fran, there are more than enough interesting answers provided for Lucont to riff off. The audience members Lucont engages with to discover more about their answers provide a great deal of humour, and it is impressive how no matter what the discussion entails, a laugh can almost always be found.

These audience-based segments are split up by ramblings of poetry excerpts from Lucont’s myriad works. Towards the end of the hour we are shown a video clip about the perils of a visit to the British seaside. It is funny, but feels misplaced for a New Zealand audience and it fails to resonate with a section of the room.

As an interactive improvisation, Marcel Lucont’s Whine List demonstrates a performer utterly at ease with his character and able to construct comedy from whatever his audience throws at him. Whilst the pacing sometimes deteriorates as a result of too much interaction with certain audience members, Lucont is a unique and fascinating character to spend some time with. 

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An appropriately narcissistic photomontage of Marcel Lucont posing in various locations around the world either smoking, drinking red wine, or both, precedes the evening’s entertainment.  A suspiciously similar sounding French voice introduces ‘the man who put the ‘nnnggg’ into long weekends’ and Lucont saunters on in his trademark chic suit and bare feet with a classically derisive air.

With a sensual husky whisper he informs us he’s been away two years visiting other festivals (‘yes, there ‘ave been othairs, get over it’).  Smugly indicating that he gets to drink wine out of actual glass, rather than the tacky plastic vessels forced on the paying crowd, he is deeply unimpressed with the table-seated Monday night Anzac Day crowd’s apathetic response to his attempt to lead a toast.

Lucont is as much an expert in playing the stereotype of his ethnicity in a foreign environment as the Flight of the Conchords were in their New York series – a thought that strikes me as I notice he physically resembles a virtual love-child of Jermaine and Bret.  Dripping with ennui, his unapologetic arrogance and condescending lassitude is tempered by an indefinable charm and impeccable comic timing.

The upshot of this gig is that pre-show the audience are given forms on which to share their favourite ‘whines’ on the topic of work, love and travel respectively.  Then, in between sharing excerpts from his autobiography ‘Moi’ and other poetic je ne sais quoi, he addresses a handful of samples from each category, locating their authors to get further details.

The sharpness of Lucont’s repartee is equally if not more impressive than his masterful scripted shtick.  When IT workers whose contracts include the comedyfest itself admit they didn’t pay for their tickets, he advises them to ‘expect a virus very soon’.  His ripostes to other punters’ anecdotes about horse-trailer coitus and diminutive male genitals are similarly as spot-on as they are quick. 

Sometimes his work seems done for him – the absence of the writer of a whine about being drunk, lost and alone in London draws the inevitable observation that he is clearly still lost and alone.  Obvious perhaps, and probably not so hilarious as I’ve written it but at least half of Lucont’s considerable humour is his pure attitude, unapologetically typifying as it does the local perception of arrogant French narcissism.

Concluding with a short disdainful self-produced travelogue of the depressingly bleak British seaside which he’s experienced for us ‘so that you don’t ‘ave to’, a prize is awarded to the ‘whiner’ whom he deems the most wretched.  The prize being? – a CD of his songs and sex poetry of course; I daresay he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever wanting for anything else.

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Marcel Lucont is no stranger to our shores, having been a regular face at the New Zealand International Comedy Festival for a number of years. While usually performing a highly rehearsed and perfected set filled with witty anecdotes, observations and, of course, poetry, this year’s show subtitled the ‘Whine List’ sees him step into improvised territory, endeavouring to tackle the everyday irks and qualms of the audience. As such, much of the comedy is created live on the spot, with Lucont talking to members of the audience who respond to his simple questions.

While improvisational comedy is hard to master, Lucont manages to make most of it look effortless, with the majority of jokes hitting their mark. Inevitably, some fall flatter but then how else would we know it was improvised? The usual staples of Lucont’s performances are included, albeit in smaller doses, with most of the bigger laughs reserved for his video interludes and recitations.

Overall, this show feels more hit-or-miss than a usual Lucont affair – although some of this can probably be put down to a typically reserved, Monday-night Kiwi audience. It has moments of genius, but also moments that feel like they need a bigger punchline. That being said, a night in Marcel’s company is never dull and I left the Comedy Chamber satisfied.  

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