Ah, ze French. Love ’em or hate ’em, it don’t matter much really — either way they’ll take it with a nonchalant shrug and an infuriating “Ça m’est egal.” They don’t need us; they’ve got hundreds of years of artistic excellence, philosophical thought and general cultural excellence on their side. Oh, and there’s that accent.
Monsieur Lucont’s show this year plays heavily off this perception of the proud, haughty Frenchman. He sits down on an antique canapé, glass of red in his hand, and tells us why he’s a better lover than us. And that we’d only have to ask our wife about what she did last night to prove it. He tells us why we ‘Strayans are so uncultured with little pithy anecdotes and jokelets. He’s a scoundrel, a rapscallion, a philanderer, and he’s irrestible.
The show would get a bit stale if it were just Lucont insulting us for an hour, though, and he keeps it interesting with little ditties and dirty poetry, both showing a cheeky flair for the English language. (A lot of the heavy accent and Franglicisms are overstated for our amusement.) Overall, it’s a fun show that riffs off Australians’ fascination with French culture, carried by Lucont’s charisma and panache. Just don’t get hit by the flying croissant.
BY MORGAN RICHARDS
