Camille Lienard - C'est Pas La Nuit Qu'elle Dort

Le Boui-Boui welcomes Camille Lienard in C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort

At Le Boui-Boui, we have a special fondness for shows that feel as intimate as a whispered secret and as electric as a late-night revelation. That is exactly the charge Camille Lienard brings with C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort, a one-woman whirlwind that glides between razor-sharp stand-up, tender confession, and deft physical comedy. From the first minute, she treats our stage like a confessional booth for the sleepless, crafting a shared experience where the audience’s laughter and hush are equally important beats. The piece revels in the rituals of the night—glowing screens, creaking radiators, spiraling thoughts—and turns them into theatrical fuel. In our cozy room, her timing lands with precision, her silences reverberate, and every raised eyebrow or sideways glance finds its target. We love how she sculpts the space: a chair becomes a kitchen counter at 3 a.m., a mic stand transforms into a bedside lamp, and the neon pulse of the city slips in through her stories. It’s contemporary, warm, and mischievously crafted for an audience sitting within arm’s reach.

The artistic momentum behind a new hour of comedy

Camille Lienard arrives at Le Boui-Boui with a creative tailwind. Over recent months, she has been refining new material, tightening transitions, and pushing the show’s narrative arc so that every detour loops back with satisfying payoff. C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort now carries a bouquet of fresh bits that audiences have been quoting on their way out, including the restless carousel of Insomnie à la carte, the techno-haunted satire Notifications fantômes, the clock-staring spiral 3 h 12, and the wry ode to boundaries Mode Avion. What stands out is the musicality of her writing: the punchlines pop, but so do the images—coffee mugs recast as talismans, elevator dings as existential cymbals, the glint of the fridge light as accidental stage lighting. She is playful with persona, too, slipping from the candid diarist to the mock-expert who insists she’s “got sleep all figured out”—before dismantling that confidence with an impeccable callback. As a venue, we cherish artists who test, trim, and polish in front of live audiences, and Camille’s current momentum is the kind that turns a promising set into a signature hour.

For our room, the show’s architecture is a gift. Camille can turn a murmur in the front row into a plot twist, build a hush into a held note, and then snap both with a line that ricochets to the back wall. The scenic minimalism lets her storytelling shine; our lighting rig nudges each chapter—her sprinting anxieties, the hush of a city that never fully sleeps, the human comedy that emerges when the world is quiet and the brain is not. Audiences at Le Boui-Boui will recognize how deftly she sequences her thematic threads: the internal tribunal of Le Débat intérieur, the domestic opera of Machine à laver collective, and the street-level vignette La Voisine en talons form a lattice that supports a clear, cohesive voice. We’ve scheduled this date because we can feel the show hitting that sweet spot where craft meets spontaneity—where every laugh is earned, and every pause feels like a hand extended to the room. If you know our venue, you know we love artists who treat each night as a premiere; that’s the promise of C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort on our stage, and it’s the energy we can’t wait to share with you at Le Boui-Boui.