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

At Le Boui-Boui: Camille Lienard brings C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort to our intimate stage

At Le Boui-Boui, we champion shows that feel close, alive, and unmistakably human, and that is exactly what unfolds when Camille Lienard steps into the light with C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort. From the first beats of her set, the room becomes an extension of her restless mind: playful, razor‑observant, and brimming with those tiny, absurd details that keep us awake long after the city is quiet. Our intimate stage puts her right within arm’s reach of the audience, so every eyebrow raise, pause, and aside lands with precision. The show’s rhythm is nimble—bursts of rapid‑fire jokes switch effortlessly into storytelling that breathes—while Le Boui-Boui’s cozy acoustics let her confessional tone and quick changes of mood glow without artifice. Expect the crowd to lean in as she sketches the nocturnal city, the glowing phone screen, and the half‑finished thoughts that turn into very real 3 a.m. problems. It’s not darkness she paints, but the odd, bright universe of the sleepless, and our room is tailor‑made for that intimacy and spark.

Current momentum, new material, and the pulse of a living set

What excites us most at Le Boui-Boui is how Camille Lienard arrives with material that feels freshly minted, road‑tested, and agile. She turns everyday late‑night spirals into comic architecture: recurring motifs build, callback jokes link strangers at different tables, and the audience can feel the writing breathe in real time. In C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort, she threads together sharply drawn bits that function like miniature plays, with titles she delightfully drops into her narration—sketchs such as Café à minuit, Réveil à 3h07, Le voisin au ukulélé, Le groupe WhatsApp de l'immeuble, Notification fantôme, Mode avion, and La to‑do list infinie. These pieces evolve from whisper‑funny observations into vivid, escalating scenarios where objects and apps behave like unruly characters. Her onstage presence is both candid and resilient; she pivots from physical comedy to finely‑tuned punchlines, shaping silences as carefully as laughs. That craft shows the momentum of an artist in motion: new tags appear, transitions sharpen, and the set’s spine—how we live with our thoughts when the city sleeps—gains dimension with each performance. For audiences, the sensation is of witnessing a living show that grows across nights, a rarity we love fostering on our stage.

As a venue, we embrace artists who bring their world to the room and then let the room color that world back, and that is exactly how Camille Lienard drives the night at Le Boui-Boui. Her observational lens is attuned to Lyon’s tempo—steps on the cobbles after last métro, a whispered argument by the river, the familiar glow of screens along a late bus—and she folds those textures into her writing with quicksilver precision. The set design is minimal by choice; the focus is voice, timing, and a performer who knows how to make a small detail explode into a full scene. Between the insomnia‑fueled chain of thoughts and the morning-after consequences, C'est pas la nuit qu'elle dort finds humor where nerves would otherwise fray. For our audience, that means a night of laughter that rings true: the ping of a message you shouldn’t answer, the pillow‑talk negotiation with yourself, the tiny heroism of turning on Mode avion and actually meaning it. We see crowds leaving with the same grin—recognition mixed with relief—and that is why hosting this show at Le Boui-Boui feels so right. It belongs to a tradition we cherish: smart, human comedy performed close enough to catch every flicker, and generous enough to let everyone in on the joke.