Félix Le Braz - Flashback - Génération Vhs - Le Boui Boui Lyon

Le Boui-Boui welcomes Félix Le Braz

At Le Boui-Boui, we relish shows that turn our intimate Lyon room into a shared memory bank, and Félix Le Braz’s Flashback génération VHS does exactly that. From the moment he steps on our stage, the evening becomes a playful rewind through video-club aisles, living-room sofas, and blocky remote controls with too many buttons. The show’s energy fits our space perfectly: close-up, quick-witted, and irresistibly interactive. Félix builds a rapport that thrives in a venue like ours, where every glance, sound effect, and split-second silence can be felt. The whirr of a tape, the click of an eject flap, the fuzzy “snow” of tracking gone wrong—he mines these sensory cues for comedy that is both personal and universal. Without needing props beyond voice and body, he conjures the era’s textures and rituals, inviting our audience to laugh at the quirks of technology and the ways families used it: recording over football games by accident, hoarding blank cassettes, panic-rewinding before returning a rental, and the weekly debate about which tape deserved the precious “Do Not Touch” label.

Flashback génération VHS at Le Boui-Boui

As a stand-up storyteller, Félix Le Braz is in full creative momentum, touring Flashback génération VHS across the country while sharpening new material in clubs like ours. Recently, his sets have crystallized into punchy, named bits that fans love to quote—he pivots from observational nostalgia to heightened characters with the rhythm of a seasoned comic. On our stage, you can expect tightly honed segments such as “Remote Control Olympics,” where he assigns Olympic status to the family sprint for the zapper; “The Sacred Videoclub Card,” a playful ode to the laminated pass that conferred weekend power; and “Tracking Wheel Zen,” a mock-meditation on the delicate art of clearing those ghostly lines mid-movie. His closer “Be Kind, Rewind (Or Else)” teases out the quiet terror of the return counter and the urban legends of late fees. These recent sketches showcase a comic who cares about structure: set-ups that double back, callbacks that reward attention, and crowd exchanges that feel bespoke to the night. We’ve watched audiences at Le Boui-Boui lean in, recognize themselves, and then burst into laughter when Félix flips a memory on its head—bringing the past right up to the present.

Flashback génération VHS is more than a catalogue of retro references; it’s a live-proof that nostalgia works best when it’s specific and performed with heart. In our room, Félix animates a full cast without ever leaving the mic stand: the meticulous video-club clerk, the parent who treats the magnétoscope like sacred machinery, the sibling who swears the tape was at the right place, and the cousin who recorded late-night TV with the sound too low. He braids these voices into a narrative that feels like a home-movie marathon: suburban Saturdays, ad jingles lodged forever in the brain, the ritual of blowing dust from a cassette, the precise thrill of a rental with a pristine sleeve. Our acoustics catch his beat-perfect beatboxing of tape mechanics and the breathy hush he uses before a punch lands. And because Le Boui-Boui’s audience sits within arm’s reach, the crowd becomes a co-author—volunteers weigh in on their favorite cartoons, confess to fast-forward crimes, and compete over who remembers the first SCART cable or the last working rewinder. Félix rides those spontaneous moments with ease, folding them back into the show’s throughline and proving that Flashback génération VHS is a living, breathing comedy time-capsule tailor-made for a room like ours in Lyon.