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

Le Boui-Boui welcomes Félix Le Braz with Flashback Generation VHS

At Le Boui-Boui, we love nights when our intimate room turns into a time machine, and Félix Le Braz’s Flashback Generation VHS does exactly that. From the moment the lights drop, we feel our stage morph into a cozy video club of memories, where the grain of tape and the warmth of analog become the springboard for Félix’s quick-fire storytelling. The show celebrates a Franco-90s universe—Saturday-night rentals, Friday comedy blocks, clunky remote controls, and the eternal battle with the blinking 12:00—filtered through Félix’s sharp, contemporary perspective. In our snug Lyon setting, his punchlines and callbacks ricochet off the walls, and the audience’s laughter travels like a rewind whirr: bright, communal, and a touch nostalgic. Whether you grew up with cassettes or discovered them in thrift-store bins, Félix brings you under the hood of that era, riffing on family tapings, schoolyard trading of copies, and the elaborate rituals of “Be Kind, Rewind,” all while keeping the rhythm modern, interactive, and thrillingly alive on our downtown stage.

Félix Le Braz right now: momentum, new bits, and a tour built for clubs

We host Félix at Le Boui-Boui at a vibrant moment in his trajectory. He’s in full touring mode, road-testing and polishing material with the energy of a creator who knows how to read a room and ride a wave. That momentum shows in the way he arranges his set: compact, agile, and bristling with fresh tags. Audiences have been buzzing about the recent bits he’s been crafting around the show’s core idea—sketches he’s nicknamed Remote Control Olympics, The Tape That Won’t Eject, and Friday Night Video Club. They are clever epilogues to a decade that shaped a generation’s humor, and yet they’re presented with a 2020s tempo that keeps our room on its toes. He blends observational comedy with an affectionate, slightly absurdist sensibility, cutting from domestic scenes to pop culture in the space of a breath. We love how he brings the crowd into the build—checking who remembers tracking lines, who learned English from dubbed blockbusters, and who recorded over a family event by accident. That living dialogue is why our venue is a perfect stop for him: the laughs come fast, but so do the nods of recognition.

Flashback Generation VHS plays wonderfully in an intimate space like ours because Félix uses every corner of the room to conjure a collective past. He riffs on die-hard film buffs who memorized catalog numbers, the sacred ritual of removing a rental sticker, and the glorious trashiness of late-night action tapes. Then he sprints into today—streaming queues and algorithm rabbit holes—and you feel the comedic tension crackle as he compares the friction of analog with the endless smoothness of the cloud. The show is rich with set pieces, including playful sequences he tags as The Tracking Dance, Console Wars 1994, and The Myth of the Perfect Rewind, each one stitched together with tight callbacks so the hour feels like a single, satisfying reel. In our room at Le Boui-Boui, where the comedian is just a few steps from the front row, that craft becomes tactile: you can see how Félix trims a premise, tightens a punch, and lands an encore laugh on the rebound. Nostalgia is the bait here, but the hook is pure present-tense stand-up—precise timing, generous crowd work, and a performer who relishes the spark that only a live Lyon audience can strike.