Yvain Dans Pas Courageux - Le Boui-boui, Lyon

Le Boui-Boui welcomes Yvain dans pas courageux

At Le Boui-Boui in the heart of Lyon, we love nothing more than giving sharp new voices the space to light up a room, and that is exactly what happens when Yvain brings pas courageux to our stage. From the first beat, his take on fear, hesitation, and the tiny acts of bravery we dodge every day feels tailor-made for our intimate room. The show embraces all the nervous laughter of life—missed trains, awkward elevator rides, that text you shouldn’t have sent—filtering it through the quicksilver reflexes of a stand-up who thrives on proximity. In our snug setting, his timing and eye contact work like a chain reaction; the punchlines move in waves, ricocheting off the brick walls and returning as a chorus of giggles and bursts of applause. He stitches together personal snapshots and crowd banter with deft callbacks, letting running gags resurface at just the right moment. Expect to hear the audience trade glances during bits like “Plan B permanent,” “Le frigo après minuit,” and “Mon téléphone, mon bouclier,” where Yvain maps out the modern rituals of self-preservation with a mischievous grin and a storyteller’s patience.

Current artistic momentum and the shape of the evening

As a house that curates contemporary comedy nightly, we’ve watched Yvain’s recent momentum with real excitement. pas courageux has grown into a living organism—tight, fast, and playful—because he keeps testing and refreshing it in clubs, crafting crisp edges around new premises and letting the room’s energy guide the rhythm. His recent short-form bits have sharpened the show’s spine, including “Héros du canapé,” a deceptively laid-back meditation on comfort zones; “Courage administratif,” a rallying cry for anyone who has ever feared a form; and “Permis de paniquer,” which turns a minor anxiety into a full cinematic blockbuster. Fans who follow his online clips will recognize crowd favorites such as “Rater son footing” and “La sonnette d’immeuble,” sketches that transform trivial events into mini-epics. On our stage, these ideas bloom with extra texture: little pauses that say as much as the punchlines, surprise sound effects from the room, the glimmer of recognition when a single look lands with a whole row. We’ve also seen him play with lighter, more physical beats—half-mime, half-stand-up—where a prop or a chair becomes a co-conspirator. The result is a rolling conversation about fear that never feels heavy, because the comedy keeps exploding the tension before it settles.

Le Boui-Boui’s close quarters are the perfect amplifier for Yvain’s instincts; we’re built for the kind of show that breathes with the audience, and pas courageux does just that. Our team loves how he designs transitions so the room never drops: a self-deprecating aside glides into a quick exchange with the first rows, then tumbles into a fully formed bit like “Sortir de chez soi,” where a simple step over the threshold becomes an odyssey. He revels in the micro-gestures of daily life—opening the fridge for the fifth time, dodging a neighbor in the hallway, negotiating with alarms—and uses them to draw a playful map of how rarely we feel like heroes. In our venue, those details are magnified; every shrug and raised eyebrow reads clearly, and the laughter folds back into the performance, nudging him to stretch a moment or cut fast to the chase. What we’re hearing night after night are the hallmarks of a comic in strong form: confident structure; mischievous detours; and crystal-clear tags that spike the laugh at just the right instant. Whether he’s teasing a new segment like “Mode Avion sentimental” or revisiting a refined favorite such as “Héros du canapé,” Yvain keeps the crowd leaning forward, ready to recognize themselves and laugh about it. That’s the spirit we strive to cultivate at Le Boui-Boui—live, immediate, and impossible to reproduce anywhere else.