Roland Vouilloz, bizarre magnificent at the Saint-Gervais Theater

Fabrice Melquiot likes people apart. Gifted little girls Suzette or from Average, distraught loversHercules at the beach. Or children revolted by the racism of their parents, in The Separable. Each time, the author gives a singular voice to these inhabited beings. A mixture of sad stupor and playful curiosity.

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Also read: Fabrice Melquiot, writing and life

We find this shade in Land Bizarre, magnificent monologue written by Fabrice Melquiot for Roland Vouilloz and directed by Jean-Yves Ruf at Saint-Gervais Theater, in Geneva, before 2.21 in Lausanne. Forever marked by the death of his little sister, a man waits for a lover, a right-wing woman he met in a supermarket thanks to a box of flageolets which rolled at his feet… Perfect in this role of lost dreamer, Roland Vouilloz by the grace of those prevented.

Die to de-clutter

“Hello! Hey, I haven’t died for a long time. I’d have to die for a bit, before it happens to me. In severe agony, let’s say, not to change. I don’t know how it is for you, but if I don’t die regularly, it encumbers me, I have dismissals, I’m not well. ” Sitting to the left of the stage, legs apart, body gathered, Roland Vouilloz thus begins the soliloquy of this solitary Beckettian who dies in order to be able to exist.

Roland Vouilloz has the popular profile. Accent, body and gaze, he ticks all the bizarre boxes. This man, born to remain a child and whose development was further hampered by the death of his little sister, fatal departure. At school, they called him fat bacon. As an adult, his only company is Madame Machado, a Vietnamese concierge who took a Portuguese name “to have no history”.

The angel Macha Béranger

“It’s pretty Machado,” continues the bizarre. “Me it reminds me of Macha Béranger. At night, I would listen to him on the radio talking to strangers, and I thought to myself who will console me? […] Macha Béranger’s voice has often relieved my thoughtful cock, in too lonely moments of loneliness, ”Roland Vouilloz calmly reports, perfectly serving the crazy farandole of Melquiot’s words.

The bizarre is petrified at the idea of ​​”screwing the regular way” his conquest of the supermarket that calls him Michel and that he calls Mort-certain or Pounou. “I have anxiety all of a sudden which makes me the viscera pale”, he notes after a hiccup of the devils. Between the lovers, a chicken whose white is the stake. Around the lovers, a veil of uncertainty like the tulle behind which the actor appears at the start of the show.

A boat taking on water

Impossible to disentangle the true from the false. The story follows its course and Pounou rings the doorbell, but the door is undoubtedly mental, like everything that this castaway tells, stranded in his thoughts. The only episode that seems irrefutable is the death of the little sister, repeated three times. A death, the basis of a life that is now wobbly.

The bizarre jolts like a boat taking on water. And its holes, its voids refer of course to our cleverly masked absurdities. This is where the character is Beckettian. In his soliloquy which passes from immortal jellyfish to the smell of hot croissants, it is all the vanity of our lives that parades.

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But Melquiot has tenderness for this humanity in desperate search of a role to play. Hence his hints of humor, which are, for him, traits of love. And, led to the breath by Jean-Yves Ruf who pays great attention to inner movements, Roland Vouilloz restores this fragility with beautiful humility. Basically, existing is weird for everyone, isn’t it?


The bizarre, Saint-Gervais Theater, Geneva, until January 16. Theater 2.21, Lausanne, from January 25 to 30.

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