Deliciously absurd, delicately crazy, poetically kitsch, it is hard to find the right words to describe Léopoldine HH's show!
The singer and her two acolytes subtly slip from sequined costumes to tight leotards, from synthesizer to ukulele, from Antonin Artaud to France Gall, from electro to Alsatian rhymes, so much so that at the end, no one is surprised to see a giant inflatable pretzel pass by among the spectators singing "Zozo Lala"… Everything. Is. Normal.
And it's hard to say whether the enthusiastic encores are totally improvised or perfectly prepared! This is the intelligence and strength of these atypical artists, who flirt with (self-)mockery without ever falling into caricature, and imperceptibly draw the astonished audience into their tragi-comic world…
With the crouching girl, in turn dreamy, rebellious or swaying in a frenzied hula-hoop, and the boys who break their backs for attempting the guitar solo standing on the theatre seats "like the grown-ups", one finds one's childish soul, undoubtedly because they have managed to preserve their own.
So when Léopoldine confesses as she leaves the stage, "The theatre is magnificent, the sound was incredible, something special happened", we tell ourselves that we haven't been dreaming.