Our review of Les Galets: a piece that leaves no stone unturned

Is it because the PJPP theater collective is of Norman origin that the show begins with the American national anthem sung a cappella? Tribute to the Landing which took place, in part, on our pebble beaches? These pebbles, which give the title to the show, are one of the points of contention between the characters.

A woman suddenly says in good faith: “We had a picnic on Tilleuls beach last weekend. How beautiful is this beach with these little pebbles…” His companion retorts: “What do you mean, these little pebbles? They're not small! » “Yes, they are uniformly small (…) Smaller than on the beach next door,” replies the woman.

The conversation gets heated. Everyone sticks to their positions. The couple argue. The man finally blurted out, beside himself: “But after all, the ocean is not going to sort the pebbles! » Changes in “scenes” are indicated by a sort of “gong” which looks a bit like the sound of the silencers, plop, in Les Tontons flingueurs.

For an hour, on the Atelier stage - where ten chairs serve as a backdrop - four actors (Claire Laureau, Nicolas Chaigneau, Julien Athonady and Marie Rual) perform sketches and elegant choreographies. We move happily from cock to donkey, from an absurd situation to often hilarious monologues or snippets of dialogue. Nonsense is often invoked. Between Jacques Tati (the silent sequence of a ping-pong game) and the Deschiens. So this argument about the difference between a soup plate and a soup plate. One of the most hilarious sequences: the one where a razor detains his guests with insipid stories.

These Galets au Tilleul are smaller than in Le Havre is a show about the art of speaking to say nothing. There is this man who, with his back to the audience, tries to explain his phobia of rats. He stutters, squirms. Or this couple who recount a scooter breakdown during their vacation in Greece, an anecdote that we don't care about. It's sad, it's joyful. As for this slow scene, on I love girls by Jacques Dutronc, it proves to us that we are never as alone as when there are two of us. All these little things in life, these tiny fragments of everyday life which take on unsuspected proportions are dizzying.

These four touching and ridiculous characters are a reflection of our miserable condition. Are we that ridiculous? Are our conversations so pathetic? Are we so hollow, we who speak of rain and good weather to fill time and empty space? This troupe provokes tornadoes of laughter and confused smiles. The staging, which would be that of a playful ballet, gives wings to stupidity. There would almost be some Bouvard et Pécuchet in these Norman “pebbles”.

The pebbles at Tilleul are smaller than in Le Havre, at the Théâtre de l'Atelier (Paris 18th), until March 10. Such. : 01 46 06 49 24.