The arrogance with which Marcel Lucont conducts himself is a hilarious spoof on the self-righteous, libertine Frenchman stereotype, and tonight's audience laps it up. Swanning about the stage with dishevelled hair, suit, skivvy and no shoes, Lucont alludes to his sexual prowess, sips wine, and regales the crowd (in a reclined position, no less) with excerpts from his unfinished autobiography. His interactions with audience members reveal a quick wit and acid tongue – his conceited attitude as uproarious as it is charming – and his derision of the British (as well as the country he is currently visiting) has the crowd in fits.
The Tuxedo Cat to 20 April
