IThey are called Nezir, Apolline, Aïssatou and Bling and you won’t soon forget their names. They are the heroes of the highly anticipated series Funny, presented at the opening of the Series Mania festival – which begins on March 18 – and also available from today on Netflix. After the fabulous fate ofTen percentin France and abroad (several remakes have already been announced), superstar screenwriter Fanny Herrero is tackling another artistic “family”. Farewell, the cinema with its capricious stars, good evening, the stand up comedy and his humble valve soloists. Accompanied by her co-author Hervé Lassïnce, the showrunner invites us to take a seat at the Funny, a fictitious Parisian club where budding comedians and confirmed talents rub shoulders. Ironically, the one who was courted by Netflix has created characters accustomed to the monster stage fright that must invade her at this very moment, the series being broadcast simultaneously in 190 countries. Fortunately, it’s far from a flop. The merit goes to the actors, dazzling with naturalness and sensitivity: Younès Bouci, Elsa Guedj, Mariama Gueye and Jean Siuen. We bet the ASK agents are biting their fingers not to have unearthed them first?
True to its title, this set of six episodes is hilarious, but not only! The strength of Funny, it is first of all his inspiring curiosity. While she didn’t know much about it, Fanny Herrero fell in love with the art of stand-up after having dinner with Gad Elmaleh. Bingo: her next “arena” has been found (the name she gives to the universe in which her series take place). The creator allows herself a period of immersion in comedy clubs, from the most shabby to the most prestigious, and befriends several comedians whom she integrates into her writers’ room (Shirley Souagnon in the lead). The result is neat, honest and refreshing. Unlike other recent works with which Funny shares a fascination for the exhibition of intimacy on stage (The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Young and golri), the story here takes an in-depth look at the process of writing and running a show. The comedians are presented as craftsmen who knead good words rather than illusionists who make people laugh ex nihilo. Each episode also addresses the difficulties that arise when humor becomes marketable: lack of inspiration, plagiarism, self-censorship or existential crisis. Identification with this band of comedians, sometimes competitors, sometimes comrades, is all the more successful.
Although they come from very different socio-economic backgrounds and have reached various degrees on the notoriety scale, our four heroes are evenly matched when it comes to the unpredictability of the stand-upper career. Nezir, who has yet to break through, hopes one day to make a living from his art. In the meantime, he works as a delivery man between two shows and practices the “mouthing” of his texts – modifying the tempo here, a fall there – when he crosses Paris by bike, covered with his isothermal bag. The beginner Apolline, she turned to humor to emancipate herself from the bourgeois shackles that oppress her. When she asks about the ideal number of passages in front of the public before feeling comfortable, Nezir answers her, half mentor half hazer: “at least 300 times”… Funny thus redefines the parameters of rehearsal comedy, by involving the spectator. If we feel the same pride as Apolline at the magical moment when she finally masters her riding sketch, it’s because we accompanied her at every stage of her learning, including in the bed where she found the first bit of inspiration (while riding her lover!).
The advantage of Funny : the revelation of actors who burst the screen
Laughter is therefore a permanent occupation. As the producer played by Marc Riso reminds us in Aïssatou, the third comedian that we follow in Funny : “it takes a long time to be known overnight”. For this overwhelmed mother, who finally tastes success when an excerpt from her slightly daring show caused a sensation on the Internet, the victory is bittersweet. Not only does her pro/personal balance threaten to collapse, but Aïssa is torn between the desire to be popular and her integrity as a black feminist woman (should we see the origin of the English title of the series, standing-up, or “hold on”?). The men around her, her friend Nezir included, advise her to keep a low profile. This screenplay choice is all the more disappointing as it reflects the dilemma faced by Fanny Herrero, under contract with Netflix: can we please an audience as large as that of Lupine without sacrificing the asperities specific to the world of stand-up? The showrunner gets away with a pirouette way “the show must go on”. This gives rise, of course, to one of the most moving scenes of the series, but for the corrosive side, it will be necessary to turn instead to The best version of myself.
The last pillar of Funny is called Bling, the boss of the club at the heart of the plot. Faced with the dizziness of the blank page, this veteran comic tries to find his muse by abusing illicit substances and the indulgence of his loved ones. He forgets in passing the fundamental rule in this ruthless environment: “work and keep working” – to quote the tirade of the legendary Lenny Bruce which closes the fourth season of Mrs. Maisel. In the era of social networks, a single skid is enough to fall, and Bling is soon relegated from the Palais des Glaces to… a tour in the provinces. Desperate, he offers Nezir to become his ghostwriter. All the elements that will propel the narrative tension are therefore in place. Unfortunately, Funny remains a very classic choral series in its construction, often limiting itself to examining how each episode will shake the dynamics of the whole. However, if the speaking time granted is fair, the four trajectories do not have the same dramatic power: the fall-redemption of Bling, in particular, lacks originality.
And yet, we are unable to leave the room, as the actors (who had never done stand-up before) are a revelation. They inhabit their characters with such ardor that it is a delight to spend a few hours in their company, and their complicity bursts the screen. We come out with the intoxicating feeling of having been the first to see their talent blossom (which was already one of the hallmarks of the cast of Ten percent). Fanny Herrero has therefore won the challenge she set herself: to draw a portrait of the diversity of French youth through their dreams and fears, and “scratch somewhat taboo themes, such as religion, politics, sexuality”. In that regard, the stand-up acts are just hilarious. Funny should therefore easily sell out, and Nezir, Apolline, Aïssatou and Bling dethrone their neighbor Emily in Paris in the hearts of Netflix subscribers. Long live the superheroes of laughter!