“You have to do the open mic at the Fridge: you’ll see, it’s a forest of tripods.” Translated into the language of Molière, this mysterious recommendation recently ordered us to go to this comedy club launched in 2020 and counting among the reference addresses in the capital, during one of its sessions dedicated to beginners, to see that the latter had all acquired a device allowing them to film themselves. On site, the few flexible supports for smartphones certainly had the effect less of a threatening mass than of a small discreet bush on the control table, but nevertheless confirmed this reality: even the blues who had barely spent five minutes are now acquired by the injunction to extend on the networks this art of a scene no longer really so sanctuarized.
Any comedy fan spotted by the algorithm has been able to see to what extent their “reels” have recently been filled with short stage extracts. In the shadow of the most followed comedian accounts, who are not necessarily the most fanatical followers, it is a generation that owes its notoriety neither to television nor to a show exploited on a platform which is emerging through this bias and sometimes reaches the firmament. New Yorker Jeff Arcuri announced a world tour at the beginning of autumn; his three Parisian dates, at the Alhambra in May, are already sold out, without any French spectator having ever seen a minute of his written stand-up. His videos
