For a long time, it was the applause, the recognition of his peers. Having left his native Gard at the age of majority to conquer the City of Lights, the young adult then discovered the ruthless world of entertainment. A passage through the Cours Florent before joining the queue of ambitious comedians. In the basements of comedy clubs, he meets demanding, ruthless audiences. He gets into doors. Lots of doors. So much so that young Malik is not far from giving up his weapons and regaining the favor of the family cocoon, empty-handed with clamor.
Before packing up, he gives himself one last chance by auditioning to play at Point Virgule, the capital’s famous theater. The attempt is disastrous, the apprentice comedian arrives on stage without ammunition. On the jury, a certain Alex Lutz, who was then directing Sylvie Joly or Pierre Palmade, caught him by the sleeve as he left the room. He grasps “something” in him. “I never really knew what it was,” jokes Malik Bentalha. I asked him the question one day and he told me about something in my eyes, my presence. He liked what I played on stage, this little guy from the provinces who comes to Paris. I was alone, it was my last chance. He picked me up in stoppage time!”
Penniless and without a magic solution, Malik Bentalha finds in Alex Lutz a “big brother”. The latter offers him a small job “paid at an exorbitant salary”, acts as guarantor for his apartment and introduces him to Antoinette Colin, the artistic director of Point Virgule, so that he can represent himself. Alex Lutz’s curriculum vitae reassures his parents, worried about seeing their child sinking into an inaccessible dream of life. “Alex has a special place in my story, he is above everyone. He did what even people in my family wouldn’t have done, except my parents. He is the person who has meant the most in my professional life. I could go to the ends of the earth for him.” Last June, while the “little brother” was prowling his new alone on stage in front of a hundred privileged spectators, Alex Lutz was still in a corner, cap screwed on his head, observing incognito the return to favor of the kid whom he he once knew. They no longer see each other as often as before, but their friendship in no way suffers from silences or absences.
This first outstretched hand allowed Malik Bentalha to shake others. Patiently settling into a stand-up scene not yet as visible as it is today, in 2010 he crossed paths with Gad Elmaleh and Jamel Debbouze. The boss of the Jamel Comedy Club invites him to join his troupe, then to perform in the first part of his show All about Jamel. “They are the ones who made me want to do this job. Without them, I would never have gone to Paris or I would never have addressed subjects that touch me.” When we talk about their thwarted trajectories – yes, them too –, their setbacks on stage or in front of the cameras, the comedian replies: “I will never say bad things about them. I have respect for my elders and I find that that is lost today. They reached out to me at some point in my life. My career would have taken longer to take off without Jamel.”
