Lights up, curtain rises! In Mélodrame, Belgian whirlwind Loïc Nottet pulls the audience into a grand, self-aware theater where we are both the actors and the critics. He calls us “lésés rêveurs” – wounded dreamers – who secretly enjoy wallowing in our own little tragedies. We complain about the world, slap metaphorical band-aids on our knees, and wait politely for our next turn to suffer, all while chasing perfection and a few seconds of spotlight. With rapid-fire lyrics about booze-soaked nights, social masks, and the terror of being judged, Nottet pokes fun at an ego-driven society that would rather perform its pain than fix it.
Yet behind the velvet drama curtain lies a surprisingly hopeful script. Nottet suggests that real happiness is the courage to keep dreaming, to ditch pride, and to reclaim a child-like sense of wonder – even if cash, grown-up jobs, and endless “likes” say otherwise. He imagines an “abstract paradise” where we stop showing off, stop polluting the air with conflict, and finally give magic some room to breathe. Mélodrame is both a mirror and an escape hatch: it makes us laugh at our own theatrics, then invites us to step offstage and help write a fresher, kinder act for humanity.