Tomblaine. Coal in the veins... but joy nonetheless!

In 1958, the Fifth Republic was created. "The Fifth Republic is wonderful!" Even if they didn't understand much about the Fourth and it wouldn't change anything for them anyway.

For them, 1958 was, above all, the year of the soccer World Cup in Sweden. With Kopa! The kid from the projects. The kid from the mining villages, in Nœux-les-Mines. Oh, sure, we knew him more as Kopaszewski when, at 16, he went down to the bottom. Where he actually lost two fingers, in a landslide. But seeing little Raymond go "to the North Pole" to defend the colors of France, that makes the people of the mining village proud. And that's why Sosthène decided to buy himself a television.

It's the event of the year, this TV story. They even invite the doctor for the occasion. Because, yes, we quickly understand that a mute character has also invited himself, with whom we're going to have to deal: silicosis. A nasty thing, which has made itself at home in the lungs of the father of the family. It even earned him a bonus, paid by the bosses. That's how he was able to pay for the television... The price of poison in the lungs.

Friday evening was undoubtedly the most anticipated date of the Aux Actes Citoyens festival this week. For the new play by Jean-Philippe Daguerre, the play that won five Molière awards: "Blood in the Veins."

A story about ordinary people, just as the writer-director likes them. Because it's with them that he has the best chance of reaching "the universal."

So that everyone can hear the echo of their fears, their happiness, sorrows and aspirations, and also their sometimes thwarted romantic impulses.

As for the great "mute," it doesn't manifest itself strongly (Sosthène doesn't cough, to the doctor's great astonishment), but it conquers the body insidiously. "I spit black, I piss black, and sometimes I even brood." Not for long, however. Not very often. Because we're not here to cry.

"Hearing the title, you might be afraid of being bombarded with a story about a life of hard work," the author admits. "But we also wanted, and even primarily, to portray joy. Joy, life, loyalty, humanity."

And this joy, it gallops on the mother-of-pearl buttons, under the fingers of the miners (girls and boys!) when they become one with their accordions. Of which, incidentally, the actors ensure remarkable mastery.

To the thunderous firedamp blast that sows terror from the depths, these miners respond with a light, intoxicating melody like a little tangy syrup that sows joy in the soul. One of the magnificent discoveries of this show, whose dialogues, moreover, are as fluid as the accordionists' playing.

And since Daguerre's theatre is primarily about humanist values, let's remember the adage chorused by the miners: "Basically, there are no more Bicots, no more Ritals or Polacks. There are only black faces." And that kind of credo puts a smile back on the soul.