Eric Cantona, Bloomsbury Theatre, review: Genius footballer shown reborn as a rock star

At Old Trafford on Sunday, they must have been wishing they could get the band back together.

Shortly after the blue side of Manchester rampaged to a 3-0 victory over their rivals, an ancien reds hero was also playing – and enjoying an altogether more appetising away-from-home victory. Eric Cantona, Manchester United stalwart for five seasons in the 90s, took to the stage for a remarkable third, or even fourth act: Eric The Rock Star.

This month the Frenchman released an EP, I’ll Make My Own Heaven. The four tracks are the results of more dazzling single-mindedness from the genius footballer who retired at 30; the action-man who took umbrage at a fan’s abuse by launching himself into the crowd and karate-kicking him; the celebrity who let Ken Loach cast him as the titular godhead in 2009 film, Looking For Eric.

During lockdown Cantona, now 57, taught himself guitar. Then he wrote 30-odd songs. Then he signed a deal with leading classical label Decca and announced plans for a debut album, to be recorded live at a concert. And now here he is, on tour in the UK and Ireland with a cellist and pianist, the philosopher-icon reborn once more in front of an adoring audience for whom he remains the once and future King Eric.

LONDON, ENGLAND - OCTOBER 29: Eric Cantona performs at Bloomsbury Theatre on October 29, 2023 in London, England. (Photo by Tim P. Whitby/Tim P. Whitby/Getty Images) — We were off into a succession of perfectly composed, wee-hours portraits of desperate romance and misunderstood men (Photo: Tim P. Whitby / Getty Images)

Because while “rock” is pushing it, “star” certainly isn’t. The obvious-but-not-inaccurate description of Cantona’s music is Leonard Cohen-meets-Serge Gainsbourg, with a hint of the spacey blues of The Doors, his favourite band. Nothing else, though, was obvious or familiar in this classily theatrical show.

As the simple but effective light show transported us to a subterranean Parisian cabaret, he strode on stage slowly, an imposing figure in shin-length overcoat, white shirt, red tracksuit trousers, chunky red boots and tinted glasses. Somersaulting a fedora onto his head, he launched into the EP’s title track, a finger-snapping, Olympian view of his image: “I’ve been heroic, I’ve been criminal, I’ve been infernal…”

And we were off, into a succession of perfectly composed, wee-hours portraits of desperate romance and misunderstood men, essayed by wonderfully atmospheric cello loops and piano refrains, acted out by a coolly charismatic performer with flamenco in his wrists and still, clearly, goal-scoring in his knees.

“I’m Just an Unknown Lover” was antic, spy-theme jazz, the musicians amplifying the drama inherent in Cantona’s actorly rasp. “J’Avance et Je Rêve” had the jaunty melody of Gotye’s “Somebody That I Used to Know” (but none of the annoyance). “Nowhere (Bang Bang)” was a noir club lament that began with the comic image of a man walking into a bar and asking for a cocktail – “Sex on the Beach”, demands a thirsty Eric – and ended with the singer gliding into the gloom at the back of the stage.

Throughout, Cantona purred, growled, muttered, whistled, spoke-sang and held us rapt, his between-song chat comprising yet more poetry and gnomic tributes to bright lights and familiar faces.

He ended with “I Love You So Much”, a playful waltz-time summation of his CV. “Then the press called me the greatest philosopher/And I think they were completely…” A perfect pause. “…right.” As the standing ovation and lusty cheers reverberated, one thing was clear: le roi est mort, longue vie au roi!