Can you have a play run 90 minutes with no dialog? Indubitably, as Trap Door Theatre demonstrates with its new production, “Le Bal.”

Adapted to the stage by Stephen Buescher, it is inspired by a 1983 French film of the same title. Of the absence of dialog, one Trap Door company member told me  “Actors love it.” With no lines to memorize, the audience gets to see more clearly all the other things actors do to bring characters and scenes to life—and that is amazing to witness. Like the film, sans dialog scenes in “Le Bal” on stage are set against a backdrop of sound and music that captures the sweep of history, each reflecting those moments in time. 

The film follows 50 years in the life of a Parisian dance hall, and the characters are drawn entirely from the patrons and employees as it evolves from from the 1930s through the war years, German occupation, into present day. Trap Door’s version which was commissioned to the playwright, Buescher (he also directs), shows a longer sweep of time—nearlya century—and we move in reverse chronological order from the current times back to the 1930s.

A pastiche of skits reflects the period of the music, and evokes not just the passage of time, but t he feel and spirit of those moments. Unlike the film, which sticks with dancing, Buescher gives us dynamic vivant tableaus, opening with music, drugs and sex then coursing backward through powerful settings expressing post-war grief, or the shocking onslaught of COVID. As corpses are shrouded by masked nurses, I was moved and the melancholy that enveloped us in those days arose for me. And the unvisited sorrow at the deaths.

We witness the incredulity and unchained anger of younger generations as the Black Lives Matter movement sweeps the nation. In this, Buescher allows for a departure, as the cast gasps George Floyd's words: “I can’t breathe!” We see the tumult of the 1960s political revolt against Viet Nam, the 1950s housewives awaiting their men’s return from the Korean War, and back and back through WWII and the formalized grief that met millions of deaths. Then through the pre-WWII Depression accompanied by a Franklin Roosevelt inaugural address. And back further to the bursting bubble of speculation that brought on the Great Depression, with its breadlines, soup kitchens, and hard times. All of it shown. The thundering oppressiveness of the factory lines that fueled the riches, with risky working conditions that could be dangerous, even deadly, and that spawned the sometimes violent labor movement.

Two recurring themes Buescher brings forth are the fragmentation of social frameworks, and the recurring response of Americans to unite and demonstrate for justice and a better life. In insightful Dramaturgy Notes, these listings of recurring unrest and mass demonstrations have touched so many areas: that labor unrest of the 1930s, through demands for racial equality arising in the 1950s, the political and anti-war unrest of the 1960s (though it’s not called out in the notes I detected it on the stage), ACTUP’s demand for support during the AIDs crisis, Occupy Wall St. in the early 2000s, then Black Lives Matter, rising Gay Pride visiblity, MAGA rallies, women’s and immigrants rights marches, and much more.

It is not just music accompanying the major timeframes on stage, but sounds - Dany Rockett, sound technician, does a remarkable job working in real-time with the cast. The costumes designed by Rachel Sypniewski, are just enough to create the impressions needed, from sailor suits, to poodle skirts. Quick changes, usually onstage, are handled with minimal fuss, as the scenes of epochs elide one to another.

Buescher's vision for "Le Bal," and the work of the amazing cast at Trap Door—Dan Cobbler, Genevieve Corkery, Cat Evans, Emily Nichelson, Gius Thomas, Jasz Ward and Carl Wisniewski—stretch the bounds of what theater can be. 

“Le Bal,” adapted and designed by Steven Buescher comes recommended; a unique theatre experience and another example of why Trap Door is a treasure. “Le Bal” runs through June 20, 2026 at Trap Door Theatreat 1655 W. Corland in Chicago.