A burst of applause followed by a wave of silence. At the end of Lorraine de Sagazan's creation at the Théâtre du Vieux-Colombier in Paris, the audience stood still. Stunned by what they had just experienced, many took several minutes to get up and leave the auditorium. The stunning reception was a fitting tribute to a performance that, by taking place in almost total silence, marked a break with the history of the Comédie-Française.

Unprecedented, even disturbing, this show of rare intensity calls on the spirit of filmmaker Michelangelo Antonioni (1912-2007). The Adventure (1960), The Night (1961), The Eclipse (1962), Red Desert (1964), Blow-Up (1966): as the director explained to Le Monde when we met her during rehearsals, the Italian director's films are not adapted for the stage, where we won't recognize Jeanne Moreau's wanderings, nor those of Marcello Mastroianni or Monica Vitti. Yet their tormented inner worlds, so well revealed by Antonioni's camera, infuse the sensitive story of de Sagazan's play.

A thick golden carpet muffles the actors' footsteps. The two-sided stage divides the audience in two. A clear-cut view of a bourgeois flat, bohemian and untidy: a confidant's chair, piles of vinyl records, a bookcase, a sideboard, a fake marble table, scraps of food, a memo stuck on a mirror, a bottle of whisky. In one corner, packed boxes. Above the furniture, a video screen. Calm yet alert, his nose sniffing the cosy décor, a dog wanders where he pleases, unbothered by the audience.

The lighting illuminates five protagonists: a couple of parents (Marina Hands and Noam Morgensztern), the husband's sister (Julie Sicard), a writer friend (Stéphane Varupenne). On the fringes of this quartet, actor Baptiste Chabauty, arms flailing, observes. What, exactly? The spectators scrutinize a drama whose motives they track, their eyes on the lookout for clues given in dribs and drabs throughout the 80-minute performance. Framed photos, yoghurt, books (The Copernican Revolution, La Fabrique des Rêves ["The Dream Factory"]), fleeting videos by Jérémie Bernaert or eerie music by Lucas Lelièvre: Everything in place makes sense. "We give importance to the insignificant. The viewer is in the position of an investigator whose journey is punctuated by key moments," explained the director. It's up to the audience to put together, at their own pace and according to their own internal rhythm, the pieces of a jigsaw that gradually becomes clearer.

De Sagazan has been dreaming up this project for two years; for a year, playwright Guillaume Poix has been writing monologues for actors who learn their lines but say nothing on stage. These actors have been rehearsing for several weeks. When we met them in early January, in a basement room at the Comédie-Française, it was time for debriefings, fine-tuning and reminders.

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