Theatre in Review: Galileo (Classic Stage Company)

	F. Murray Abraham and Any Phelan. Photo: Joan Marcus

Timing is everything; sometimes, a show lands at just the right moment. In the last couple of weeks, we've had the American Catholic bishops sparring with the Obama Administration over contraception. And we've had Rick Santorum, so Catholic he makes the Pope look like Martin Luther, state that (a) global warming is a hoax, (b) the president is anti-Christian, and (c) prenatal testing is a plot to increase the number abortions in this country.

What better time to revive Galileo?

After all, Bertolt Brecht's drama, rarely seen in these parts, traces the power of a single scientific fact to upend an entire religious world view. It's the early 17th century, and Galileo, already an eminent man of science, comes to the inescapable conclusion that, contrary to accepted belief, the earth is one of several planets revolving around the sun. As Galileo himself notes, this is in contrast to the notion that the universe consists of eight crystal globes, "like huge soap bubbles, one inside the other, and the stars are supposed to be tacked onto them."

It's hard for us to understand how devastating this idea -- today a commonplace fact -- was to a European society so deeply influenced by Roman Catholic theology. With his discovery, Galileo displaced man from the center of creation. "Where is God in your system of the universe?" asks Sagredo, a friend of the astronomer, who knows where all this going. "Within ourselves -- or nowhere," answers Galileo. "Ten years ago, a man was burned at the stake for saying that," he is reminded.

Sagredo understands all too well the implications of Galileo's discovery. "How can people in power leave a man at large who tells the truth, even if it be the truth about the distant stars?" he asks. "Can you see the Pope scribbling a note in his diary: '10th of January, 1610, Heaven abolished?'" A monk who is sympathetic to Galileo's cause adds, "They have been told that God relies upon them and that the pageant of the world has been written around them." Such deeply held beliefs are not likely to give way to a mere scientific finding, especially from a Catholic Church that, one character notes, is losing its hold on its faithful with each passing year. (A little thing called the Reformation is, of course, also eating away at the Church's power.) As a cardinal slyly remarks, "Science is the legitimate and beloved daughter of the Church. She must have confidence in the Church." This is diplomatic language for "Shut up, if you know what's good for you."

Thus Brecht shows how the machinery of the church is harnessed against a man who has merely stated a simple scientific fact. It's a familiar story, although, for many theatergoers familiar with such plays as A Man for All Seasons, Becket, or even Shaw's St. Joan, Brecht's anti-melodramatic approach may be hard to take at first. His Galileo is not a hero who stands proudly against the power structure of the day. Instead, concluding "I cannot afford to be smoked over a wood fire," he allows himself to be silenced, choosing to live in relative obscurity and turning his mind to less controversial scientific pursuits. We can admire him for the elegance of his thought, but we can't really cheer him on.

Then again, Brecht is out to make another point altogether, about the sheer power of thought. A subversive idea, once uttered, can never be fully withdrawn, he tells us. Once articulated, Galileo's cosmology goes viral; being spread by word of mouth, it is unstoppable, and man's view of himself as the center of the universe will be fatally undermined.

All this comes through loud and clear in Brian Kulick's production, which makes use of Charles Laughton's 1947 translation of the text; as drama, however, it works only fitfully, mostly in the second act. The early scenes, in which various cardinals spar with Galileo, are distressingly one-sided. The former are such preening, self-satisfied bureaucrats and Galileo is so on the money with his arguments that no substantial battle of ideas is possible. It's not until after intermission, when the power of the church is turned against him and he must struggle to stay alive, that Galileo's story becomes sufficiently dramatic.

There's also the matter of casting. As Galileo, F. Murray Abraham is an eminently practical man of reason, with a mordant eye for the corruption around him. ("He cannot say no to an old wine or a new thought," comments an irritated Pope). It's a great role for Abraham -- but, at the performance I attended, the actor was not yet fully in command of his lines, leading to a sometimes halting delivery. (He nearly lost his way though one key speech.) By the time you read this, things may have improved, however, and, in any case, the makings of a fine performance are there.

There are fine contributions from Amanda Quaid as Galileo's strong-minded daughter, Nick Westrate as the lover she loses thanks to her father's notoriety, and Steven Rattazzi as various bureaucrats and functionaries. Among the many featured princes of the church, Jon DeVries is the most persuasive, as opposed to Robert Dorfman and Steve Skybell, both of whom simper a little too much in their early scenes.

In her attention-getting set design, Adrianne Lobel has provided a universe in a theatre, a collage of hanging orbs, representing the planets, suspended over and around a circular deck where the action takes place. A circular upstage wall acts as a kind of oculus for Jan Hartley's projections, which feature images of heavenly frescoes, ecclesiastical domes, and drawings of the universe as it was then understood. Justin Townsend's lighting is remarkably precise and effective -- especially given the complicated set and many projections -- and the original scoring (which often sounds like the music of the spheres) and sound design by Christian Frederickson and Ryan Rumery are up to their usual standard. I'm of two minds about the costumes by Oana Botez-Ban. The floral-patterned doublets and enormous ruffs may be accurate to the period, but they make the actors look faintly ridiculous, especially when they are speaking Laughton's very contemporary translation of Brecht's text. This may be part of the point -- Galileo is dressed much more casually and flatteringly, marking him as a man ahead of his time --- but a more stylized, even modern, approach might have suited the text better.

Even if this production isn't a total success, it's a useful reminder that the issues of faith, reason, and individual liberty -- the fundamental weapons of today's culture wars -- have been wielded like cudgels for centuries. In its best moments, Galileo demonstrates how even the most inconvenient truth ultimately will win out, no matter how much those in power scheme to suppress it.--David Barbour