Whatever challenges he may have had to confront during his Papacy, at least Benedict XVI didn’t, unlike his predecessors in 17th-century Italy, have to deal with “heretical” scientists such as Galileo Galiliei. Roxana Silbert’s stylish modern-dress production of Brecht’s masterpiece reminds us once again of the monumental clash between one man and the might of the Catholic Church, whose very foundations he shook with his revolutionary heliocentric views on the solar system.
All of Brecht’s tropes are present and correct in Mark Ravenhill’s slick new translation and it’s heartening to see Silbert flirting with them playfully rather than cowering from them as too many directors do. The scene changes, splendidly rendered via narration and electronic captions to provide a hurtling sense of momentum, are particularly cherishable, ably supported by Nick Powell’s punchy music. In this way, we roll easily through the years and the cities of Italy; a Carnival scene makes a big impact by taking the hierarchy-upsetting theories of Galileo as the basis for its anarchic revelry.
This being Brecht, there’s an unwieldy thicket of characters to plough through but it’s clear right from the very first line, about food, who the anti-hero of the piece is. Given that grandstanding glory was anathema to Brecht, Galileo, as expertly embodied by Ian McDiarmid, is a petulant, puffed-up man with a stinging line in unpleasantries to his put-upon daughter Virginia (excellent Jodie McNee, briefly illuminated by happiness on Virginia’s engagement).
Galileo holds the increasingly unsettled ecclesiastical establishment at bay for years but eventually recants on his findings. His denunciation of his own cowardly behaviour, splendidly rendered by Ravenhill, provides the evening’s sharpest scene. Even at the bittersweet finale, compassionate heroism remains in desperately short supply.
In rep until March 30 (0844 800 1110, rsc.org.uk)
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