'Two Men of Florence' at Odds in the Universe

"Two Men of Florence"

Written by Richard N. Goodwin; directed by Edward Hall; scenic and costume design by Francis O'Connor; lighting design by Ben Ormerod; sound design by Matt McKenzie; composer, Simon Slater

Cast in order of appearance:

Bruno, Diego Arciniegas; Cardinal Bellarmine, Peter Van Wagner; Galileo Galilei, Jay O. Sanders; Maria Celeste, Molly Schreiber; Father Benedetto Castelli, Joel Rainwater; Maffeo Barberini/Later Pope Urban VIII, Edward Herrmann; Monsignor Giovanni Ciampoli, Dermot Crowley; Venetian Senators, Diego Arciniegas, Peter Van Wagner, Joe Curnutte, Nat DeWolf; Wackher, Peter Van Wagner; Johannes Kepler, Andy Paris; Niccolini, Jeremiah Kissel; Grand Duke Cosimo II, Nat DeWolf; Louis XIII, Joe Curnutte; Richelieu, Diego Arciniegas; Nobleman, Joe Curnutte; Firenzuola, Diego Arciniegas; Young Francesco Barberini, Andy Paris; Lorenzo Bernini, Joe Curnutte; Simplicio, Diego Arciniegas; B. Landini, Peter Van Wagner; Ensemble, Teddy Bourgeois

Performances: Now through April 5, the Huntington Theatre Company, Boston University Theatre, 264 Huntington Avenue, Boston, Massachusetts

Tickets: 617 266-0800 or www.huntingtontheatre.org

For a play that goes on almost perpetually about the laws of motion, Two Men of Florence is dramatically inert. While intellectually stimulating and beautifully mounted, it nonetheless plays more like a doctoral thesis than a work of theatrical art.

Renowned political analyst, historian, presidential speech writer and first-time playwright Richard N. Goodwin has fashioned an interesting but ultimately didactic look at the conflict between emerging science and staid religion in pre-enlightened 17^th century Europe. He pits the brilliant astronomer, philosopher, mathematician and inventor Galileo Galilei against the unyielding Pope Urban VIII in a debate about which celestial sphere is the physical center of the Universe. Galileo says it's the sun, Pope Urban says it's the Earth. At stake is the very heart of religious dogma. If the simple Biblical truth of the rising and setting of the sun is disproven, the Pope fears that all of the spiritual teachings that have been based on the geocentric model of the heavens will be lost - along with his considerable power.

What could and should be a clash of the titans - two intelligent, respected and fervent leaders of opposing disciplines, moving powerfully in their separate but intersecting orbits - becomes a muddled and extended rehashing of one basic theme. Inflexible religious and political institutions crush as heretics those who dare to question or contradict established doctrine and controlling rule. Might trumps right, scientific evidence be damned. Anything that shakes the status quo is a threat and therefore must be squashed. As a result, Pope Urban is reduced to a cardboard cutout of a pontiff who spends most of his time, well, pontificating, and Galileo must bear the full emotional burden of the play as the idealistic, impoverished, impassioned philosopher who is light years ahead of his time.

Jay O. Sanders as Galileo is a force of burning inquisitiveness, childlike in his joyful discoveries and perplexed by the pragmatic suppression of the logical consequences of his experiments. He shows true reverence for the religion he believes in and makes a heartfelt case for the peaceful co-existence of science and faith. Eventually beaten, branded, banned, and exiled, he still manages to find salvation in the majestic beauty of the night skies.

Edward Herrmann, as Cardinal Maffeo Barberini who later becomes Pope Urban VIII, is totally eclipsed by Sanders' performance. Subdued and obviously still struggling for lines, Herrmann lacks the authority or self-aggrandizement necessary to mark his frightening transformation from amicable adversary in the first act to power-hungry potentate in the second. There are glimmers of a man torn between the excitement of scientific revelation and the fear of revolutionary change, but they are buried beneath character-constricting papal sermons and exposition-riddled dialog.

Two Men of Florence also suffers from too many other men of other cities - merchants from Venice, politicos from Tuscany, royalty from Paris, scientists from Prague, and any number of priests, bishops and cardinals from Rome. The tension-filled and emotionally charged interplay that could and should develop between two complex title characters is continually deflected by ancillary stick figures that could easily be consolidated into one or two fully fleshed representative composites. Only Molly Schreiber as Galileo's novitiate daughter Maria Celeste adds important dimension to the play, and even she is portrayed more as an admiring disciple than an adored and adoring child.

The true stars of this production are the members of the design team - Francis O'Connor, Ben Ormerod, and Matt McKenzie. O'Connor's rotating floor sends secondary characters spinning around Galileo, placing him at the center of this dramatic universe. Also wood-hewn, open-backed shelves located on three sides of the stage serve first as Galileo's laboratory, then his dungeon, illustrating in dramatic fashion that his life's work is what ultimately imprisoned him. But the most spectacular effects, and rightly so, involve the moon and the stars, taking shape in three dimensions before our eyes as Galileo gazes through his telescope. The resulting imagery is nothing short of magical, hinting at the greatness Two Men of Florence could achieve if Goodwin narrowed his focus and sharpened his central relationship.

This ambitious first stage work by an indisputably brilliant intellect wants desperately to soar to the heavens. Unfortunately, in its current history-laden and message-heavy form, this emotionally distancing Two Men of Florence remains stolidly Earthbound.

PHOTOS by Charles Erickson: Jay O. Sanders as Galileo; Jay O. Sanders and Edward Herrmann as Pope Urban VIII; Jay O. Sanders and Edward Herrmann