Nina Metz

It's hard to get excited about the music in "Galileo Galilei," the new Philip Glass/Mary Zimmerman opera at the Goodman Theatre. The saving grace here is Zimmerman, whose efforts as director and co-librettist give the story of this famed seventeenth-century astronomer a poignancy and beauty that transcends Glass' minimalist music. The score itself (in typical Glass fashion) consists of subtly throbbing, repetitive, two and three note elliptical patterns; as a result, the singers have little to hang their hats on, emotionally speaking. The opera examines Galileo's life in reverse, a backward version of "Behind the Music," or more accurately, "Behind the Science." The story begins in 1642. An old, blind and depressed Galileo is tormented by a past where the Catholic Church forced him to recant his scientific findings proving that the Earth revolves around the sun. Through a series of nine scenes (which improve during the course of this trim ninety-minute performance), we see Galileo's humiliation and his first befuddled meeting with the inquisitors. Soon, a younger Galileo—the self-assured inventor of the telescope—emerges. The ensuing lab scene, where we find Galileo's assistants conducting whimsical, playful experiments with white rubber billiard balls and an angled plank, is the most compelling and physical, and-wouldn't you know it-contains almost no singing. In the final scene, a mini opera-within-an-opera, we meet Galileo as a boy, and it is here that the music turns most melodic and dramatic, with the finale powerfully sung by the entire cast. Zimmerman, who won a Tony this year for her direction of "Metamorphoses," has worked with Glass before (she directed his opera "Akhnaten" two years ago for Chicago Opera Theater) and the effect here is the same; so-so music, a fascinating story and velvety, intriguing visuals. Despite the tepid score, the opera makes an impact, achieved in no small part thanks to Zimmerman's design team: Daniel Ostling's stunning sets include marble floors with two soaring, arched villa facades to frame the action, and T. J. Gerckens' lighting transforms the stage from a dank, cold inquisitor's cell to a warm and inviting ballroom. Though few of the singers make an impression, Elizabeth Reiter stands out as Galileo's young daughter; her clear soprano provides a welcome reprieve to this male dominated opera. Note: Future performances could suffer thanks to a heavy performance schedule; most operas are not performed on consecutive nights, let alone six times a week and twice on Sunday.

about Newcitychicago | about Newcity magazine | advertising | privacy policy | FAQ | employment