The Life of Galileo is one of those plays whose meaning shifts significantly over time. Brecht himself wrote three versions of it, all markedly different from each other. Howard Brenton prepared a translation at the height of the cold war which was overflowing and argumentative, while David Hare's, coming after the collapse of communism, was spare and despairing. Now David Edgar brings us a version against the background of militant holy war which feels eloquent and elegiac.
The key to the play is the manner in which Galileo publicly recants his belief that the earth revolves around the sun, under pressure from the Catholic church. Either he comes across as a wily pragmatist or a pathetic broken reed, but Edgar's version is essentially the tragedy of a man apprised of information the authorities do not want to hear. When Timothy West's hoarse, despondent, Galileo quietly renounces everything he knows to be true, there seems to be a distinct, chilling echo of Dr Kelly before his fateful walk into the woods.
West gives a complex, intriguing performance, preferring to act as the production's still point rather than its centre of energy. He carries the role like a beast of burden, shuffling around like a man bearing the weight of a new, universal order on his shoulders. Bravely, he draws us to the heart of the scientist's dilemma through quiet reflection rather than noisy rhetoric, which pays huge dividends in terms of humanity, though it is not always the most efficient means of embracing the Rep's vast open spaces.
Director Jonathan Church's opulent Renaissance pageant ensures that there is plenty of brocade and banners swirling about him, however, aided by a stirring musical commentary by Matthew Scott, and an exceptional supporting performance from John Woodvine's smooth Grand Inquisitor. Alistair Campbell in a cardinal's cape? Brecht's powers of suggestion remain as pertinent as ever.
· Until November 12. Box office: 0121-236 4455.
