There’s always an unlimited supply of narrative and visual drama to be mined from the machinations of the Catholic church. Conclave successfully taps into it.
Glowing reviews, Oscar buzz, a “surprise twist” ending, and word-of-mouth enthusiasm have combined to make Conclave more of a must-see now than when it was first released a few weeks ago.
This mystery thriller is based on the 2016 novel by Robert Harris, adapted by playwright Peter Straughan, and directed by Edward Berger, whose German production of All Quiet on the Western Front won Best International Film in 2023. Conclave is a papal potboiler that gets some slick entertainment value out of the rigidly sequestered process of selecting a new pope. The behind-the-scenes machinations among ambitious cardinals vying for the job keep the plot turns coming, and an opulent production design has been created out of the fancy dress and overall pageantry of the hierarchical operations of Vatican City. If you want to see a cardinal dressed by solemn young priests in about seventeen layers of white garments topped by elaborate red robes and accessories including a beanie, all handled with maximum reverence, then this movie is your jam.
The lead performance of Ralph Fiennes is generally admired and being discussed in terms of a surefire Oscar nomination. With his unhappy eyes and wintry smile, he’s well cast as the troubled Thomas Lawrence, a British cardinal and dean of the College of Cardinals who’s been assigned the job of managing the papal conclave, which is so exacting an operation that it provides good cover for both his wavering faith and his personal ambition that he hasn’t allowed himself to recognize.
Others jockeying for the top spot after the sudden death of a beloved pope are American Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci), a liberal friend and ally of Cardinal Lawrence whose election seems far more assured at first than it turns out to be; Canadian Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow), who may or may not have been scandalously ousted from his position by the late pope, who died before anything could be made official; Italian Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a voluble conservative so traditional he’s determined to overthrow the sixty-year-old modernizing mandates of Vatican II; and Nigerian Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati), whose popularity makes him a hot contender to become the first African pope.
In this showy cast, there’s a lone woman star, Isabella Rossellini, playing jaded nun Sister Agnes, who works in the Vatican and is manifestly fed up with serving under the complacent authority of the all-male priesthood. The proper arrangement of silverware, plates, and glasses on long banquet tables where sequestered cardinals will dine falls to the management of this woman whose own ambition and capacity for leadership is consistently squelched.
Conclave is a shallow film, but posh as hell, featuring consistently elaborate shots so we can drink in the venerable patterns of red priest-wear against gray-and-white marble hallways and courtyard tiles. There’s one overhead shot of priests in the rain all holding white umbrellas that makes such a pointlessly decorative pattern, it’s quite funny. Berger’s design fetish often overrides verisimilitude, as in the scene in which he artfully arranges plotting priests on a wide-open staircase where no real-life conspirator would dare to collude, because there might be a dozen eavesdroppers listening on the floors above and below. But it makes for some pretty imagery.
Humor, a little bit that’s intentional and a lot that’s unintentional, is a major aspect of watching this film. The deliberate humor tends to involve rather corny juxtapositions of the ancient and modern, such as cardinals standing in a gaggle in the courtyard smoking cigarettes and then carelessly leave all their butts — shown in close-up — in a rank pile after they’ve gone. But there’s plenty of high camp too.
Stanley Tucci is particularly amusing as Cardinal Bellini, an owlish plainspoken American who pretends he doesn’t want to be pope but will accept the job if the liberal faction insists. His policy position is a ludicrous delight, phrased as taking “a commonsense approach” to the papacy, as if being “the pope of Rome” was an ordinary middle-management job.
Then when the early voting demonstrates his lack of support, he goes into a waspish snit that’s the stuff of a Monty Python skit, and promptly dumps the idealistic facade. He gets the best lines in the midst of a grave discussion in the desperate liberal faction as the members consider nominating the weakest link of all, the manifestly corrupt Tremblay, if only they can defeat Tedesco.
Contemplating the monstrous history of popes past, Bellini shrugs, “We’ve had worse.” It’s funny because it’s true.
By now you’ve noticed, perhaps with a wave of revulsion, that the plot concerns an all too familiar liberal vs. conservative electoral battle that echoes with references to the political rhetoric of the presidential election. One candidate represents values so regressive he “wants to turn back the clock sixty years,” while on the other hand, the progressive types are so weak, wobbly, and useless — especially as led by the ambivalent and quivery Lawrence — that they don’t even have a candidate they can agree upon for twenty-four hours together.
That is, until the miraculous last-minute “Hail Mary pass” of an ending that’s so self-consciously showcasing its liberal bona fides, it’s a hoot. It’s a fitting conclusion to a film that skates along hastily condemning racism, xenophobia, and misogyny — and brushing past a brief mention of rampant scandals of pedophilia in the priesthood — while rapidly scoring inclusivity points as it goes.
The filmmaking team claims to have operated with the permission of Vatican authorities, though of course they weren’t allowed to shoot in Vatican City — nobody is. A private tour and plenty of research assistance facilitated the movie’s recreated settings and ancient, elaborate ballot-casting rituals. Plus filming at Cinecittà Studios in Rome gave production designer Suzie Davies access to preexisting sets, allowing her crew to recreate the Sistine Chapel in ten weeks. If key crew members didn’t care for the reality, they made adjustments, as in the case of costume designer Lisy Christl rejecting the bright orange-red of contemporary Vatican cardinals’ wear in favor of richer burgundy hues used in the eighteenth century.
The tolerant attitude of the Vatican toward the movie, and the lack of widespread condemnation by Catholic authorities in general — other than that one priest in Indiana deploring Conclave as a movie “making a mockery of our faith” — seems unsurprising.
Evidence of ongoing fascination with a Hollywood soap opera version of Catholicism that ends up with a sentimental affirmation of faith can only be beneficial to the church, harkening back to the days in the old studio era when the American Catholic Church had a vast flock and a great deal of power over the movies, with many flattering portraits of Catholicism as one result. Another was the heavy-handed power wielded by avid, ultraconservative Irish Catholic layperson Joseph Breen, who headed up the Production Code Administration in charge of censoring Hollywood movies from 1934 to 1954.
If another movie reflecting public fascination with arcane Catholic practices seems odd in this rightly disillusioned day and age, keep in mind that though the number of practicing Catholics in America and Europe has fallen drastically, worldwide membership is over a billion and trending upward.
That’s good news for director Berger, because Conclave opened in North America first and is building momentum for the international run to follow.