‘Conclave’: Disappointing (but Pretty) Papal Potboiler
A review of ‘Conclave’; Focus Features, 2024.
The papal conclave is a gathering of the College of Cardinals, which is the body of all cardinals of the Catholic Church, to choose a pope. The pope, or bishop of Rome, is, for us Catholics, the apostolic successor of Saint Peter and the earthly head of the Church. The most recent conclave took place in 2013, when Jorge Mario Bergoglio was elected as Pope Francis, succeeding Pope Benedict XVI, who resigned, and becoming the first pope from South America.
The whole process of choosing a pope follows a set of strict rules to ensure its integrity. It takes place in the Sistine Chapel, where cardinals are sequestered so they cannot leave or communicate with the outside world until a new pope is picked. There are four votes a day, two in the morning and two in the afternoon. A two-thirds majority is needed to elect a pope. If the cardinals have not elected one after a vote, then black smoke is sent out. Once they do, white smoke is. Cue cheering from the crowd gathered in the Piazza San Marco.
There are four votes per day, two in the morning and two in the afternoon. A two-thirds majority is needed to elect a pope.
There is always quite a bit of rumour and gossip about who will become the pope. In Italian, cardinals who fit the bill are called (rather charmingly) papabile, that is, ‘pope-able’. But it is seen as poor form to campaign to be pope, even if one thinks one is in with a good shot. In Conclave, based on the book by Robert Harris, the cardinals break that rule. Following the death of the incumbent, they lob their mitres, birette and zuchetti into the ring. Four realistic candidates emerge: Bellini (Stanley Tucci), a liberal American; Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati), a socially conservative Nigerian; Tremblay (John Lithgow), a mainstream conservative American; and Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a reactionary Italian who wants to roll back Vatican II, or bits of it. The job of managing the conclave falls to Cardinal-Dean Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes). He has a tricky job on his hands.
It is made trickier by the discovery that the late pope secretly made one Vincent Benitez (Carlos Diehz), the Archbishop of Kabul. Kabul being the capital of the famously peaceful Afghanistan, Lawrence thinks the secrecy has to do with where Benitez was based. In any case, before the first vote, Lawrence departs from his pre-prepared speech and gives a sermon urging the cardinals to embrace doubt and uncertainty, for ‘if there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery, and therefore no need for faith.’ This is taken by some as a campaign speech. Things from then on do not go as smoothly as one might like. Lawrence, who has been struggling to pray and regrets being a ‘manager’, not a ‘shepherd’, soon learns that secrets and scandals abound. He is duty-bound to look into these. At the same time, he must not derail the progress of the conclave.
The College is stunned to learn that the late pope secretly made one Vincent Benitez the Archbishop of Kabul.
If the sin of certainty is a key theme of this film, then it seems to be one of which both Harris and the filmmakers are guilty. They are quite sure which views are good and which are bad, which is a giveaway that this was a story and film made by secular liberal atheists for secular liberal atheists. This is curious because liberalism has been on the ropes for some time now, with Patrick Deneen, Adrien Vermuele and J.D. Vance hard at work digging its grave. Bishop Robert Barron put it like this: ‘If you are interested in a film about the Catholic Church that could have been written by the editorial board of the New York Times, this is your movie.’ Well, fine. I think that sounds a bit uncharitable. The criterion for ‘good’ when we go to the cinema is not whether we agree with what we see, at any rate. Harris and the filmmakers are well within their rights to tell a story how they wish to tell it. My chief problem with the film is that it is not that good. And now I am going to tell you why.
Lest we forget: a story, to grip us, rests on persuading us that it matters. We have to care, or the tension, however carefully built as the story unfolds, does not elicit the feelings that it ought to. When I read Conclave, years ago, it struck me several times that I really did not care how it all turned out. That is not to say that I do not care who becomes pope in real life (though I don’t care that much); but that Harris, and the filmmakers after him, so take for granted that the audience considers the election of the pope a capital-b, capital-d big deal that they do not bother to explain why we should. That there are bad war films, films about whose characters we simply do not care, even as they get blown to bits by mines or bombs or whatever, should be sufficient proof that no writer should ever assume our interest in her story. The stakes in Conclave just do not seem to be high enough to keep our interest. Or at least, mine.
When I read Conclave, years ago, it struck me that I really did not care how it all turned out.
This is despite the beauty of the thing. Of course it helps that it is set in the Sistine Chapel, which is in Rome, and that ecclesiastical kit is quite nice to look at. It is also despite the acting, which is roundly outstanding. Fiennes’ Lawrence is riddled with doubt as he does his best to keep the ship on an even keel, while Stanley Tucci’s Bellini struggles palpably to act humbly and without ambition despite fearing the election of a hardline traditionalist. Sergio Castellitto is very good as Goffredo Tedesco, the most cunning of the papal candidates; but special praise is due to Isabella Rossellini, who plays the sharp and tactful head nun Sister Agnes, deftly balancing her religious duties with what she knows to be right.
Edward Berger renders all this handsomely, aiming at a blend of drama, conveyed through the claustrophobic setting and the reds, whites and blacks of the papal scenery. With slashing string music, Volker Bertelmann does his best to convince us of the significance of what is taking place. But the directing, acting, scene-setting, dressing and all the rest of it just does not compensate for its flaws. Harris and Peter Straughan, who adapted the film, seem to want us to wrestle with perennial tensions— between tradition and innovation, between stasis and change. They want us to wonder whether the Church can, and should, adapt to the modern world as they see it. But we do not wonder this at the time, because we do not care. There is no subtext here. This is not a searching philosophical film. It is a potboiler, and, I am afraid to say, not a very good one.
