Conclave

Release Date: October 25, 2024

Director: Edward Berger | MPAA Rating: PG | LeavittLens Rating: 9/10

“If the great paradox of Christianity means anything, it means this—that we must take the crown in our hands, and go hunting in dry places and dark corners of the earth until we find the one man who feels himself unfit to wear it. Carlyle was quite wrong; we have not got to crown the exceptional man who knows he can rule. Rather we must crown the much more exceptional man who knows he can’t.” -G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy

Some light spoilers ahead

Not sure if you've heard yet, but there's a contentious upcoming election. The incumbent has been deemed no longer fit to serve due to age and possible health complications. Two primary parties jockey for power, one advocating an authoritarian regime rooted in "us vs. them" language in the name of safety and stability, and the other--just as fundamentalistic in their own right--pushing for an undefined unity across divides and a moral compass that seems ambiguous and constantly on the move. Supporters of either party are sorting themselves, getting in line so that they might be approved and gain some amount of power for their soldierly loyalty. Others are simply exhausted by the whole ordeal, wishing--and, indeed, still holding out hope--that the election can truly bring about some semblance of goodness and truth and beauty in the end. So goes the plot of Edward Berger's Conclave, a papal thriller (which, depending on your disposition, may sound like an oxymoron) outlining the politicking and machinations behind the election of a new pope after the death of the previous Holy Father. Did you think I was describing something else?

You can't be blamed, on the surface, for mistaking life with art: indeed, the late October release of Edward Berger's follow up to 2022's soberingly beautiful All Quiet On The Western Front is the ultimate cinematic equivalent of the Spider-Man confusion meme - it is forcing comparisons to the 2024 U.S. election, whether it wants to or not. And while Conclave certainly has something to say about our current civic climate, its aims are much higher--metaphorically and theologically--than some passing, albeit important, election. It is a film with much to say about the simultaneously haunted and holy human condition, the nature of our faith and doubt, and the notion of who really has power--and what that means for the world. In this way, the film is instructive for us during this current American presidential cycle, as these themes are the timeless and perpetual concerns that transcend whomever might win come Tuesday evening.

The film opens upon on the back of a balding head: Cardinal Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes in a surefire late career Oscar bid) intensely strides the streets of Vatican City, his breathing amplified to denote some fusion of anxious dread and age-withered exhaustion. He is headed towards a scenario that no Cardinal would ever want to face, and yet one that somehow every Cardinal perhaps deep down secretly hopes might arrive: the death of the pope. Surrounding his bed, in grief, are three other high-ranking Cardinals and officials, and after a short but somber space of grief and posthumous Catholic rites, we are thrust into a story of intrigue, full of shadowy conversations, half-truths and deceptions, and ritual as compelling as it is precise.

Cardinal Lawrence is tasked with gathering the more than 100 high ranking Cardinals from around the world and bringing them together to vote on who should represent the church by filling this new vacancy. Amongst them are the conservative, boarding-on-fundamentalist Cardial Tedesco of Venice (Sergio Castellito), who laments the diversity and weakness of what he feels to a diluted church and sees this as an opportunity to assert himself and make the church great again; liberal Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci), who was intimately close with the recently deceased pope and who uses modesty ("I don't want to be pope") as a campaigning tool for a position he obviously desires; and Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow), whose moderate and workmanlike exterior hides a past of possible corruption. The stage is set for a tumultuous political battle, full of the usual and expected sectarian divisions. Lawrence makes all the necessary preparations, which include an entirely sequestered conclave in which the walls and windows of the Vatican are literally boarded shut to prevent any contact with the outside world. But just as they are ready to quarantine together for their work, a final Cardinal, Father Benitez (Carlos Diehz), arrives to the Vatican to vote, despite being absent from any official Vatican records.

Confused and suspecting a possible poser, Lawrence and his researching right-hand man, O'Malley (Brian F. O'Byrne), do some intensive last-minute work to find that Benitez was indeed ordained a year prior by the Pope in secret in order to protect his identity, for he serves in Afghanistan in situations where becoming known as a priest would be life-threatening. Benitez, to his credit, has the official papal order that approved him, and so he joins the group as an unexpected outsider. Indeed, his introduction in the film is quite striking and on the nose: amidst the chaotic storm of the conclave, we first meet him in the depths of the Vatican calmly napping, and he must be woken up to enter into the voting process. Such a scene recalls Jesus' nap amidst the chaotic storm in Matthew 8, and the Divinely inspired promptings don't end there. From this point forward, the makeup and hairstyling come together with lighting choices to make Cardinal Benitez a sort of living beatific vision, an entry of a Christ-figure who is ultimately outside of the establishment and unknown to it. He's quiet and clearly experienced in anonymous and obscure ministry to the poor and marginalized in some of the most difficult settings in the world; this makes him free of the pomp and high-browed politicking of his peers, whose positions have primarily only gained them power, favor, and honor in their respective settings. He is quite the wrench to add in to the process at the last minute.

The film proceeds from here like a classic, pulpy detective movie, with Lawrence serving as the lead investigator, swapping the pipe and deerstalker hat with robes and a zucchetto. And such detail choices aren't incidental: in fact, it is the details that Berger seems intent on turning our attention to that wordlessly tell this story. He is constantly filling the screen with insert shots and close-ups that carry with them the drama of the moment: an envelope here, a pair of glasses there, a papal seal and a cigarette and furrowed brows and shots of The Last Judgment and its warped and tormented souls--unspeaking images tell us all we need to know about the stress, the games of power, and the religious iconography that fuels the fire these men hope ends with a fumata celebrating their election. All of this is happening in an isolated silo away from a divided and war-torn world beyond the Vatican's walls, where we get word that violence is actively erupting nearly daily in the city.

But it's Fiennes' acting that carries the bulk of the thematic weight. He is in nearly every shot of the film, and his wrinkles, his gait, his soft but direct tone, his grief and earnestness and wrestling (he battles a crisis of faith that flows throughout the film) all pour forth largely from little flickers of the eyes and subtle turning of the lips and ever so slight voice inflections. Indeed, the facial acting across the board from every central character is remarkable: a myriad of human emotions are brought to bear in ways that keep the audience emotionally and thrillingly engaged, an impressive feat for a film that largely features men in black cloaks talking to one another. The music helps with this as well: Berger has teamed up with his Oscar-winning partner from All Quiet, Volker Bertelmann, to produce a score that is equal parts compelling, haunting, grand, and beautiful. This, combined with color and frame compositions that feel every bit like modern and remarkable paintings, create a darkly alluring aesthetic that feels at once cinematic and lived-in, as if we ourselves are locked into the Vatican, and all the subsequent emotions, with these men.

This detective, see-don't-tell procedural style ultimately prevents the film from falling into the over-talky doldrums of a melodramatic political piece. But its transcendent quality is about more than its genre: it has a theological and spiritual undertone that gives proper weight to the subject matter without ever feeling preachy. This is seen most obviously in a climactic scene, where Lawrence himself reaches a peak moment of hubris, choosing to write--for the first time in the film--himself onto the ballot. As he approaches the ballot box to cast his vote and prays in Latin the proper statement, with the twisted descent into hell of that remarkable painting staring down upon him, a sort of lightning bolt from heaven strikes the room in the form of an explosion that blows open two of the beautiful upper frescos in the chapel and scatters dirt and ash around the entire room. It is this moment, this sort of eucatastrophe, that prompts the final, central debate between the Cardinals on the true purpose of the church, and opens the door for some real clarity.

I won't spoil it, for there are some genuinely remarkable twists towards the end, but this explosion ultimately leads to the final vote scene where Lawrence and his peers stare down blankly at what seems to be an impossible task in filling out these ballots. As they mentally wrestle with what to say, they become distracted, as sunlight and birdsong pour forth through the remnants of the exploded wall into the previously dark and boarded room full of prideful and self-congratulatory men. One by one the Cardinals turn and stare, and in unison--almost as if a Divine word has come directly to them--they return to their ballots with the utmost clarity on the path forward.

From darkness to light. From hubris to humility. From human machinations to Divine intervention. From isolation and self-protection to connectedness and love of others. For a film set in the midst of the ineptitude of hierarchical and patriarchal worldly systems, there remains a hope in the film that is derived right from the true heart of the very faith it exists to critique. This is the prophetic instinct of such a work, using powerful imagery to criticize and energize towards a final consummating message: that following death comes resurrection.