There are few institutions in this world that are more heavily regarded and reviled in equal measure than the Catholic church. From the sects of religious devotees that populate social pockets of the world to their portrayal in modern media that places them in the spotlight for heinous acts of molestation and institutional corruption, the church is ripe for a critical lens. In Edward Berger’s thriller-cum-farce Conclave, the Catholic church are all too aware of their fractured contemporary reputation, making for a textually rich framework to impeach both the fabric of modern society and the democratic process.
When a more progressive Pope, one who has championed the reinvigoration of the church’s outward appearance, dies in peculiar circumstances, the church must convene a conclave; where the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Cardinal Lawrence (a magnificent Ralph Fiennes), must facilitate an election to choose a successor. Cloth-clad cardinals from dicasteries across the globe begin arriving in Vatican City, including; Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow); Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci); Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto); and the first of many bumps in the process, Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz), whom appears as a puzzling surplus to proceedings due to his area of constituency being Kabul.
Conclave is not a film about working out which Cardinal killed Mr. Pope in the library with a candlestick, even if the circumstances of the previous pope’s death imbue Conclave with the literary feel of an Agatha Christie mystery. The death itself, or the means in which it occurred, is not the subject of scrutiny as it lies on the periphery of the narrative. Instead, for an extended period of time, it is more concerned with the mystery of the pope’s actions within those final hours – one’s that have been snatched away by the grim reaper. These actions that the pope took may impact the legitimacy of certain candidates for the papacy and as the responsibility of ensuring a legitimate papal election falls on Cardinal Lawrence, so does the pressure.
This pressure builds throughout, as Conclave finds itself reaching a fever pitch crescendo. Not solely through rising tensions between the cardinals, but through the civil unrest that is occurring within the boundaries of Vatican City. This threatens to disrupt the sanctity of the vote, which must be kept free from outside influence. But the election itself is not free from manipulation as the Cardinals cajole and jostle each other for votes during the process (voting reoccurs until they achieve a ⅔ majority) while some have taken mischievous actions prior to the sequestration.
Conclave is awash with these shenanigans as the cardinals sneak around the college campus, secretly convening in striking shadow-strewn staircases, huddled together in grand halls that threaten to turn the cliquey clergy’s hushed whispers into vociferated words. These highly regarded members of the Catholic Church are as gossipy as teenagers, with infinitely higher stakes involved. The stakes are the papacy of course, but who becomes pope and thus becomes powerful is where the political lines are drawn. The reason the script, one adapted from a 2016 novel of the same name, cites an American election within one of many amusing off-hand comments is that the democracy within the church is as flawed as that of the United States and of several nations worldwide.
Cardinal Tredesco, for example, is a traditionalist; he favours a more regressive mentality that has the tendency to veer into fascism and bigotry. A weaker script would have gifted Castellitto with a line akin to “Make Catholicism Great Again”, if the quasi-Trumpian Reaganism rhetoric wasn’t already blatant – his derision towards Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) for being a potentially black pope his most prominent discourse – but the script from Peter Straughan is wily, slick and deviously cheeky about its political intrigue. On the other hand, Tucci’s Cardinal Bellini is, in limited scope, a Bernie Sanders surrogate; Highly progressive, left-wing ideologies hindered by a voting body laced with corruption, sin and dogmatic approaches as to who should take the throne.
On the other hand we are given a more centrist option in Cardinal Tremblay. Lithgow’s papal candidate is seen as the lesser of two evils; a character supports his ascension only because “the centre can hold”. But Straughan’s mischievous script shows Tremblay to be as morally vacant as British Prime Minister Keir Starmer or US President Joe Biden in how they appear to care only for the power that comes with the title. Within these nooks of electoral buffoonery lie thorny nuggets of intrigue: should they back the Nigerian Cardinal Adeyemi out of racial optics, if it comes at the cost of rampant homophobia? Does Tremblay really represent a better option if power’s stranglehold on him may cause corruption? Is Bellini the “best” option if he is struggling with his faith? He is reluctant, but would do it shall it be God’s will as long as it is legitimate, and not conducted through the more morally grey methods that are presented to him. Conclave is less about the papal election itself, and more about the sinful humans struggling to understand their own role within the church amidst oncoming modernity.
Modernism and traditionalism clash within Conclave at every moment. Not just within the literal text, where Tredesco gesticulates fascistic rhetoric about the church losing their power or where Bellini shocks other cardinals with the vaguest of sentiments about women’s abortion rights; but within the very composition of the film. The cardinals are seen to use modern espresso machines, scroll their smartphones with their forefinger – a trait of the less youthful interacting with technology – and are seen puffing on red vapes. Even the coloured smoke that erupts from the Vatican chimney as a sign they have elected a pope is produced from a metal canister, rather than what is done in actuality – they burn metallic zinc dust with elemental sulphur to create white fumes. It’s even presented during Isabelle Rosselini’s star-turn as Sister Agnes, whose concise, bitter words on the church and God allow the Cardinals to self-reflect; an action that disturbs the status quo the majority of cardinals want to maintain.
With its farcical take on politics, shades of the Stanley Kubrick-directed satire Dr Strangelove or: how I learned to stop worrying and love the bomb emerge throughout Conclave, the classic film’s war room setting replaced by a grand hall of scarlet-robed cardinals at war with one another, where its final rug pull is as provocative as Peter Sellers’ iconic “mein führer” speech. A rug pull which has divided audiences in similar ways to Sellers’, as its existence acts as an imputation of the false equivalence allotted within the minds of those who haughtily hold themselves up as progressive individuals. It works as a cheeky and scathing way to bundle together and sell the soap operatic melodrama of it.
Conclave exists uncommonly within the current filmic climate as something both classically inclined and remarkably prescient. Especially with the US election between Harris and Trump having taken place simultaneously to the festival run that Conclave took part in. That this conflict between modernism and outdated praxis never pompously intrudes on what is, essentially, a simple and sleek thriller of high-stake decisions is quite the revelation. Anchored by the peerless Fiennes, Conclave is an absorbing, playful farce, one that is fearless in its critique of democracy, zealots of faith and of the marriage between church and those who use it as an altar of power.
Conclave is now in theaters.
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