‘Conclave’: A Glorious Celebration of Evil Intent, Faithfully Executed

(L. to R.) Ralph Fiennes as Cardinal Lawrence and Stanley Tucci as Cardinal Bellini in director Edward Berger’s ‘Conclave,’ a Focus Features release. (Photo: Courtesy of Focus Features. © 2024 All Rights Reserved.)

A famous ad campaign in the ‘70s promoted a brand of rye bread by promising “You don’t have to be Jewish to love Levy’s.” Nor, in 2024, do you have to be Catholic to love Conclave, the new fly-on-the-wall film about the exploits of Cardinals in Rome gathered in a secret conclave to elect a new pope. Conclave, directed by Edward Berger, written by Peter Straughan, based on the novel by Robert Harris, is a taut, suspenseful drama, devout in its effort to share the lessons of—not Christ—but the church. Nor is it about the papal throne, but the people who pray to occupy it. Yet, there is much we learn about that process—the jockeying of candidates, the preemptive messaging, the goings-on of this once egalitarian, now secretive institution, and—without the least risk of spoiling a surprise ending—it’s deliciously about the hypocrisy of high priests. 

Suddenly

The pope is dead. That’s our genesis. Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) arrives in Rome to manage the protocol of procession. That is, he is not in the least concerned inside these walls of the Vatican how the devoted masses outside may be grieving; we are all here to elect a new Holy See. Lawrence is Dean of the College of Cardinals, and he must follow an ancient book of rules seldom opened, direct a staff of acolytes, nuns—even kitchen staff—to manage ceremonial tasks not anticipated, and, most importantly, he must preside over a dour convention of Cardinals now on their way to Rome. Soon, they will be sequestered for any number of days with the one obligation to vote-in, by ultimate majority, a new pope.

As the process unfolds, Director Edward Bergen makes no assumptions that we lowly heathens—catholic or not—know the first thing about the ancient rites of Roman Catholicism.  Some may know that the election famously takes place in the Sistine Chapel, that the paper ballots on which Cardinals write their one best choice are tabulated by hand and, if no majority, are then burned in a stove whose smoke billows gray to the outside world. In fact, that may be more than we need to have known. And, for that reason, Berger and his exceptional cinematographer Stepháne Fontaine condone our ignorance by filming these events as if we were mere children stumbling upon a magic castle we were warned never to approach. But here we are to witness it all.

Without Hesitation

Perhaps the most welcoming delight of Straughan’s story is the introduction of the Cardinals most likely “to ascend.” First, we meet Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) who has had the great misfortune (or was it divine grace?) to be the last to have a private audience with the Pope. Then appears laid-back Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci) who wastes no time in presenting his liberal license to save the church from its sordid past. Next comes Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto). He’s late, but oddly so, because his church is in Italy. Tedesco’s smarmy traditionalism precedes him in the same way a leading actor might only begin rehearsing after his name is on the marquee. Also arriving is Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) who represents the long lingering hope that an African might soon have God on speed-dial. The film makes no reference to the actual number of Cardinals in attendance—visually, there are hundreds—but there’s a good reason for that. Whatever number Cardinal-Dean Lawrence has expected, there is one more: Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz) from Afghanistan. (Is there a cathedral in Kabul?) It appears that the Pope had secretly anointed this short and slight Mexican as a Cardinal. And legitimately so; born in Mexico, the man has been a singular champion of the poor, working under the radar of anti-Catholic political regimes, delivering babies, miracles and, above all, hope in the darkest passages of hell. At least, that’s what his dossier says. So, Cardinal Lawrence sends his aide, Archbishop Mandorf (Tom Loibl), to corroborate its truth.

Isabella Rossellini stars as Sister Agnes in ‘Conclave.’ (Photo: Courtesy of Focus Features. © 2024 All Rights Reserved.)

Oh, but wait. Amidst all the intrigue of powerful players vying to become Pope, there’s a nun, too, Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini), silently stoic and stewing in the kitchen. If there’s one actor to study in this gripping, you-gotta-wait-for-it thriller, Rossellini is mesmerizing. Of course, her menu for the evening may include something best served cold or it might be a tantalizing terrine of red herring. Either way, it’s a plum role in a play about pious prunes.  

Before You Know It

In fact, Straughan’s script could easily work as a play, so tight and meaningful are the poignant lines each cardinal thrusts upon the other. But no stage could replicate the Sistine Chapel, the sparse and monastic bedrooms, the outside gardens, and marble statuary everywhere, nor would a stage do justice to the intricately bejeweled robes, the trembling fingers folding self-dealing ballots, or the little beads of sweat that betray deep, dark ambition. And that’s to mention nothing of Volker Bertelmann’s score which hastens every scene with sinister suspense.

The End

You may ask, is any of this religiosity relevant? Oh, yes. And that’s enough said. Except this one final thought: Like any good mystery—the kind which begs the audience to play detective—Conclave is wholly respectful of tradition—of rites and ritual—and no attempt is made here to lure the audience into bashing Catholicism, the church or the service of faith. If, in fact, we learn that “the butler done it,” we are satisfied to know his reasons for doing so. We thought so anyhow. Of course, we were convinced it was the gardener, that ungrateful bastard! And so we go home. But, witnessing Conclave, we may linger a little before leaving the theater, welcoming a breath of redemption for our misgivings—our own “trespasses”—against those who truly believe. 

C. Prentiss Orr is a Pittsburgh-based writer who covers film, live theater, and other topics for Entertainment Central. He is the author of the books The Surveyor and the Silversmith and Pittsburgh Born, Pittsburgh Bred.

Share on Social Media