The implications of the papal conclave are fascinating and bizarre. After the death of a pope, cardinals sequester in the Sistine Chapel where they vote on his replacement. Since Catholic dogma says the pope is essentially a conduit for God, there is a spiritual component to a fundamentally political process. What does this mean for those who vote for the wrong man? Is God steering them in the wrong direction? What about those who align with the majority? Is their preference an extension of God’s will? Conclave, the new political thriller about this peculiar election, mostly sidesteps the divine implications and instead focuses on the human drama of warring factions in Catholicism. Strong performances and a tight screenplay make this an absorbing exercise, the kind of film that keeps our attention in the moment, but the impression isn’t lasting.
Director Edward Berger, fresh off his Oscar from his 2022 adaptation of All Quiet on the Western Front, mostly dials back his penchant for bombast. These cardinals speak in whispers—the illusion of power and inevitability is lost when everyone knows your carefully guarded strategy. Our guidepost character is Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), the cardinal managing the conclave after the death of a beloved pope. Like any political figurehead, this pope had his share of allies and enemies: We learn through Lawrence and his friend Bellini (Stanley Tucci) that the dead pope was a liberal reformer, and Bellini wants to stop his personal rival—the conservative reactionary Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto)—from getting the papacy. As votes and sequestration get underway, we get a sense of Lawrence’s burden: Many cardinals have a secret, like all powerful men must, and he has no choice but to keep them to himself.
Berger’s direction follows the example of the conclave, keeping the drama hermetically sealed within the walls of the Vatican. There are no cuts to an eager public gathering in St. Peter’s Square, and during the rare shots of characters wandering Rome, the streets are empty. Not only does this imbue Conclave with the trappings of a locked room mystery (pun intended), it further suggests the cardinals are out of touch, uncaring to the public, and more in tune with their own grievances. Our only sense of the wider world is through the speeches the cardinals make: In maybe the film’s most intriguing scene, Lawrence argues the case for doubt and humility, implying that any leader must be humbled by a higher calling. With the exception of Castellitto’s flamboyance, all the performances are understated, though in this moment Fiennes has a depth of feeling that seems to elude his colleagues. This is a scene moment because it makes him a sympathetic hero, a nervous man trying to make sense of an extremely complicated situation.
Screenwriter Peter Straughan shrewdly mixes the sources of those complications. Some are obvious, like an outburst that torpedoes the chances of an early frontrunner, while others are just below the surface of the action. Together with Berger, Straughan keeps some of these secrets in plain view, while other characters—such as Lawrence’s right-hand man (Brían F. O’Byrne)—drop heaps of exposition in lulls between each vote. This mix of melodrama and procedural detail is effective and refreshingly old-fashioned: Berger largely trusts that the intrigue is enough to sustain his audience’s attention, even during long periods that unfold in silence. That said, Berger’s penchant bombast can be found in the score by Volker Bertelmann, a refrain of severe-sounding strings that underline scenes already oozing with tension. Maybe it is because of the frequent silences, but parts of Conclave—even when characters are whispering—seem quite loud.
The application of sound and silence comes to a head during the climax, a shocking moment when the outside world crashes into the proceedings. It is a powerful metaphor for the Church’s broader responsibility, and their slow desire to meet it. Afterward, Conclave shifts subtly from a political to a legal thriller. Once again, Berger’s direction is most effective when he stands back and lets his actors chew the scenery. John Lithgow plays Tremblay, a cardinal whose performative humility hides deep ambition, and his dual nature reveals itself in a scene where finally he explodes. (Lithgow opts for a callow performance that once again demonstrates he is always a good sport.) But as the film winds down, the key performance comes from Carlos Diehz, who plays the mysterious Benitez. An outsider to petty squabbles, Benitez serves as a metaphor for the church’s loftier ideals and Diehz’s calm performance is a welcome contrast to everyone else’s bluster.
Like the Thomas Harris novel it’s based on, Conclave elects a new pope and, in doing so, forces us to reconsider everything that happens in the film, and what it means to serve as God’s conduit. Conclave is an agnostic, secular film; it’s unclear whether Berger and his collaborators are religious, but they are sensitive to the Church’s political influence. That approach may frustrate pious viewers, but small moments and plot threads leave enough wiggle room for deeper spiritual implications.
We’re left thinking that the papal selection process is a mess because it is run by flawed, powerful men, while women, like the frustrated Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini), must remain on the sidelines. Anything that champions equality, however incremental and unlikely, might just be godlike because entitlement and power alone are no basis for leadership. Lawrence feels that in the beginning of the film, and by the end, so do we.
Conclave opens in theaters on Oct. 25 in area theaters.