TORONTO, Canada—Thank God for Ralph Fiennes, whose charismatic gravity is the bulwark against Conclave’s escalating absurdity. As the man tasked with overseeing the selection of a new pope, Fiennes is a marvel of sobriety and meticulousness, his humble stature and by-the-books demeanor a sign of not simply his piousness but his unassuming attention to detail.
Confessing that he’s “fussy,” Fiennes’ man of the cloth is a uniquely understated center of attention, and considering that he quickly finds himself embroiled in a competition marked by secrets and conspiracies, he also comes across as a religious version of Agatha Christie’s iconic sleuth Hercule Poirot.
Premiering at the Toronto International Film Festival, Edward Berger’s follow-up to his Oscar-winning All Quiet on the Western Front is an adaptation of Robert Harris’ novel, and though it begins modestly, its destination is unpredictably outrageous. To be blunter, Conclave is a jester in papal dress, and it climaxes with a bombshell that, considering its façade of solemnity, lands with a hilarious thud. Fine performances abound, including from Stanley Tucci and John Lithgow, but the film is ultimately at odds with itself, its handsome appearance and severe attitude clashing with its pulpy impulses.
In the dead of night, Cardinal Lawrence (Fiennes) is summoned to the Vatican, where he makes his way through colleagues to arrive at the bedroom of the pope, who’s just passed away. This is a mournful affair, and yet Volker Bertelmann’s string-heavy orchestral score goes so incredibly hard during these early passages that the film feels as if it’s straining for enormity.
As revealed by the subsequent action, this musical barrage is a tip-off to Berger’s intent to transform the proceedings into something vaguely resembling a thriller. Nonetheless, the director initially focuses on the practices governing this momentous event, from the removal of the pope’s ring, to the Holy Father’s face being covered by a gossamer shroud, to the sealing of his domicile with red ribbon and a wax signet.
Lawrence is deeply upset by the pope’s death, as are cardinals Tremblay (Lithgow) and Bellini (Tucci), the former a moderate and the latter a liberal seeking to move the papacy into the 21st-century with modern ideas about divorce, homosexuality, and contraception.
When, three months later, the world’s 107 cardinals gather and sequester themselves for the conclave—the official vote for a new pope—Bellini states that he has no interest in ascending to the position, but he’d reluctantly do so to keep Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto) out of power. Tedesco is a cheery man whose rule would reverse the past 60 years of church progress, and despite his overseer role, Lawrence is apt to agree with Bellini that it would be better if the radically conservative man didn’t come out on top.
Situated exclusively in the halls of Catholic power, Conclave has an aesthetic regality that reflects the importance of Lawrence and company’s task. Berger immerses us in this clandestine world, providing glimpses of enigmatic rituals and procedures meant only for the holiest of eyes. The film is transfixed by the way robes and headdresses are donned, the order of ceremonies, and the tools employed for this work, all of which is shot by cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine with awestruck reverence.
Moreover, save for a few outliers (such as an aerial view of the cardinals walking in the rain with their matching white umbrellas open), there’s minimal visual showmanship on display—undoubtedly because Berger thought he’d go sonically overboard instead.
The first surprise for Lawrence is the appearance of an unknown 108th cardinal: Benitez (Carlos Diehz), whose existence was kept secret because of the dangerousness of being a Catholic priest in Kabul, Afghanistan, where he’s currently stationed following stops in the Congo and Baghdad. Benitez’s arrival isn’t welcomed by all, yet Lawrence allows him to stay. More troubling, Lawrence learns from a boozy cardinal that, during his last meeting, the pope relieved Tremblay of his title and duties over an unspecified scandal. While he has scant interest in prying into the lives of his compatriots, Lawrence can’t shake his suspicion that something is wrong, and in light of Tremblay’s decent chances of becoming the next pope, he has his assistant investigate the matter.
What he uncovers and reports to Lawrence is the catalyst for Conclave’s busy middle section, during which the cardinals repeatedly vote without coming to a decision, and skeletons start emerging from closets at a steady pace. With the fate of the church hanging in the balance, Lawrence finds himself under such pressure to guide the conclave to a satisfactory resolution that his poise occasionally cracks.
Fiennes doesn’t overplay the protagonist, and Tucci, Lithgow, and their co-stars all treat the material seriously. The problem, however, is that Lawrence’s discoveries are of an increasingly silly sort having to do with abandoned love children, hidden reports, and angry nuns (Isabella Rossellini) who refuse to provide answers verbally but are okay with leaving the sought-after information on their computer screens.
Conclave is a paperback beach read masquerading as a high-toned drama, and its refusal to cop to that from the get-go results in a third act that garners more chuckles than gasps.
Berger endeavors to depict the conclave as a vehicle for debate about social and political worldviews, personal ambition, and humanity’s inherently competitive instincts, and there’s certainly a way to read his final twist as a commentary on the church’s views on hot-button topics, a rumination about the role of uncertainty in religious faith, and a challenge to those who claim to be genuinely devout. Mostly, though, it’s a stunt meant to drop jaws, and despite its success in that limited regard, it’s also so preposterous and goofy that it renders the film flippant.
Fiennes maintains a straight face during these late whiplash-inducing developments, and his thoughtful turn ensures that Conclave remains compelling up until its closing moments. A fascinating peek at the inner workings of the papacy that ultimately decides that it really wants to be an M. Night Shyamalan movie, Conclave will certainly inspire quite a bit of amused (and amusing) commentary. What it won’t do, however, is burnish the resumé of its Academy Award-feted director.
