Conclave

I learned at an early age that my faith doesn't extend to institutions. I distrust people too much, especially concerning matters of the spirit.

I remember exactly when it happened, too. I was at confirmation camp, a forced outing I had no say in, and the minister there proclaimed that neither my beloved dog nor my homosexual uncle would meet me in heaven. According to him, the dog did not have a soul, and my uncle lived in sin. For him, both were alike in stature. It wasn't just the ugly proclamation that pushed me away; it was the certainty with which he said it.

In Conclave, certainty is tantamount to sin, as it leaves no room for doubt. Without doubt, we cannot learn or grow as people. Over the next two hours, we watch as doubt gnaws at the foundations of confident men, all of whom lust for this elusive power created by other men with similar delusions of grandeur. At the heart of these proceedings is Father Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), who wishes he was anywhere but here. His faith in the institution has faltered, yet he must guide it to whatever comes next.

The world that he monitors is one of isolation. Those destined to choose the new head of the Catholic church cannot be swayed by outside forces. Once the conclave begins, they are cut off from the world. Like them, we only see the endless hallways and towering walls of the Vatican, which are imposing, opulent, and inscrutable. Much like the men themselves.

Like in a murder mystery, each player reveals themselves early on, and everything that follows is a game of cat and mouse. Father Bellini (Stanley Tucci) stands for tepid modernity; Father Tremblay (John Lithgow) is a self-serving conservative; Father Tedesco (Sergio Castellito) would see the church closed off in extreme traditionalism; and Father Adeyemi (Lucia Msamati) plays both sides of populism and conservatism. Each would shape the church in their image.

Father Lawrence is also on the ballot. He doesn't want it, yet his persistent rejections are seen as political games. Lawrence insists on his sincerity. He is certain of it, and because of that certainty, we remain suspicious.

Finally, there is a newcomer, sworn in secret: Father Benitez (Carlos Diehsz). A man so soft-spoken and tender his mere presence feels like an explosion at the center of all the egotism.

Watching on the sidelines is Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini), who, like Benitez, is an outsider in a system built on strict hierarchy. Her part is reactive until it isn't, and Rossellini's tremendous performance builds in the background like a ticking bomb. You could focus solely on her throughout the film and understand everything that occurs.

Halfway through the film, I thought to myself how none of this would work in lesser hands. It would come off as crass, exploitative, and sensationalist. There's a sense that everyone involved knows this, and the film flirts with our thirst for those tawdry delights. The Catholic church is unknowable to outsiders, and the Vatican stands at the center of every conspiracy theory and mythic tale imaginable. To present its inner workings as mundane and petty – or, in short, human – is far more fascinating than the alternative.

Director Edward Berger understands that faith is an act of repeated contrition and declaration. In his hands, these become the backbone which struggles under the contradiction of self-serving conniving and divine providence. He asks us to consider how much of faith is performative, and for whom that performance is for. Do we truly believe the divine watches us at night, judging the quality of our prayer? What would The Holy Spirit make of a declaration that we have heard His voice, commanding us to lead others?

Conclave doesn't offer answers, and it shouldn't. Instead, it uses the tropes of an effective genre thriller to discuss with us our relationship with the divine. I'm not Catholic, lapsed or otherwise. My faith is mired by anger, logic, and frustration. But I can empathise with Lawrence, as he tearfully lashes out at his compatriots over their squabbles. It is, in part, directed at himself as well. Ralph Fiennes is tremendous as Lawrence. He projects the kind of warmth and fatherly kindness I would want a religious servant to have.

I'm not sure I believe a moment of Conclave. Its final act, in particular, is so outlandish it wouldn't work at all if the rest of the film wasn't so measured. But it's a remarkable film nonetheless. Superficially, it's a classic race for the throne. A backstabbing, scheming, and delightfully catty soap opera. If that was all, it would still be supremely entertaining, like one of those John Grisham adaptations they made every year in the 90s.

But it's the gentle trust in the audience that leaves a lasting impact. In the end, Berger cares little for the empty throne. More time is spent on the final journey of the previous pope than we do with the new one. The seat itself is a burden that haunts the waking dreams of everyone who has laid eyes on it. We get the sense there is more faith in its power than anything tangible. And that, in the end, unspoken trust might prove a greater reflection of the Kingdom of Heaven than any manmade object on Earth.