Title: Conclave
Director: Edward Berger
Cast: Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, Lucian Msamati, Brían F. O’Byrne
Where: In theatres near you
Rating: 3.5 Stars
If you ever wondered whether the Vatican’s corridors of power resemble a smoke-filled backroom poker game, Conclave confirms that suspicion—minus the cigars, plus a discreet vape or two. Edward Berger’s adaptation of Robert Harris’s novel is a richly atmospheric, well-acted drama that walks the fine line between high-stakes political thriller and ecclesiastical satire. But beneath its sombre robes and ceremonial gravitas, the film often leans more towards a tightly wound whodunit than a truly incisive meditation on faith and power.
Ralph Fiennes, in his reliably understated brilliance, plays Cardinal Lawrence, the reluctant steward of the papal conclave, tasked with wrangling a flock of squabbling, power-hungry cardinals into choosing the next pope. If that sounds like a divine calling, in practice, it’s more akin to herding egos in red robes. The candidates range from the comfortably progressive Cardinal Bellini (a measured Stanley Tucci) to the ultraconservative, perpetually vaping Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), with wild cards like the ever-calculating Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) and the enigmatic latecomer Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz) adding to the intrigue.
Berger, fresh off his Oscar-winning All Quiet on the Western Front, brings a similar intensity to the cloistered halls of the Vatican. Stéphane Fontaine’s cinematography transforms sacred spaces into battlegrounds of light and shadow, while Volker Bertelmann’s sparse, taut score underscores the mounting pressure with the precision of a liturgical drumroll. The film is at its best when it embraces the theatricality of its setting—whispered negotiations by the espresso machine, sideways glances over bowls of tortellini, and political machinations unfolding, under the solemn gaze of gilded saints. If Aaron Sorkin ever wrote a Da Vinci Code spinoff, it might look like this.
Yet, for all its sumptuous aesthetics and powerhouse performances, the film suffers from a self-imposed weightiness that occasionally undermines its potential for deeper exploration. The script positions itself as a study of moral dilemmas within the Church but ultimately shines in its suspenseful twists rather than truly interrogating its themes. It raises questions about progressivism versus tradition and personal ambition versus divine duty but wraps them in a thriller structure that prioritizes plot over philosophical depth. Every revelation, whether seismic or trivial, is delivered with the same hushed urgency, making the film feel more like a highbrow political drama than a profound theological study.
The film’s biggest misstep is its reluctance to trust the audience with nuance. Rather than allowing the moral ambiguities to simmer, the film spoon-feeds its ideological conflicts, ensuring no subtext remains unspoken. The result is a beautifully crafted but ultimately surface-level narrative—one that titillates more than it challenges.
By the time the final vote is cast and the white smoke billows into the sky, the film leaves us with a lingering sense of spectacle rather than introspection. It is a film that postures as a profound meditation on faith and power but plays more like an elaborate game of Vatican chess. Engaging? Absolutely. Revelatory? Not quite. The Church, it turns out, is just like any other political institution—only with better costumes and a stricter smoking policy.
