‘Conclave’ Is a Tale of Popes and Power Timed for America’s Vote

A close election. The possibility of an old man acceding to a position of great power. Factional infighting and ideological splintering. The description matches America’s imminent vote, but also the plot of “Conclave.” A new film directed by Edward Berger based on the novel by Robert Harris, “Conclave” is concerned with the election of the pontifex maximus — the pope — by the College of Cardinals. Cue the scuttlebutt in the Sistine Chapel.

The choosing of a new pope begins as soon as the old one breathes his last — or, as happened with Pope Benedict XVI, resigns. “Conclave” starts at an aged pope’s deathbed, and it falls to the fictional dean, Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), of the College of Cardinals, to chaperone the selection of a successor. The Curia’s liberal wing, to which Lawrence is sympathetic, is championed with impish piety by Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci).

Another contender is Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a reactionary of ravenous appetites who clutches his vape with the gusto a prince of the Church ought to reserve for his rosary. Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow) is all things to all prelates, but scandal hovers offscreen until it takes center stage. An African candidate, Cardinal Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati), gains steam only to have a youthful indiscretion surface at the worst possible time. 

A mysterious figure from, of all places, Kabul, Cardinal Benitez, (Carlos Diehz) is a scarlet-clad variation of Chekhov’s gun — present at the film’s beginning, he grows in importance at the end. Isabella Rossini, all stern looks and brisk competence, is a superb Sister Agnes. One, somewhat sacrilegiously, wishes she spoke more. “Conclave” has an eye for detail worthy of the artists who made beautiful the halls in which the Church conducts its business. 

Cardinals are sequestered during the course of a conclave, and only released once a candidate has gained the requisite supermajority. Then white smoke billows over St. Peter’s Square, and the declaration habemus papam is bellowed. Much of the pleasure of “Conclave” comes from delivering a behind-the-scenes sacred scoop. Men whisper in corners and form alliances over drags of a cigarette. Dreams nurtured over decades fall apart from one ballot to the next.

“Conclave” touches, albeit gingerly, on the sins of the Church — sexual scandals, financial misdeeds, venal corruption, and overweening pride. Its intelligence is most evident when it homes in on the blurry line between piety and politics. Every cardinal, we are told, wants to be Pope — especially those who deny they crave the throne. One cardinal reflects that “No sane man would want the papacy.” He is crushed when he is denied the bishopric of Rome.

Looming over “Conclave” is not only America’s vote but also the aging Pope Francis. The movie alludes to the fissures in his flock between liberals and conservatives over issues like the role of women, homosexuality, and even the restoration of the Tridentine Mass. Vatican watchers report that dissent is rife in the Curia, and Francis’s failing health means that the throne of St. Peter could soon be vacant again. The Church is accustomed to crises.

“Conclave” is fast-paced, and its protagonists are appealing. What it sacrifices in awe and depth it makes up for in a human touch. Moving between Latin, Italian, English, and Spanish, it depicts the College of Cardinals as a cross between a fraternity, a model United Nations, and a synagogue men’s club. Mr. Fiennes is the movie’s glory — a manager who is changed by the process he has been charged with overseeing. Could the Fisherman’s Ring fit his finger?

The movie’s ideological sympathies are with the liberals, but Tedesco is its most vivid character. He declares that the eschewal of Latin has impoverished the liturgy and fractured the Church and his evocation of a clash of civilizations between Rome and her foes is stirring theater. Tedesco’s inconvenient vitality is a reminder that sometimes sober-minded reform might not be the tonic for what ails faith in a secular age.          

If the film is built with something like the care that Michelangelo lavished on “The Last Judgment,” the concluding half hour is akin to throwing, say, orange paint, on the canvas. A terrorist attack and a final disclosure throw “Conclave” a bit off-kilter. It would, though, be wonderful to have more movies like this, intelligent yet pleasurable, respectful of both faith and the audience’s time — rendering unto Hollywood only what is Hollywood’s.