‘Conclave’: Edward Berger’s gripping tale of clashing values
After many screenings at this year’s London Film Festival, I left the cinema with a renewed sense of dread and misanthropy, feeling embittered about the state of the world and the filmmakers who chose to use weighty current issues as a backdrop to their stories without really saying anything at all.
While people like Ali Abbasi were exploiting the topical controversy of the US election to advance their own career and cowardly calling it an apolitical piece of media, I braced myself for the subsequent films that were also described as ‘political’. But after watching Edward Berger’s Conclave, my dwindling hope for nuanced storytelling was restored, and I left with a renewed sense of optimism not just in cinema but briefly in the world itself.
Conclave shows the aftermath of the Pope’s death, with Cardinal Lawrence and a group of religious leaders being sequestered in the Vatican as they elect a new one. What ensues is a melting pot of whispers, secrets and lies behind closed doors as the priests slowly turn against each other and exploit the tragedy for their own personal gain, exposing the corruption and contradiction at the heart of those we deem most moral.
Berger reveals the darkest parts of humanity as each cardinal claws his way to power and status, asking whether anyone can truly be deemed as ‘good’ and mocking the fragility of the traditions at the centre of our world. Ralph Fiennes as Cardinal Lawrence is nothing short of sensational, with his character introduced while he’s engrossed in a crisis of faith, grappling with the forces of good and evil as he tries to avoid power, stubbornly refusing to admit that his resentment of power makes him the best person for the job. He is restrained and mild-mannered in the company of the other priests, but with a level of restrained anger and self-loathing that is only released in private spaces, with the task of protecting democracy beginning to plague him as he desperately works to prevent all progress from being undone after uncovering a conspiracy that threatens everything.
Lawrence champions Aldo Bellini as the next pope, with Stanley Tucci beautifully playing the passionate and cynical priest who is reluctant to advocate for himself despite being the only liberal candidate who will act with the interests of the people at heart. There are moments of surprising humour that undercut the steely exterior of the film, with the entire audience laughing out loud at Isabella Rosellini’s withering stare and passive-aggressive courtesies after dragging the men for their staggering incompetence, with everyone losing it after one unexpected vape appearance that is never again acknowledged.
It’s completely gripping and enthralling, and the film cleverly builds on its tension while maintaining a level of stillness and subtlety that never feels over the top, only adding to the suspense and sense of confinement as the men dance around their resentment towards each other without being able to openly express their anger, trapped by their religious duties and commitment to being ‘good’, which only means their bad behaviour has to be more discreet, like many of our world leaders and politicians.
Everything about the film is meticulously crafted: from the astute and observational script, a career-defining monologue from Ralph Fiennes that moved me to tears or the spine-tingling score that exaggerates the unnerving silence of the church as the leaders tiptoe around each other with their manipulative plots and unspoken strategies. Most of the action takes place inside windowless and dark rooms, making it feel like an echo chamber of high school bitchiness as they slowly become suffocated by their own greed and self-interest, with Berger only letting this simmering tension explode in one final moment that blows the lid on all of their schemes and exposes their moral failings.
Ultimately, Conclave is a tale of contradictions, looking at the confrontation between tradition and modernity, ego and humility, power and subjugation. The heart of the story feels devastatingly relevant today, with the political leaders of our own world making decisions to erase the rights and personhood of people who need protection in an effort to reinforce the restrictions of the past, terrified of any progress that threatens their power.
Berger toes the line between the threat of change and our fear of uncertainty, something that only grows in a world unsure of its next move, and chooses to resolve this anxiety in a surprisingly upbeat way. While I appreciated the hopefulness that the director was trying to stir, I found myself feeling unconvinced by it given our own stark reality – but is this more of a reason to include it? Have we become so beaten down that hope feels brash? And perhaps, this is Berger’s final message: that even when hope feels brazen and sometimes delusional during our most bleak periods and a collective crisis of faith, maybe it is our only choice, and the only way we can achieve the future we want is to boldly speak it into existence, no matter how unbelievable it might seem.
