‘The Conclave’ is Just a Thriller in Costume
The Oscar-nominated film about electing a new Pope is a locked-room mystery in robes.
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The Academy Awards is a huge distortion field that transforms mediocre and uninteresting films into fascinating works of serious art, at least temporarily1. That’s not the beginning of an argument that Conclave is a mediocre movie—it’s pretty good!—but rather an acknowledgment that the quest for an Oscar nomination and its resultant marketing manna sometimes elevates films that aren’t exactly towering examples of cinema into the discourse, and Conclave is one of those films2.
Don’t get me wrong: Conclave is made well, it’s entertaining, and I heartily recommend watching it. But it’s not nearly as remarkable as all the Oscar attention might have made it seem, if you pay attention to stuff like Oscar nominations3. The story revolves around the death of a Pope and the struggle of Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), the dean of the College of the Cardinals, to navigate the political schemes of his fellow Cardinals, several of whom very much wish to be Pope4. Some attention has been put toward the film’s twist at the end, but at it’s heart this is just a sturdy thriller wearing ecclesiastical robes5. It’s essentially a locked room mystery set deep inside the creaking, medieval world of the Catholic Church.
It Is A War, And You Have To Commit To A Side
There’s no actual murder in Conclave—the Pope just dies at the beginning like any old sucker who isn’t particularly favored by god6—but the story unfolds like a murder mystery. Even better, it unfolds like a classic Agatha Christie-style mystery, with a group of shifting suspects trapped in a location. Instead of a murder, the mystery is centered on who, exactly, is going to be the next Pope, a subject an inexplicable number of people in this world are still concerned with7. Cardinal Lawrence does all the classic detective moves: He gets his subordinate to do research, he breaks into someone’s private rooms, he strongarms people into telling him secrets or giving him access to information. He might as well be wearing a tan raincoat and telling people just one more thing as he’s about to exit a room8.
Lawrence eliminates suspects one by one, just like a gumshoe, discovering scandal and simony and betrayals with a world weary scowl that would make Sam Spade proud. The story even includes the classic double tap ending9, where Lawrence solves the mystery (well, gets a Pope elected) but discovers there’s a piece of the puzzle he didn’t see. This is the big final twist of the film, but if you’ve read enough detective stories, you were waiting for something to pop up at the end.
Repurposing the tropes of a different genre is a tried and true way to jazz up a story. Conclave is a fine story on its own, but bringing the thriller tension to it turns what could be a relatively dry exploration of Vatican politics into a story with some propulsion and edge to it.
I Am What God Made Me
This genre mashing does make the film an oddball. It’s filmed in the heavy, painterly way serious movies are filmed, with ponderous wide shots and clammy tight shots. It’s got a heavyweight cast, including Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, and Isabella Rossellini. It has that sheen of serious film that allows it to get all those Oscar noms.
But the film’s energy is the fidgety, greasy kind found in 1970s political thrillers. It works! But it makes the viewing experience a little strange, as I kept waiting for Lawrence to wake up with a dead body in his room, or for Stanley Tucci to suddenly turn around and reveal he’s been stabbed in the belly and is bleeding everywhere10. Instead, what we get is photocopied financial records and secret babies, which must be every other Tuesday in the Catholic Church11.
Again, it works, and the Oscars are notorious for elevating mediocre films (and sometimes even giving them Best Picture awards, and then it’s a decade later and no one remembers the movie even exists12) for the brief period of time between nominations and the ceremony. And Ralph Fiennes is always brilliant as the tortured, exhausted type, forever lying sleepless in his bed as he worries about everything and yet somehow always finding the energy to be kind to other people13. I have no idea what Fiennes is like in real life, but he sure sells tired empathy effectively on the screen.
I was raised Catholic, and I’m still contemplating a lawsuit about it. All I want in my lifetime is a Pope who doesn’t resemble Emperor Palpatine quite so perfectly14.
NEXT WEEK: The Last of Us Season 2 fumbles the shock twist.
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Similar to how a poorly-lit tavern transforms me into a handsome young man, however briefly.
When was the last time you thought of 2021’s Best Picture? If you can name it without looking it up, I will give you an IOU for a dollar.
The Duchess only wants to watch red carpets during Oscar Season, which means I actually know what a princess sleeve is, much to my detriment.
And who wouldn’t want to be Pope? If only for the fancy clothes and globe-trotting lifestyle and the lavish Medieval Imperialist vibe.
This is how low I’ve fallen: I spelled “ecclesiastical” correctly on my first try and it was a big moment for me.
Unlike me, who will live until the heat death of the universe. I am not listening to alternate takes.
I mean, you do get a free car and some fancy-pants Swiss guards. Downside: I imagine all you do is pray, which is hella boring.
If they’d included that bit somewhere I would have stood up to applaud.
Would I have preferred that the big twist be that the ultra-conservative Italian Cardinal smuggled automatic weapons into the conclave and it all ends with a bloody shootout with everyone in their flowing churchy robes? Well, shit, of course I would have.
Also: A scene where Ralph Fiennes rips off his robes to revealed he’s jacked like this, assumes a martial arts pose, and does that thing where he holds out his palm and does the come-git-sum wave.
BURN.
Quick: Name the Best Picture of 2018! YOU CAN’T.
I can do one of these things. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which one.
On that note, disappointed again.