Conclave: A Study in Scarlet
When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth (derogatory)
What is the true colour of virtue? White? Black? Piousness? Dogma? For Edward Berger and his 2024 film Conclave, it’s a striking scarlet. Through sharp cinematography and a skillful use of light, second only to God in Genesis, the film illuminates a conflict at the centre of the Catholic church and our characters’ philosophies: what flaws should we permit in a man who, to many, will represent divinity itself? The chiaroscuro, wielded by the film to externalise conflicts and dichotomies, has a profound visual impact on its world. Yet, chiaroscuro’s tendency to render three dimensions into two becomes a thematic failure Conclave never overcomes. Where there should be depth I see only its edges.
In its heart of hearts, Conclave is a political drama robed in cardinal’s vestments. The election of a new pope in the wake of the unexpected passing of the prior sets the stage for a remarkably tense and decidedly unholy struggle to secure the pontificate. It’s a clever idea and Berger delivers on the premise deftly. From apprehensive establishing shots of the Vatican to expert manipulation of shadow, the film exudes a dramatic energy. More to the point, Conclave’s intrigue is largely contained in this juxtaposition of the holy responsibilities of the ordained and their naked political jockeying, ideological competitions, and scandals. Its conflict is embodied in Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), a man struggling to accept his calling as Vatican middle management, and someone consistently responsible for finding divinity in decisions that smack of a ruthless pragmatism. This tension is further literalised across Conclave’s runtime.
Some would call the camera work divine. As a writer with integrity, I’ll settle for damn good. The film leverages the rouge sartorial tradition of the cardinals expertly, painting frames that are, at once, striking and apprehensive without so much as a gesture. The score and soundscape also draw the audience into the film’s high-tension world of political manoeuvres and sacrilegious compromise. Remarkably, the most intriguing sequences in the piece live prior to its titular gathering. The arrival of cardinals from around the world allows Berger’s lens to characterise its cast ahead of their looming assemblage. Members of the college are shot smoking, praying, scrolling, conversing, arguing, and sitting with a sombre detached observation. These shots are tense and impersonal yet intimate: a human fresco, quietly bearing the uncertainty of its church’s future.
“Observational” is an apt descriptor of the aesthetic philosophy of most of Conclave’s camerawork. We’re treated to the highly secretive world of the Curia through doorways, around corners, and gazing down stairwells. It’s all wonderfully conspiratorial. Yet, beyond enhancing the political intrigue of the election Berger’s shots develop an additional, more sophisticated element. We become the women of the church.
To describe Conclave as “feminist” feels contemptuous. A film prominently centering the naked ambition and interiority of older, respected men fails the Bechdel test on summary judgment. But Berger’s attentions are deliberate. There is no shortage of film reel that reinforces the everpresence of the sisters of the Catholic Church—watching, supporting, and analysing usually without a single spoken syllable. The sisters of Conclave are observant and their presence is impactful even if not always directly felt.
More to the point, the camera positions the audience in precisely the same manner. The distance between us and the conclave is minimal yet vast. The film also concludes with a shot of three nuns leaving; returning to their pre-conclave lives, much in the same fashion as the audience shortly thereafter. It follows that when uncovering the indiscretions and corruption of Cardinals Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) and Tremblay (John Lithgow), Sister Agnes’ assistance (and Isabella Rossellini’s performance) is critical in exposing the men. The film’s furtive framing should fascinate not frustrate.
A collection of captivating caricatures also animates Conclave’s complexity. I’ve previously praised Isabella Rossellini’s masterful subtlety, but each performance elevates what could have been circuitous religious melodrama to an exciting and nuanced political struggle. Ralph Fiennes's multifaceted depiction of internal religious and ethical turmoil and Sergio Castellitto’s (Cardinal Tedesco) curmudgeonly traditionalist zealotry are highlights of the film. I’m left to surmise that my problems with Conclave lie outside the artistry of its elements. Conclave, while intriguing, lacks the philosophical heft to engage with some of its more intricate ideas.
A primary theme of the film is the imperfect nature of man. Despite, ostensibly, gathering to elect the holiest man in the world, the papabili represent staunch political ideals and a willingness to acquire the papacy through strikingly utilitarian measures. Cardinal Lawrence struggles with this reality along with his role in all of it. Could he be a real candidate for pope? What are the ramifications of the conservative Tedesco or moderate Tremblay succeeding in their bids? To what capacity will we accept an imperfect “human” candidate?
These central questions are never answered or meaningfully explored thanks to the newly minted Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz). Benitez is narratively framed as unambiguously good. He’s not ambitious for the papacy, he admires Cardinal Lawrence, he’s humble, devout, serves missions in dangerous regions, and delivers a speech against Tedesco wherein everyone (figuratively) claps at the end.
The major “twist” at the end of the film is the revelation that Benitez (the church’s newest Pope Innocent) is intersex, having rejected surgery to remove his uterus and ovaries in the past. Understandably, this would be scandalised among religious conservatives, but it fails the film’s core premise. As an audience, we are routinely confronted with a host of potential but deeply flawed candidates for the papacy. Cardinal Lawrence watches the man he believes should be pope (Cardinal Bellini; portrayed by Stanley Tucci) support the concealment of a damning memo against the moderate Cardinal Tremblay, to ensure his political opposite’s defeat. Lawrence, like the audience, asks himself which of these men is deserving of the title of “pope”. Even after Lawrence begins truly striving for the papacy, his prior lack of conviction and the politics in which he’s now embroiled render him a troubling prospect. Rather than grapple with the ramifications of the selection of any of these men, Conclave opts to sidestep the issue. It presents a morally unimpeachable third option with a surprising, yet entirely nominal, foible.
This underscores a bigger weakness in Conclave’s writing, it can be quite direct and uncritical. Much of the film reads with a two-dimensional sincerity or condemnation. Taken in concert with the aforementioned flaw (or lack thereof) with Benitez’s narrative position it’s hard not to view Conclave as an interesting film held back by an addiction to simple, concrete answers where there mightn’t be any. A film steeped in scarlet, yet remarkably yellow. By attempting to discern a truly moral colour, Conclave ignores the delicious complexity of the shades between.
It’s a shame, I liked red.