CONCLAVE. Having heretofore missed (or avoided) the latest from Edward Berger, a German director I had never heard of until his remake of All Quiet on the Western Front (2022) garnered massive critical and awards recognition, one might be inclined to pass over it all together. But then, in the spirit of the season, local theaters had precious little to offer (although I still intend to see Flow) and I was concurrently sidelined by a festively debilitating illness. And so, both in service to my inexplicable awards-time completionism and a morbid curiosity regarding the possibility of a two-hour drama about the election of the new pope being as compelling as it has been made out to be, I figured it was worth a shot; ’tis the season and it’s streaming for free on Peacock anyway.
Although I wouldn’t list Conclave among my personal favorites of the year, I can at least now see what all the fuss has been about. What could easily have been a dour, stodgy parlor mystery about, as I’ve heard it described, “men in dresses,” is instead a propulsive, sumptuously designed examination of secrecy and tradition counterbalanced by the need, perhaps more vital than ever, for progress and inclusion. It’s still a little dour, for those keeping score.
Following the unexpected death of the Holy Father, Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), already struggling with his faith and position within the papacy, is tasked with convening and administering the titular voting body. Probably a big ask under ideal circumstances and in this instance there are political machinations afoot.
As the balloting process gets underway, Lawrence makes it clear he will throw his own support and whatever influence he can muster behind Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci), the foremost voice of liberalism within the church. But Lawrence finds himself with a surprising number of votes in his own favor, splintering the progressives and solidifying the position of some of the more exclusionary cardinals in contention. What’s more, it becomes increasingly clear that the late Pope selected Lawrence for his keen powers of detection, his skepticism, as much as for his faith and humanism. And so Lawrence sets about gathering evidence to determine what sort of clandestine politicking is in play and who is responsible.
To expect a movie like this, about ancient rites within an ancient institution, to sparkle with modernism and technique would be foolish. But to have feared that it would be dull or hidebound speaks to another type of foolishness. Conclave sets off from a screenplay that delicately balances the ambition and humanity of the priests at its center, incorporates thriller elements and turns whodunit before delivering a genuinely unexpected coda that’s more than a little risky. And Berger’s style, which could be accused of formalism, expresses the tension and tradition inherent in the material with something close to perfection.
Conclave is undoubtedly a work of a certain type, a Serious Movie that demands our attention and inevitably vies for awards, and in saying that I can hear my own note of condescension. But to dismiss it as a relic, as out of step or too traditional to be relevant, does it a disservice. PG. 120M. PEACOCK.
JUROR NO. 2. While we’re on the subject of traditionalism and dismissiveness, it makes sense to proceed to the case of Clint Eastwood, one of the great American filmmakers and one whose legacy has been at least partially obscured, toward the end of his seven-decade career, by some dicey political and social views.
Whether such considerations lead to his most recent work being barely released in theaters and summarily shunted to the Max streaming service will likely never be made fully clear to flunkies like me. But in light of the systematic mishandling of the movie commercially, the work takes on another, more complex life.
A writer and recovering alcoholic named Justin (Nicholas Hoult) whose partner (Zoey Deutch) is well into the third trimester of a high-risk pregnancy, is selected to serve on the jury for a high-profile murder trial. The district attorney prosecuting the case rightfully sees it as a key to her election campaign, and most of the jurors (and investigators) perceive it as an open and shut case. But Justin knows something about the events leading to the death of the young woman in question, knowledge that must inform his conduct as a juror.
Eastwood gets a not-unfairly bad rap for his politics sometimes, but the underlying theme seems to be distrust of institutions, or at least a contempt for the corruption thereof. Sometimes he’ll surprise us, though, as he has here, well into his 90s, with a concise, deftly crafted and told story about moral ambiguity and the essential nature of justice. In less capable hands, this would play like episodic television, or any of a variety of courtroom potboilers. But it is so masterfully made, so credibly acted and economically structured, that it elevates itself, certainly beyond the streaming anonymity to which it has been consigned. PG13. 114M. MAX.
John J. Bennett (he/him) is a movie nerd who loves a good car chase.
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For showtimes call: Broadway Cinema (707) 443-3456; Mill Creek Cinema 839-3456; Minor Theatre (707) 822-3456.
This article appears in Top 10 Stories of 2024.