Every God Crazy ‘Bout a Sharp-Dressed Pope | Conclave (2024) Movie Review | #OscarsHomework
Gettin’ Jesus-y Wit It ✝️
Ordinarily, I bleet my movie reviews live on BlueSky, and then piece them together here, but I watched Conclave in November of 2024, predating my BlueSky account. Follow me on there for more LiveSky reviews going forward or on Letterbox’d for more of my shenanigans. — Kay and the cats
I. fucking. hate. homework.
And I’ve done this to myself, too.
I thought it would be cute to focus on Oscar-nominated films from now until March 2, and use the hashtag #OscarsHomework, but the minute I decided that would be a fun idea, I immediately started to resent every film on the list and dread the next three-and-a-half-weeks.
(A Different Man was a pleasant surprise, but it was also nominated for precisely one Oscar [Best Hair & Makeup] and barely counts)
No one made me do it! I did this to myself!
So, naturally, as has always been my approach to homework, I asked myself, “Where’s the shortcut?”
It’s here.
I saw Conclave, starring Ralph Fiennes just absolutely Fiennesing up the joint (it’s evidently pronounced “Rayfe” btw, as in a nickname a 12-year-old boy would choose for himself, not Ralph, the human-being man’s name it’s spelled like), before I started bleeting on BlueSky.
In fact, it was probably the last film I saw during which I didn’t huddle in the furthest corner of the theatre, with my phone on its absolute dimmest setting, hoping not to bother anyone else’s movie-going experience. I actually watched it, and didn’t spend most of the runtime furiously workshopping jokes and deep-thoughts, so I should be able to do this.
But I don’t have any notes or bleets to paste into here, like, nothing.
I did see it. I even have strong feelings, but I’m going to have to work backwards from the primary thing I remember about this movie, so…
Spoilers from here on — also, who cares, don’t you DARE complain to me
… boy, that fucking twist-ending with the trans, Mexican mystery-Cardinal from Afghanistan was dumb and soapy, wasn’t it?
I have to work backwards to get at my thoughts (it’s my mind palace, and none of yours), and I may never forget walking out of the theatre, dumbfounded, going, “… what?” It seemed so beneath this movie.
I say that as a very politically-active (politically-mouthy, at the very least) trans person, myself. I’m certainly not opposed to seeing more trans stories in mainstream media (ugh, don’t remind me; Emilia Pérez is one of my homework assignments, and literally the only thing I’ve heard about it is that it’s polarizing and features some kind of trans something), but…
I’m not sure this is one?
Nothing about the performance (performer’s lived experience, either, not that it’s his fault he was cast in this weird, dumb role; he seems like a sweet, lovely guy and I wish him the best) really reads as authentic, and the ‘twist’ feels a little precious, clever-for-clever’s sake.
And it kind of ruins this movie.
Granted, Conclave is very soapy and melodramatic from the first frame. It’s a bunch of gossipy busybodies in cassocks chasing each other around The Vatican, and asking one another ad nauseum who they think is the most popular girl in school.
There are, of course, barely any actual women. If you place a story in this setting, that’s a given, so I don’t fault the script for that.
If anything, divorced somehow from that bizarre, trans-card-up-my-sleeve ending, the script is really solid and kind of sets the viewer (this viewer) up for disappointment, because at the end I’m left wondering, “… oh, this is what it was all for?”
People with all kinds of different political backgrounds and expectations feel similarly cheated by this twist ending. I don’t think it’s political, the revulsion we seem to be feeling. I think it’s narrative instinct, like, ‘This isn’t a good story, yuck!’ which again, is too bad, because what got us to the dumb ending was pretty fun.
That’s how I would describe this movie, ultimately: pretty fun. The cinematography I would describe as, ‘reveling in the sumptuousness of sparsity,’ because everything is geometric lines and designs and huge, empty, cavernous spaces, and the camera work does a terrific job of exploring those spaces and their dressings.
The set dec is similarly top-notch. If anything, almost everything this film does, it does well… up until that brutal ending.
So how much does absolutely shitting the bed narratively cost an otherwise good film?
Do I like this, or don’t I?
That’s part of the fun of your Letters Box’d or your Googles Review. They prompt me to ask interesting and different questions. They’re both staring me in the face, in this case, asking me the binary question: do you, or don’t you like this? Thumbs up or thumbs down? Heart or no heart?
Heart, I guess.
It’s a pretty fun movie. I sort of think that knowing the dumb twist ahead of time might help you steel yourself for it, and might potentially help you feel less set-up by the otherwise professional sheen of the film.
It’s just inherently fun to watch guys like Stanley Tucci (performance isn’t great in this, but he gets what it is, I think), John Lithgow and Fiennes swishing about in their swoopy cloaks, wearing a bunch of gaudy jewelry and speaking in hushed, reverent tones about who’s going to win the next popularity contest, and how important this popularity contest is.
Should it win Rayfe an Oscar for Best Actor? Probably not, and it won’t.
Worth a look, though, and it’s as starkly-gorgeous and Catholic as the day is long.
