Producers: Tessa Ross, Juliette Howell, Michael A. Jackman, Robert Harris and Alice Dawson   Director: Edward Berger   Screenplay: Peter Straughan   Cast: Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, John Lithgow, Isabella Rossellini, Sergio Castellito, Lucian Msamati, Carlos Diehz, Brian F. O’Byrne, Jacek Koman, Merab Ninidze, Thomas Loibl, Loris Loddi, Bruno Novelli and Balkissa Maiga    Distributor: Focus Features

Grade: B

A potboiler is a potboiler, however classily it’s presented, and “Conclave,” based on a 2016 thriller by prolific novelist Robert Harris, certainly is one.  It’s a pulpy mystery set around the machinations of cardinals of the Catholic Church as they engage in choosing a new pope.  Filled with ambitious prelates and a host of dark secrets, and featuring a parade of twists that would do Agatha Christie proud, it’s treated by director Edward Berger, production designer Suzie Davies, costumer Lily Christi, cinematographer Stephane Fontaine, editor Nick Emerson, composer Volker Bertelmann and a distinguished cast with all the dignified solemnity they can muster. 

But the movie’s essential goofiness renders it just a higher-toned cousin to Dan Brown’s books, and the best way to enjoy it is as an ecclesiastical version of a “Knives Out” puzzler.  If you appreciate its underlying comic spirit, it can be fun despite its absurdity.

Things begin with the death of the current pope (Bruno Novelli), a serene liberal (apparently more Francis than Benedict), of apparently natural causes.  It’s left to the Dean of the College of Cardinals, Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), to arrange the convocation of male red-hats who will elect his successor.  Though Lawrence has some support himself, he reveals to Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci), the man he prefers, that he had approached the late pope with a request to resign but been refused; he admits that he has personal doubts about his faith, though he goes into no specifics.  (If you’ll pardon the reference, you can call him Doubting Thomas.)

There quickly emerge several top candidates, or papabili.  One is Bellini, a veteran Vatican diplomat and a liberal who was a close friend of the deceased pope and claims not to want the job. But he’s so hostile to another popular choice, flamboyant, volatile ultra-traditional Cardinal Tedesco (Sergio Castellito), that his drive to win quickly becomes all-consuming.  Then there are Cardinal Adeyami (Lucian Msamati), the apostolic major penitentiary who would be the first pope from Africa and whose views fall between those two, and Cardinal Tremblay (John Lithgow), a Canadian who was the late pope’s chamberlain.

As the cardinals, more than a hundred in number, are sequestered to begin the electoral process, there’s a surprise arrival: an unknown new member, Cardinal Benitez (Carlos Diehz), a Mexican cleric who had served in social welfare capacities in global danger zones and was appointed as Archbishop of Kabul secretly by the deceased pope.  Despite hesitancy on the part of some of his colleagues, Lawrence urges his acceptance by the college.

Once the doors are closed, however, other incidents disturb the Dean’s careful planning.  A nun (Balkissa Maiga) serving under Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini), who’s charged with seeing to the cardinals’ needs, enters the dormitory in which they’re housed for the duration; her presence causes rumors to circulate, which Lawrence feels compelled to investigate.  Just as troubling is a report that comes to the Dean at the last minute from an archbishop (Jacek Koman) who was in charge of the papal household, claiming that the pope’s final meeting, with Tremblay had been contentious—something the cardinal, and another witness, staunchly deny.  Once again Lawrence feels compelled to break protocol and search for the truth, using his aide Monsignor O’Malley (Brian F. O’Byrne) as his conduit to the outside world.  In the end the Dean discovers secrets he would prefer not to have done.

And the outside world intrudes violently in the closed conclave as terrorist bombings shatter the peace in Europe, including Rome itself.  An anti-Islamic rant by Tedesco, whose attitude toward tolerance is stern under the best of circumstances (think Pius IX), is met by a gentle rebuke from Benitez that has a profound effect on the assembly.  But that is topped by a closing revelation that suggests that the late pope, a reformist whose efforts had prodded things forward only at the speed of the turtles he kept as pets in the Vatican ponds (thus moveth the church), had shrewdly arranged matters to ensure that the pace would accelerate after his departure.

By way of comparison to other films in which papal conclaves play a significant role, this one is certainly the best, especially if one doesn’t take it too seriously.  But the competition is, to put it mildly, not strong.  The best-known rival, Michael Anderson’s 1968 “The Shoes of the Fisherman,” based on Morris West’s novel, is stodgy and preachy, and, despite a game cast, badly acted.  “Conclave” makes its ideology no less blatant—liberals basically good, conservatives (Tedesco rabidly so in every respect, and Adeyami retrograde on social issues) if not bad, at least misguided.  But despite very deliberate pacing it maintains tension throughout its two-hour running-time, largely by reason of the fact that it’s a contraption built by Harris and screenwriter Peter Straughan for suspense, and the plot’s twists and turns keep viewers on their toes.  It also delivers well-calibrated crowd-pleasing moments, especially ones where Sister Agnes, in the person of the redoubtable Rossellini, breaks the taboo that women are to remain inconspicuous in such august clerical company.

It’s also blessed with an exceptional cast.  Fiennes anchors the picture with a beautifully nuanced turn in which almost infinitesimal gestures can speak volumes, and while Tucci and Lithgow have more limited opportunities, both are wonderfully controlled.  Msamati’s character is more voluble and Castellito’s positively over-the-top, but both provide what the plot demands, while Diehz exhibits the requisite mysterious serenity.

“Conclave” rejoices in dealing cheekily with the politics within the Vatican, but it won’t escape viewers that similar circumstances are to be found in all seats of power: overweening ambition exists everywhere.  By using a papal election as a microcosm of larger world realities, Berger’s film succeeds as both a critique of clerical chicanery and a warning that no institution is free of corruption and scandal.

Producers: Adam Ackland, Leah Clarke and Guy Heeley   Director: John Crowley   Screenplay: Nick Payne Cast: Florence Pugh, Andrew Garfield, Lee Braithwaite, Adam James, Grace Delaney, Aoife Hinds, Douglas Hodge, Amy Morgan, Marama Corlett, Nikhil Parmar, Niamh Cusack, Heather Craney, Lucy Briers, Robert Boulter and Kerry Godliman   Distributor: A24

Grade: B

Chronological fracturing, moving back and forth in time, often works to the detriment of a film.  In the case of John Crowley’s, however, it’s central to its success.  Without the shifts, “We Live in Time” would likely come off as a fairly standard-issue tearjerker—basically a disease-of-the-week movie, if a finely crafted one.  But by asking viewers to experience the central relationship with a visceral sense of its lurches and setbacks, it becomes something more wrenching.  It doesn’t escape being a weepie, but the jolts, artfully arranged by screenwriter Nick Payne and realized by Crowley, the cast and editor Justine Wright, help to make it a genuinely moving one.

A synopsis necessarily puts the shards back into order, and results in spoilers one should be warned against (this constitutes the warning!).  Almut (Florence Pugh), a chef, and Tobias (Andrew Garfield), a rep for a cereal company, meet cruel-cute.  He’s at an out-of-town conference, where he tries to sign his divorce papers in his motel, but none of the pens work.  So he runs off crazily to a nearby convenience store.  On the way back, though, he crosses a highway and gets hit by a car driven by—you guessed it—Almut.  They meet in the hospital where he’s taken for treatment.

Thus starts the relationship that leads to an engagement and wedding plans.  But it also suffers setbacks, including a disagreement over whether they want children (he does, she’s ambivalent).  But when she’s diagnosed with ovarian cancer, she chooses a partial rather than a full hysterectomy to leave open the option.  And eventually they do have a lovely daughter, Ella (Grace Delaney). 

That involves another darkly cute episode, since on the way to the hospital they’re delayed in terrible traffic, prompting Almut to make her way to a gas station where she’s trapped in the restroom.  It’s only with the help of the clerks on duty that the baby is delivered.  It’s a sequence that could be accused of sitcom overtones, but thanks to Crowley, cinematographer Stuart Bentley, Pugh and Garfield (as well as the two clerks) it’s skillfully pulled off.     

But there’s also a devastating reversal —the recurrence of the cancer, with a poor prognosis.  Tobias pushes on with the wedding preparations, but Almut, who’s already expressed indecision about going ahead with punishing treatment or enjoying whatever time they have left to the fullest, wants to go forward with plans to enter a cooking competition overseen by master chef Simon Maxson (Adam James); her young assistant chef Jade (Lee Braithwaite) is her partner.  Setting aside the wedding, Tobias supports her decision and brings Ella to cheer Almut on.

She and Jade finish the grueling competition, but rather than wait for the winners to be announced, Almut leaves the hall to pluck Tobias and Leah from the audience and take them to an ice skating rink.  She was a competitive skater in her youth, and now introduces her little daughter and gangly husband to the pastime.  Later, Tobias is shown teaching Ella to crack eggs into a skillet in the way Almut had taught him to do.

Spoilers Over!  One can only imagine how sappy the film would be if it were told in simple chronological sequence.  By mixing the episodes up, often showing the results before we’ve seen what leads up to them, the film puts us in the position of the characters, uncertain of connections and consequences.  It’s a device that might have undermined our ability to follow what happens, but is so carefully employed here that it increases the emotional stakes rather than dissipating them.

Of course, the success of the stunt (which, of course, is what it is) depends to a great extent on the two lead actors, and here Payne and Crowley are exceptionally fortunate.  Pugh and Garfield give remarkable performances.  She conveys Almut’s tenacity in the face of the obstacles arrayed against her but also a sense of vulnerability, while he represents the softer half of the equation, his mouth frequently quivering and his eyes welling with tears, but without succumbing to mawkishness.  Yet both also seize the humor of the more lighthearted episodes, and the passion of the romantic ones.  They keep the movie from sinking into purely maudlin territory, a danger difficult to avoid in material like this.

The reminder of the cast is fine, with Braithwaite especially strong as Almut’s loyal second-in-the-kitchen and Delaney nicely natural as little Ella.  Douglas Hodge has a few good moments as Tobias’ caring father, but among the other players it’s the two harried gas station clerks you’ll probably remember for their congratulatory fist-bumps as Almut leaves in an ambulance, infant in her arms.

On the technical level all is well, with Alice Normington’s production design and Liza Bracey’s costumes unfussily right without overdoing the changes of periods and Bentley’s cinematography similarly straightforward; the importance of Wright’s editing has already been noted.  Bryce Dessner’s score, however, doesn’t always avoid cliché.

The result is a tearjerker even viewers usually averse to the genre can appreciate for its good taste and exceptional craftsmanship.