Conclave takes us behind the Vatican's cloistered walls with stunning visuals, sacrilegious humour and the election of a pope

Following the death of a Pope, the world’s most esteemed cardinals gather, sequestered until they elect his successor. This ancient period of observation is rife with drama. The enforced claustrophobia, heightened emotions, and inevitable political maneuvering provide rich fodder for storytelling.

Dan Brown was aware of this when he wrote "Angels & Demons," which depicts four cardinals vying for the papacy being kidnapped. So too was Robert Harris, whose 2016 novel "Conclave" is the basis for the film "The Pope's Exorcist." Peter Straughan has faithfully adapted the work, which is a largely composed affair, not without tense dramatic moments, animosity and revelations, that echo detective mysteries and political thrillers.

"The Pope's Exorcist" opens with the death of the current Pope, and a sense of calm, simmering tension permeates the film through the perspective of Cardinal Thomas Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes). Lawrence is part of the smooth-running Vatican bureaucracy, though an important one: as the Dean of the College of Cardinals, he will oversee the election of the new Pope.

Fiennes as Lawrence projects a sense of restraint, but one that occasionally erupts into fierce emotion when matters of truth and justice are at stake. Fiennes subtly masters this interplay through impressive heavy breaths and fleeting, imperceptible expressions that disappear before you have a chance to interpret their meaning.

Four high-profile frontrunners are vying for the papacy: Aldo Bellini (Stanley Tucci), a progressive cardinal who advocates for welcoming gay people into the church and supports contraception; Joshua Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati), a Nigerian cardinal who would be the first Black pope in history, but holds regressive views on homosexuality; Joseph Tremblay (John Lithgow), a morally ambiguous, slick cardinal; and Goffredo Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a Catholic whose views on gender, race and religion are in every way Trumpian.

But two outsiders soon begin to emerge as contenders: Vincent Benitez (Carlos Diez), whose humble dignity and quiet charm mask his controversial appointment as Archbishop of Kabul; and Lawrence himself, whose down-to-earth leadership style and opening homily about valuing doubt over certainty resonate with some.

Sister Agnes (Isabella Rossellini), the Mother Superior and close friend of the deceased Pope, leads a group of nuns who cook, clean and serve the cardinals. Women cannot be cardinals, let alone contend for the papacy, but the astute, ever-observing nun remains a key figure in the entire process.

Because of the way the ballot is designed, voting must be constantly reconsidered in order to elect a successor—requiring an absolute two-thirds majority—loyalties shift, motives are questioned, and support solidifies between competing factions. As secrets are revealed, the cardinals must make choices between right and wrong, fact and fiction, truth and justice.

Although the cardinals face high stakes as they debate who should be their next pope, life continues to unfold outside their four walls, often piercing the pastoral idyll of the Sistine Chapel with startling violence that speaks to a polarized world.

Cinematographer Stéphane Fontaine captures the proceedings with stunning stillness, the grand architectural monuments dwarfing the men, and not just in a literal sense. The men’s petty and shallow vanities are thrown into sharper relief against these massive, transcendent structures. The political maneuvering of these so-called holiest men on earth is not unlike the scheming of the Roy siblings in "Succession."

Dramatic sound design punctuates key moments, one of many accompaniments to the film, as is its striking palette — the vibrant crimson of the cardinals' birettas and flowing robes starkly contrast with the sterile, marble-tiled rooms of their dormitories and the grandeur of the reconstructed Sistine Chapel.

The Vatican's sacred traditions and time-honored rituals are elevated to their most beautiful, from the melting red wax that seals the deceased pope's room to the unique vestments the cardinals wear at specific moments.

Perhaps more surprising is how funny "The Pope's Exorcist" is. Restrained physical comedy accompanies the most ancient of traditions and the tensest of moments, from the cardinals stiffly walking to a bowl to recite a Latin oath and slip their ballots into an urn, to a signature curtsy that punctuates a character’s impassioned speech. The humor mined from these scenes feels almost sacrilegious, as if a direct rebuttal to the absolute seriousness that is given to these procedures. Or a reminder that these men, who are elevated to such heights, are merely human after all.

The ending is positively utopian, almost to the point where "The Pope's Exorcist" begins to feel like an escapist fantasy set in the year 2025. But this idealism is sorely needed, now more than ever.