A Reflective Afternoon Watching Conclave
On a quiet Saturday afternoon after Christmas in Abuja, I decided to immerse myself in the contemplative world of Edward Berger’s movie Conclave. It was more than just a film for me—it was an exploration of power, faith, and the frailties of humanity. I enticed some family members into seeing it with me. Sitting in the dining area, with a failed attempt at dim lighting so that the laptop screen would stand out, we felt the world outside melt away.
Berger’s adaptation of Robert Harris’s novel takes us into the sacred and secretive process of electing a new pope after the sudden death of the reigning pontiff. With its stunning ensemble cast, including Ralph Fiennes, Stanley Tucci, and Isabella Rossellini, the film offers a gripping narrative filled with political manoeuvring, moral dilemmas, and personal scandals.
What struck me most, however, was the storyline involving Cardinal Adeyemi (played by Lucian Msamati), a character whose trajectory resonated deeply. Adeyemi, portrayed with quiet strength and vulnerability, was an inspiring candidate for the papacy. He, as one of the opposing Cardinals said, was a person who wanted gay persons to go to jail in this world, and go to hell in the world after. But as the film reveals, his past relationship with a woman, which resulted in the birth of a child 30 years earlier, was ultimately going to disqualify him from the race.
The Human Side of Power
Adeyemi’s story brought a sense of relatability to the film. It reminded me of the universal truth that even those in positions of great authority carry personal histories that can shape—or sometimes haunt—their present. The revelation of his past was not just a plot twist; it was a profound commentary on the burdens of leadership in a world that often demands perfection from its leaders. But, what of he as a leader who also wants persons that do not share his sexual orientation to go to jail and hell? Was he only doing the bidding of the Catholic Church as an institution he represents or expressing his personal hard-line position?
Watching Adeyemi’s dilemma and how he begged that his fleeting moment of indiscretion three decades earlier ahould not be used against him, I found myself pondering questions about forgiveness, redemption, and the expectations placed on spiritual leaders. Was it fair for his candidacy to be derailed by a long-buried secret, especially one rooted in human vulnerability rather than malice? Or was it a necessary reckoning in a system that values transparency and moral integrity above all?
A Window into the Vatican
The film’s setting—a beautifully recreated Sistine Chapel and the austere Casa Santa Marta—drew me further into its world. I wondered how such massive edifices could be so perfectly and believably recreated. The grandeur of the Vatican was juxtaposed with the human imperfections of the cardinals, creating a tension that was both visually and emotionally compelling.
The interplay between tradition and modernity was another theme that resonated. While the conclave adhered to centuries-old rituals, the scandals and political infighting felt strikingly contemporary. This duality made the story accessible, even for those of us far removed from the intricacies of Catholicism at its heights. Granted, some of us were Catholics and others still practising, but we never had seen the inside of the Vatican.
Reflections on Redemption
At the end of the movie, I couldn’t help but reflect on the film’s broader implications. Adeyemi’s story, while fictional, mirrors the challenges faced by real-life leaders (especially but sadly, African leaders) who must navigate the intersection of personal history and public scrutiny. It also raises questions about the nature of forgiveness in institutions that often prioritise image over individual growth.
On that Abuja afternoon, Conclave offered me (or us) more than entertainment—it provided a lens through which to examine the complexities of leadership, faith, and humanity. It was a reminder that beneath the robes and rituals, even the most revered figures are, at their core, just people.
For a few hours, I had been part of a world where divine aspirations clashed with human frailty—a world that, in many ways, mirrors our own. Next, I plan to see Funmilayo, the movie about Fela’s mother, and I will share my thoughts.
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