Philadelphia Film Festival – Conclave and Better Man

Philadelphia Film Festival – Conclave and Better Man

Conclave (dir. Edward Berger)

The Pope is dead, and it’s up to Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes) to preside over the electoral conclave until a new Pope is selected. 118 Cardinals from all over the world have gathered in their silly robes and stupid hats to vote repeatedly until one member of their ranks exceeds the official vote threshold and assumes the Catholic Church’s highest rank. There’s plenty of talk about the results being “God’s will,” but that doesn’t stop this group of holy men from scheming with and against one another to facilitate their preferred results. On the one hand there’s Cardinal Bellini (Stanley Tucci), who favors a progressive church that supports bodily autonomy, gay marriage, and atoning for the systemic pedophilia for which the Church has rightly become synonymous. On the other hand there’s Cardinal Tedesco, who wishes for the church to remain stagnant in its ways, lest forced progress derail a steadily moving train of power. 

Naturally, this divide is tough to bridge, and it doesn’t help that the more progressive members of the conclave are not nearly as interested in actually becoming the Pope as the more conservative branch. Something something “the best leaders don’t want to lead” something something. 

Well, at least that’s what they tell themselves. In practice it seems that all but Lawrence and a mysterious new Cardinal, who was only recently appointed by the deceased Pope, exhibit some level of avarice. 

Conclave is not a subtle movie, and the parallels to America’s recent election woes are not even remotely downplayed. It’s when the film embraces this campiness that it’s at its strongest. When Berger has the clear-sightedness to recognize how aggressively silly all the pomp and circumstance around high-ranking clergymen is, it’s easy to embrace the way the subtext is so boldly elevated to text. But it’s when the film leans into an unearned prestige, likely in search of awards consideration, that it feels like a rote sermon that we’ve seen a hundred times before. 

This is reflected in the acting choices. John Lithgow, for all his wonderful talent, seems stuck in the latter mode. It’s an effective performance, but it pales in comparison to that of Stanley Tucci, who dives head first into the camp and steals every scene he’s in. Bridging the gap is an excellent Fiennes, who traverses both modes quite ably. His Cardinal Lawrence is experiencing a crisis of faith, which has the holy man going through the well-rehearsed motions of his job, while also recognizing the ridiculous pageantry — and roster of egos — he’s stuck facilitating. 

Much will be said about the film’s out-of-left-field resolution, which makes good on the promise of the film’s lack of subtlety, while also paying lip-service to a hot button issue in such a way that it could feasibly be considered awards bait. For my money, it’s a choice that works (and proved to be a real crowd-pleaser), but it’s sure to register for some as a cop out. Without getting into spoiler territory, the film’s final moments have fun with the idea that sometimes, behind the scenes wheeling-and-dealing is the only way to force the hand of progress, even if it’s a dishonest (very un-Jesus-like) methodology. I enjoy the murky place where this lands, but mostly I enjoy watching the Catholic Church being made to look foolish in its attempts to shed its archaic foundations while clumsily clinging to power. 

Better Man (dir. Michael Gracey)

Even if you’re not familiar with his work, you’ve  probably heard the name Robbie Williams via cultural osmosis. Here in the states his fandom is small but dedicated. Overseas, however, he’s essentially Justin Timberlake. Just like JT, Williams joined a boy band as a young man, in this case the five piece pop group Take That, and through a mix of luck, spite, and talent, broke out of the band to become a wildly successful solo act. One area where Timberlake and Williams differ is in image. You see, every boy band has a “bad boy,” and Williams was very much suited for the role. Too suited, really, and it led to the burgeoning superstar becoming a drug addict long before turning 21. 

This is a tale as old as celebrity itself, and one that can no longer support a feature length biopic. Add to that the existence of Walk Hard, which pretty much put an end to humanity’s ability to take the musical biopic seriously, furthermore highlighting every single narrative pitfall to the form, and Better Man seems doomed to fail…unless it changes the formula. 

Here’s the hook: in an effort to tap into the notion of celebrity being a job of “dance, monkey” the lead of Better Man is not Robbie Williams or even a Williams double (a la Rocketman, the best musical biopic ever made), but rather a chimp. A CGI chimp layered over a motion-captured performance by Jonno Davies and Asmara Feik, voiced by Robbie Williams.

Just a giant humanoid chimp with human parents and human friends, none of whom recognize him as a chimp. He’s a human, for all intents and purposes. In fact, him being a chimp in no way factors into the plot, but as a thematic novelty and an excuse to depict a chimp inhaling cocaine and arguing with Oasis, it’s a massive success. 

The film is consistently bombastic, occasionally to excess, yet it’s easy to take these moments of sensual overflow in stride on account of the overall visual ingenuity. It doesn’t come across as cleanly as in something like Elvis or Speed Racer, but Gracey coaxes plenty of sublime moments throughout. The direction and choreography are not at war with one another as is so often the case in film musicals. 

Williams comes across quite well despite his hard-earned reputation for being a shite. His characterization in Better Man is vulnerable and (I’m guessing) honest, and there’s no shortage of charm. Even as someone with a just casual knowledge of his career, I came out of the film with an understanding of how and why he became such a huge star. He has the it factor in droves. The same it factor created a toxic ego, and the film doesn’t shy away from this fact. It doesn’t even place blame on his parents, like in every other biopic ever. Mama and Papa Williams are neither angels nor demons. They are just humans, and it’s goddamn refreshing! So many estate-approved biopics refuse to play it straight; so respect to Robbie Williams for being cool with the warts-and-all approach. In a lot of ways, the film feels like Williams admitting he entered the fame game for all the wrong reasons. But hey, if it all led to this weird-ass movie, I say it was worth it.

I am unashamed to admit that the final scene in the CGI monkey Robbie Williams movie musical made me cry.