“Don’t stop, keep moving. Don’t stop, keep moving,” echoes a robotic voice.
Emanating from Pope Benedict XVI’s (Anthony Hopkins) fitness watch, this voice serves as a stark reminder that the Pope cannot evade notifications to meet his daily step count, and perhaps more importantly, that he has made an inescapable commitment to the papacy—he can’t stop now. Pope Benedict’s desperation to find a way out of his position dominates The Two Popes, as he tries over and over again to convince the Argentine Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio (Jonathan Pryce) to replace him. The two men enter a familiar back and forth as Bergoglio repeatedly tells the Pope he wishes to retire, and Pope Benedict won’t hear a word of it. Through all their negotiations and theological nitpicking, the highly conservative Pope Benedict and liberal-spirited Bergoglio come to know one another. In fact, they even become friends. There is something unmistakably charming about the relationship that evolves between them, and audiences have been captivated by it. With nine awards and 51 nominations, Netflix’s The Two Popes is an undeniable success. A huge part of what makes the film such a gem is its relentless challenging of the audience’s expectations. When the viewer meets Pope Benedict, he is barely hanging onto modern times: he can’t recognize the tune to “Dancing Queen,” doesn’t have a clue what all the buzz over football is about, and is just as conservative in his beliefs as he is in his understanding of pop culture. It would be all too easy to dislike this character, especially when he is contrasted with the amicable and lively Bergoglio. But director Fernanda Meirelles and screenwriter Anthony McCarten won’t make things that easy for the audience. Instead, they complicate Pope Benedict and Bergoglio, making the daring choice not to pit good against evil, but to blur the lines between the two.
As the film unfolds, we are privy to brief, glimmering insights into Pope Benedict as an individual, rather than as the Pope. If the viewer can look past the liturgical garb of Pope Benedict, they will see an old man, just like any other. This vision is especially true in a particularly moving scene in which the Pope shares his passion for the piano with Bergoglio. It is one of the few moments—if not the only moment—in which it is impossible not to like Pope Benedict, or at least to sympathize with him. If the audience is granted access to Pope Benedict’s good side, the reverse must be true for Bergoglio. The film guides us through a series of black and white flashbacks to the Cardinal’s hushed and fraudulent past. These scenes prove to be less than compelling, though they do succeed in complicating their subject. The incriminating flashbacks are filmed in a spattering of black and white as well as colour film, with no apparent reason for this distinction. While the film does not hesitate to depict Bergoglio’s past mistakes, McCarten and Meirelles seem afraid to give the viewer any more reason to dislike Pope Benedict. In a tense scene in which the latter admits to his greatest mistake, the dialogue is diluted and unclear. There are certainly moments that detract from The Two Popes more than they add anything, but thankfully, they are few and far between.
Pryce and Hopkins play their characters with a delightful conviction, and the screenplay is laden with beautifully interwoven symbolism: when Bergoglio takes a walk through Pope Benedict’s private gardens, he is offered an umbrella, which he politely declines. Later, a weakened and aging Pope Benedict is seen clutching the umbrella, using it as a cane as he hobbles through the gardens. The precision with which such moments play out is a testament to McCarten’s skillful writing. The Two Popes may be much closer to a fantasy than a documentary, but there are still important truths within it. Behind all the ideological tension and turmoil of the film, it teaches compassion. More than anything, it preaches the solace of companionship, like smoke slowly drifting from an extinguished candle.
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