A Parable of Grace

One of the most famous – and surprising – friendships in the history of the U.S. Supreme Court was between Ruth Bader Ginsburg and her high-court nemesis Antonin Scalia. Despite their hard-fought ideological battles, they managed to look past their differences to appreciate the humanity in each other. A similar odd-coupling is portrayed in the recent Netflix release, The Two Popes, directed by acclaimed South American filmmaker Fernando Meirelles (City of God, The Constant Gardener). The film imagines an ecclesiastical summit between ideological opposites – conservative Pope Benedict XVI (Anthony Hopkins) and progressive Argentinian cardinal Jorge Borgoglio (Jonathan Pryce) – who would later become Pope Francis I. The film is not only an acting delight – Hopkins and Pryce are magnificent in their craft – but is also one of the most spiritually rich films of the decade, and has been nominated for four Golden Globes, including Best Picture - Drama.

Though portrayed as historical fiction or even a docudrama, the core of the film is a fictional two-day meeting between the “two popes” in the lead-up to Benedict’s decision to resign the papacy in 2013. As with Milos Forman’s Amadeus, which took even greater historical liberties, the point isn’t in the history but in the confrontation of opposites and the theological and personal narratives that result. And what results is a parable of grace as these two aging men, each with their own demons, each with a deep distrust of the other, begin to hear God’s voice through the other – which becomes a means of grace and reconciliation.

The film was originally conceived as “The Pope” (before Hopkins’s agent insisted on the title change) and it is clearly more Francis’s story than Benedict’s. Borgoglio is the popular champion of the poor and advocate for reform, Benedict the lonely academic and defender of tradition who as Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger was the “German rottweiler” of institutional orthodoxy. Borgoglio is given an extensive backstory – his call to the priesthood, his controversial role during the years of military dictatorship in Argentina – that is not given to Ratzinger, who historically may be the more interesting character.

Meirelles is at times unclear as to whether he wants to tell the story of the two men or of the church’s struggle with modernity, power, and abuse. From a filmmaking perspective, the film is strongest when it focuses on the men and weakest when it preaches about the church and society (for example, a debate about “walls” cuts to an anachronistic clip of the construction of the US-Mexico border wall). Matters such as the child sexual abuse scandal or financial corruption in the Vatican are mentioned but not explored. The film has an unnecessary coda celebrating Francis’s papal speeches and a silly ending that detracts from the rest of the film.

But it is not fair to criticize a film for what it isn’t, and these are relatively minor quibbles in a film that is rich in well-acted dialog and spiritual meaning. How does one hear the voice of God? What is the mission of the church? How does one balance purity of purpose with pragmatic obligations? How do we treat our enemies? How do we find forgiveness? These are just some of the issues tackled in the marvelous screenplay (also nominated for a Golden Globe).

The Two Popes is a rich feast for the theologically inclined, perhaps less so for skeptics and cynics – but even they will appreciate the magnificent performances of Pryce and Hopkins, the first-rate writing, and the incredible recreation of the Sistine Chapel. It is rated PG-13, presumably for the few scenes of state-sponsored terrorism in flashback. The film is currently available on Netflix and may be showing theatrically in select cities. 3.5 stars out of 4.0.

P.S. I must confess a personal connection to the theological debates in the film: my essay on “Marriage Equality in the PC(U.S.A.)” is juxtaposed with an opposing essay by Ratzinger in the textbook Readings in Christianity (3^rd edition). I doubt he’s aware of that, though.