He treats Bergoglio with disdain, but the religiously liberal – and certainly sharing many of the core ideas of liberation theology – Argentine is the only real challenger to the Bavarian’s ascent.
Some years later, Bergoglio travels to Rome to ask permission to resign as an archbishop and return to being a parish priest.
He is astonished to find that he had booked his flight before receiving a letter from Ratzinger – now Pope Benedict XVI – calling him to the Vatican.
They meet at the pope’s summer residence, the luxurious Palace of Castel Gandolfo, where they engage in theological debate, with Benedict tetchily disagreeing with every point that Bergoglio makes.
Yet in the evening, after dinner – which Benedict always takes alone – a thaw begins as they move away from the theological and into a more personal socialisation.
However, scandal – financial and in terms off sex abuse – has been hovering over the church. And the next day, after Benedict is called back to Rome as matters worsen, Bergoglio is told to meet him there the following morning.
The Two Popes is a 2019 film, written by Anthony McCarten, adapted from his own play, The Pope.
It’s been argued that it’s easy to see its theatrical origins, but Fernando Meirelles’s direction and Céasar Charlone’s cinematography ensure that it doesn’t feel static or stagebound.
Having come from a very conservatively religious background myself (albeit from a different Christian denomination), and having gone through a fundamentalist, evangelical religious period in my teens (embarrassingly, I tried to ‘convert’ fellow pupils in the lunch break), I don’t think this will upset anyone of faith, unless they are particularly unyielding in terms of a single perspective or interpretation.
Equally, I came to it today as someone who no longer has a faith and whose background was very much anti-Catholic – though my clergyman father loved nothing better than sharing whiskey with the local priest in our time in a Pennine mill town, a relationship that was far more friendly to him than any with an Anglican cleric.
It feels apt to say here that my own journey was slow. I drifted first from evangelical fervour to fairly high Anglicanism (I liked the theatre of it).
A few years further on, travelling on a train within the outer reaches of London and sporting badges on my jacket representing the Communist Party of Britain, a Christian fish symbol (ichthys) and a green star, I was challenged by another passenger as to what that all meant. I replied that I thought of myself as a “green, Christian communist”. So yes, I know what ‘liberation theology’ means.
He had an unopened can of beer and gave it to me, getting off at the next station.
Some years later, filling out the census, I realised, with a certain amount of surprise, that I had no faith left. Under no pressure, it had dissipated. Like the smoke from the extinguished candles in this film.
A period of Dawkinesque detestation of organised religion followed, but thankfully that too dissipated quickly. Now, I can happily visit churches (not – yet – a mosque, synagogue or temple) and always do so quietly and with respect. Apart from anything else, I actually take off the inevitable hat I will be wearing.
Though isn’t that strange? When my mother married my father, women going to church would be expected to wear a hat – and keep it on (an echo of the ‘modesty’ expected in the more conservative realms of Christianity’s fellow Abrahamic faiths, Judaism and Islam). Yet I always take mine off in a church – whether in the UK or abroad. It’s a very basic sign of respect for me.
As the protagonists of this film discuss, ‘times change’.
This is essentially an intellectual/theological two-hander conversation – and it’s really engaging as that. The time doesn’t feel strained.
Anthony Hopkins as Ratzinger/Benedict – as with so much work he has done late in his career – is nuanced and fantastic. There is also massive credit to be paid to Juan Minujín, who plays Bergoglio in earlier years.
However, Jonathon Pryce as Bergoglio (later, Pope Francis) arguably gives the finest film performance of his career. The pain, the guilt (over his own actions during the time of the Argentinian military junta) are clearly covered – and are very, very moving.
This really is an excellent film. Available on Netflix, it is very much worth a watch.
No comments:
Post a Comment