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You know that leftover bit you stumble across when you've just finished assembling a piece of flat pack furniture? Some little plastic doohickey that looks like it should be important, but which doesn't seem to play any vital role in the shelving unit you just put together. Conclave, director Edward Berger and writer Peter Straughan's adaptation of Robert Harris's 2016 novel, is the leftover doohickey of 2024 cinema. It looks like an important film, with its elegant visuals and impressive cast, but it doesn't seem to have any function. It's neither serious nor soapy. It's a Murder She Wrote episode without a murder. It's 12 Angry Men without the debates and arguments. It's a movie about Catholicism that plays like it was made by Presbyterians. I don't know why it exists. It's by no means the worst film of 2024, but it might be the most pointless.
