By Ralph Revelar Sarza
WARNING: Major spoilers ahead.
Edward Berger’s Conclave is a high-stakes mystery thriller that delves into the inner workings of the Catholic Church during a time of great uncertainty: the election of a new pope. Ralph Fiennes delivers one of his most compelling performances to date as Cardinal-Dean Thomas Lawrence, who must navigate a treacherous landscape filled with power struggles, intrigue, and personal crises. The tension within the Vatican walls is palpable, as the cardinals wrestle not only with each other but with their consciences. The story is filled with twists and turns, but what stood out to me the most was the film’s subtle critique of the Catholic Church’s longstanding doctrines on identity, body, and faith.
The film opens with the sudden death of the pope, setting off a heated race among the College of Cardinals to choose his successor. Four primary candidates emerge, each representing a different faction within the Church. Aldo Bellini of the United States (Stanley Tucci) is a liberal in the mold of the late pope, while Joshua Adeyemi of Nigeria (Lucian Msamati) stands as a staunch social conservative. Joseph Tremblay of Canada (John Lithgow) represents a more moderate, balanced approach, and Goffredo Tedesco of Italy (Sergio Castellitto) is a hardline traditionalist and sedevacantist, pushing for a return to what he believes are the Church’s original values. As the cardinals cast their ballots, alliances shift, secrets surface, and the stakes only grow higher.
But the real twist comes when Archbishop Vincent Benitez (Carlos Diehz), a last-minute, little-known candidate from Kabul, is elected pope after a series of unexpected events. Benitez’s election, however, isn’t the only surprise. It’s revealed that he is intersex, a biological truth that the Church and society at large have long struggled to accept. Assigned male at birth but unaware of his female biological traits until adulthood, Benitez’s intersex body challenges not just the Church’s teachings but society’s rigid understanding of gender and identity.
When Benitez is confronted about his intersex identity, he doesn’t shy away from it. He embraces both his male and female biological traits, stating, “I am what God made me.” It’s a powerful moment that defies centuries of Church doctrine, which has long relegated discussions of gender and biological anomalies to the realm of the forbidden or misunderstood.
This moment is fittingly aligned with Lawrence’s earlier preaching: “Our faith is a living thing precisely because it walks hand-in-hand with doubt. If there was only certainty and no doubt, there would be no mystery. And therefore no need for faith. Let us pray that God will grant us a pope who doubts. And let him grant us a pope who sins and asks for forgiveness and who carries on.” Benitez’s acceptance of his own complex identity, despite the Church’s long-standing rigidity, complements Lawrence’s call for a faith that acknowledges uncertainty and embraces the mystery of existence, even when it doesn’t fit neatly into traditional categories.
Benitez’s story is about an individual’s acceptance of their body and what that acceptance symbolizes on a larger scale. His identity as an intersex person tests outdated notions of biology and gender — concepts that society and institutions like the Church have unbendingly defined for centuries. This challenge isn’t unique to intersex people; it echoes the experiences of many who exist outside traditional binaries, including transgender individuals. Both intersex and trans experiences confront us with the limitations of these categories and ask us to expand our understanding of identity.
This resistance stands in stark contrast to the way the Church embraces transformation in other contexts. Take, for example, the tradition of a newly elected pope choosing a name — a symbolic act that defines their mission and identity in their new role. In Conclave, Lawrence, who initially seemed uninterested in the papacy, surprises himself by realizing he does desire the role. It’s only after this moment of deep self-reflection that he begins to consider his papal name, signaling his acceptance of a new identity and mission.
If this profound act of self-definition is celebrated within one of the most tradition-bound institutions in the world, why can’t we extend the same respect to trans people? For trans individuals, choosing a name is just as meaningful. It’s a declaration of who they are and the life they’re building. If we can honor this for a pope, why is it so difficult to honor it for anyone else?
This idea of challenging conventional boundaries isn’t new in the Church. The Virgin Birth, for example, is one of the most radical stories in religious history. It asks us to believe in a biological anomaly — something that defies everything we know about reproduction. A virgin giving birth doesn’t make sense according to the laws of biology. But billions of people have accepted this story, not because it aligns with science, but because it offers something greater: an expansion of what can be understood as sacred, as divine. It pushes the limits of reason and invites us to imagine the extraordinary. The Virgin Birth defies biology, yet it is revered because it points to a deeper mystery — one that exists beyond what we can fully comprehend.
And yet, that same openness, that same willingness to accept the extraordinary, is glaringly absent when it comes to trans acceptance. Trans lives also challenge traditional views of biology and identity. Trans people, like the Virgin birth, defy what many consider “natural.” But instead of being met with reverence or acceptance, they are often rejected, misunderstood, or forced to fight for basic recognition and respect. If we can revere the Virgin birth, which breaks all rules of biology, why can’t we extend that same sense of wonder and acceptance to trans people, who are simply living their truth, even if it doesn’t align with what we have been taught to believe is “normal”?
The Virgin birth and trans identities both challenge the strict, narrow definitions of gender and biology that have dominated our thinking through the ages. And both, at their core, ask us to rethink the limits of what is possible, to expand our imaginations and our capacity for understanding.
The Virgin birth represents more than a miraculous birth alone. It’s about making room for the unexpected. It’s about recognizing that the world is bigger, more complex, and more mysterious than we can understand. Trans acceptance, in its essence, asks us to do the same thing. It is an opportunity for us as a society to make space for identities and experiences that don’t fit into the neat categories we’ve created, but that are no less real or valid. It’s about recognizing that human beings come in all forms, and each one is worthy of love, respect, and understanding. If we’ve already learned to honor one extraordinary truth — the Virgin birth — why can’t we extend the same grace to those whose identities don’t conform to our old, limiting expectations?
As Conclave shows us, the power of identity is profound. It shapes the way we see ourselves, the way others see us, and even the way we interact with the world. Archbishop Benitez’s choice to embrace both sides of his identity — his male and female biological traits — confronts the deep biases we hold about gender and identity. It challenges us to consider the ways we treat those who don’t fit neatly into society’s boxes.
Trans acceptance is not a plea for the extraordinary, like the Virgin birth. It’s a call for simple recognition of the inherent value of every person, no matter how they define themselves, especially when their identities do not diminish, threaten, or affect your own. A trans person’s decision to live authentically, to choose a name that reflects their truth, or to embrace who they are doesn’t take anything away from anyone else. It’s an act of self-affirmation, not an intrusion into the lives of others.
If we can have faith in a God we’ve never seen, why can’t we trust the lived realities of intersex and trans people who are right in front of us?
Ralph Revelar Sarza is an independent film and TV critic. He is also a member of Open Table MCC, an LGBTQIA-affirming Church in Metro Manila. Follow him on Instagram @walphs.
