Hollywood has long dabbled in papal transitions, often with the same reverence it gives rogue AI or alien invasions. Why not? Nothing screams ecclesiastical accuracy more than Ewan McGregor as Camerlengo, saving the Vatican from an antimatter bomb. Still, one can appreciate the sheer audacity of such cinematic flights of fancy, even if they bend reality into a pretzel.

The result? A curious blend of incense, suspense and total nonsense. Take The Shoes of the Fisherman (1968), where Anthony Quinn played a Ukrainian cardinal yanked from a Soviet gulag and promptly elected Pope.

Touching, sure — but how logical is it to put a man fresh from Siberian exile in charge of the Catholic Church, only for him to do what no real pope has dared: auction off Vatican treasures to feed the starving Chinese? Yes, it’s Christian charity. However, it’s as improbable as the Pope live streaming a TikTok dance from the Sistine Chapel.

Then there’s The Cardinal (1963), which tracked the rise of a dashing American priest amid whispery alliances, marble floor glances, and conclave intrigue fit for a royal court. In reality, conclaves are solemn, secret retreats — less theater, more prayer — and junior cardinals rarely leapfrog to the top in the intricate dance of Vatican power dynamics.

But for the most wildly speculative take, cue Angels and Demons (2009), Dan Brown’s fever dream of Vatican melodrama. Here we got Illuminati assassins, the above-mentioned antimatter threats, and Tom Hanks doing more for papal PR than centuries of encyclicals. While utterly bonkers, you have to admire the commitment to high-octane Vatican action.

The plot hinged on four kidnapped cardinals (impossible), who were nearly blown up (extremely unlikely), then saved by a Harvard professor with no clearance but lots of cryptic insight. It’s Mission: Impossible minus Tom Cruise — fast, frantic and blessedly absurd.

Let’s not forget Habemus Papam (2011), a melancholic Italian comedy where a newly elected pope had a breakdown and roamed the streets of Rome, with the Vatican machine scrambling to hide his absence. It was a charmingly human, albeit highly improbable, scenario.

It was heartfelt, even whimsical —like the Swiss Guard might moonlight as improv actors — but real conclaves don’t (usually) involve runaway popes or impromptu therapy sessions. When a pope accepts the office, he doesn’t just vanish like a bride with cold feet, no matter how daunting the task.

Deserving of special mention is The Two Popes (2019), Netflix’s take on the ideological tension between Benedict XVI and the late Pope Francis: think My Dinner with Andre — but with Latin and miters.

Beautifully acted, surprisingly nuanced — but mostly speculative. Those intimate chats over Vatican biscotti? Most likely invented. Emotional confessions in sun-drenched gardens? Poetic license, albeit beautifully rendered.

It suggested papal power is handed over espresso and introspection, framing a rare resignation and Cardinal Bergoglio’s reluctant rise as Pope Francis, as if scripted by Aaron Sorkin in a particularly contemplative mood.

Sure, fiction has its place. These films don’t pretend to be documentaries. They borrow the Vatican’s grandeur and the mystique of the papacy as cinematic backdrop, providing a spectacle even if the details are pure fantasy. After all, few settings match the Sistine Chapel’s ceiling or the hush of scarlet robes gliding through marble halls for sheer visual drama.

But here’s the problem: when such movies become the average viewer’s only source of papal knowledge, they foster a parallel universe where popes resign with handshakes, stop global threats single-handedly, or pull a disappearing act like a holy Houdini. The subtle, often decades-long currents of influence and theological debate within the Church get lost in the explosions and dramatic pronouncements.

As we await the next plume of white smoke, it’s worth remembering that real papal transitions involve centuries of tradition, quiet discernment, political savvy (a delicate dance of allegiances and ideologies), and the occasional uncomfortable chair that has likely outlasted several pontificates.

Still, if the next pope shows up wearing antique fisherman’s shoes and a flair for defusing antimatter bombs with a well-placed prayer, this Contrarian won’t be surprised. Disappointed in reality, perhaps — but never surprised by cinema. What’s your favorite wildly improbable Vatican flick?