Conclave is a bit too big for its britches.

Case in point: to begin talking about this papal-based psychological thriller, you might reference the German philosopher Hegel's opinion on evil — how, as the contemporary philosopher Slavoj Žižek has observed, he believed "that evil is the gaze itself which perceives evil everywhere around it."

You may hear its debates on theology and the future of the Catholic church and try to tease apart the implications. You might see it grappling with themes of identity, terrorism and crises of faith and start looking for a deeper meaning.

But that would be a mistake.

Because for all its slick cinematography, prescient topics and heavy-hitter stars, Conclave is more movie-of-the-week than the awards-bait it's already begun to be billed as. It is, at its heart, a deeply silly film masquerading as serious social commentary — a sort of Mean Girls in robes, juggling a seemingly impactful message that instantly shatters into a thousand little pieces the moment you actually start to examine it.

That said, it's also quite good.

WATCH | The official Conclave trailer:

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Adapted from a novel by speculative history writer Robert Harris, it's perhaps predictable that Conclave was going to be an expertly crafted B-movie rather than some kind of cerebral classic.

For starters, it stars everyone from Stanley Tucci, Ralph Fiennes and John Lithgow as a gaggle of gossipy clergymen who've gathered for a pontifical election after the mysterious death of this film's pope: the traditional "conclave" in which cardinals are locked away from the outside world until they can agree on the new head of the church.

In this case, that's easier said than done. As the film's past pope was a moderately-progressive figure, his passing has opened up the possibility for more liberal candidates like Cardinal Bellini (Tucci) to cement the direction he's taken the church, or conservative voices — like Sergio Castellitto's Cardinal Tedesco — to undo them: reinstitute the Latin Mass, keep Black members out of the upper levels of the priesthood and potentially launch a religious war against Muslims, whom he at one point refers to as "animals."

This is the first genre red herring: behind all the votives and vestments, Conclave has little if anything to say about theology and — beyond the most basic ideas of inclusion and tolerance — no prophecies on the future of the Catholic church.

Its allusions to real-life concerns are purposefully shallow and uncomplicated, and there is clearly no desire to really deconstruct the teachings or practices of the religious institution. To the potential fury, or relief, of the church itself, Conclave simply uses the largest Christian denomination as a convenient setting and vehicle for its central (and perhaps only) theme.

That comes in the way of our actual main character: Fiennes' Cardinal Lawrence. As the disaffected dean of the Vatican's College of Cardinals, Lawrence is given the unhappy task of actually overseeing the conclave, while simultaneously grappling with his quickly eroding faith: both in his religion, and the character of his fellow clergymen.

It's through that ironic matchup that Conclave gets all its juice: the world's pressures for certainty and conviction, versus the benefit of and need for doubt. Virtually everything throughout the movie can be seen through that lens: from Tedesco's frequent tirades about good versus evil, to Lawrence's reluctant inquiries into mysteries behind the pope's death, to the suspicious behaviour of a latecomer to the conclave.

And in one of at least four such speeches, Lawrence even hammers us over the head with it.

"Certainty is the great enemy of unity," he says. "Certainty is the deadly enemy of tolerance."

It's an interesting enough message — perhaps proven by the fact that it already catapulted the aptly named religious play Doubt to a Pulitzer Prize.

For Conclave, the take is underlined by impressive performances from everyone involved, and gorgeous cinematography by Stéphane Fontaine that visually elevates the movie's aesthetic impact. But even apart from the arm's-length approach to its religious subject matter, an overwhelmingly one-sided take on what could be an interesting moral dilemma and a convoluted and farcical third-act reveal disqualifies the film as a real conversation starter.

Where Doubt presented its crisis between conviction and circumspection as equally risky no matter the choice, Conclave has a pretty safe bet on the correct choice. And when we do arrive at the end, the final metaphor for uncertainty — if given any serious scrutiny — ends up being, at best, an ill-informed gimmick, and at worse flat out insulting.

It could be seen as a step down for director Edward Berger, whose profound examinations of humanity, sacrifice and morality ran the gamut from the heartrending coming of age tragedy Jack, to his Oscar-winning war movie All Quiet on the Western Front, to three episodes of what is perhaps the best limited TV series of all time: The Terror.

But in reality, Conclave isn't designed for too deep of a look. It's more like a slick, finely buffed White House Down (Vatican's version) than anything else — alongside a few cinematic explosions to boot. It is, as other critics have called it, a perfect five-star three-star movie: fun, over-the-top ridiculousness that works better the less you try to question it.

And really, what more do you want from the theatre?