What do the pope of the Catholic Church and a pope of a satanic clergy have in common? Well, gender nonconformity, for one! Before any pitchforks are raised, this is about two entirely fictional representations of the papacy and Satanism: Specifically, the 2024 film “Conclave” and the hard rock band Ghost. A spoiler warning is in order for the final “twist” ending of “Conclave”—best experienced by watching the movie in its entirety before reading this post.
Two people were involved in the immaculate conception of this blog post, therefore there are differences between writing styles per segment. The sections discussing “Conclave” were written by Maria Tejeda Solórzano with those discussing Ghost written by Chloe Vilevac. We’ve both found immense interest and comfort in these two pieces of media and though they occupy completely different mediums and niches, we’ve discovered clear similarities between them. Both not only utilize Catholicism and the Church for arguably anti-conservative societal critique, but also explore gender and queerness through a religious lens.
We’ll explore a small piece of why two pieces of media centered around Catholic doctrine have become such phenomena among marginalized people of our generation — and how both the “Pope” and the “Anti-Pope” have become such a source of comfort for those scorned by the Church.
For the purpose of this post, I will mainly be talking about the movie “Conclave”, not the original book written by Robert Harris. “Conclave,” released in 2024 and directed by Edward Berger, won an Oscar for best adapted screenplay — and there’s a good reason why that award was well deserved. The film is adapted from the novel, and although both share similarities, Berger did not keep everything from the book — to the movie’s advantage.
The book and film both paint Catholicism in a light that is pleasant and forgiving, while simultaneously critiquing the Roman Catholic Church as an institution. It seems like a weird paradox, but it works — if only because it isn’t contradictory, but analytical.
Vincent Benítez, one of the main characters and, I would argue, the character that makes it all work (and is the most important), is used to paint this dichotomy. He says (in both the book and the movie), “I live between the world’s certainties,” and this is applied to both the Church and the religion through him.
In terms of the difference between the book and the movie, the film reimagines Vincent Benítez as a Mexican cardinal rather than a Filipino one. This was done for no other reason than that the casting director and Berger saw Carlos Diehz, liked him as Benítez, and chose to change the character’s ethnicity to fit the actor — instead of asking him to play a race or ethnicity that he is not. This does not change Benítez’s significance whatsoever and, I would argue, strengthens the identity of the character as an outsider at first, someone who is “living between the world’s certainties.”
Both the Philippines and Mexico were colonized by the Spanish, and culturally, there are some similarities — Catholicism included. Both countries have a strong tie to the Catholic religion, and in both, it has become as much a cultural identity as a religious one. But also, both countries were colonized. People from both nations know what it is to live in a place left damaged by its colonizers. And both have populations who live between indigenous and colonial cultures.
“Conclave” — both the book and the movie — has a lot to say about gender, queerness, identity and otherness in the Church and in Catholicism. When it comes to the topic of “Conclave” and its portrayal of gender, religion and belief, we can study such concepts through Vincent Benítez, the fans and other media that engage with or critique Catholicism, religion and the Church. One such case: the band Ghost.
It’s not uncommon for religion — particularly Christian or Catholic idolatry — to be a subject of rock and metal music. Occult rock emerged as a genre in the 1960s, with the Beatles placing Aleister Crowley on an album cover and the Rolling Stones releasing “Sympathy for the Devil” on their album, “Their Satanic Majesties Request.” In the 1970s, Led Zeppelin referenced the occult frequently, even including strippers dressed as nuns at some of their parties. The genre arguably peaked in popularity in the 1990s with the success of Blue Öyster Cult and Black Sabbath. In the 2000s and 2010s, however, there was a gap to fill. The revival of occult rock and metal truly began with a band called Ghost.
To give a brief history of the band: It was created in 2006 by sole member Tobias Forge, with hired-gun musicians performing under complete anonymity. Wearing silicone skull masks and monk-like Halloween costumes, they used their anonymity to perform not as themselves, but as characters — Papa Emeritus and his band of Nameless Ghouls. It wasn’t until 2016 that Forge’s identity was revealed, when a (later dismissed) lawsuit from former touring musicians named the members involved. Today, Forge hasn’t just created music and videos for the band, but also an episodic dark comedy on YouTube, a film blending tour documentary and in-universe mockumentary, and most recently, a comic series exploring the band’s lore.
Ghost continues to perform in character, continuously expanding its story and identity. In the band’s lore, they serve as a public outreach arm of a fictional devil-worshipping ministry — a satirical take on the Catholic Church. Their invented backstory dates back to the 1960s, interweaving concert reality with theatrical and television-style concepts to distance themselves from the trappings of celebrity, allowing for a more effective critique of real-world “characters.”
One of the most prominent parts of Ghost’s lore and creative direction is their satire of papal succession. Their frontman changes with each album and tour cycle, based on his effectiveness in spreading the “gospel” of Satan via the United Clergy of Ghost. Though each incarnation has a new appearance, aesthetic and even vocal inflection, they are all portrayed by Forge. Each successor is given the title of “Papa” (Italian for pope), with the first four named Papa Emeritus I through IV — an unintentional parody, as the name was chosen years before Pope Benedict XVI would adopt the title “pope emeritus” upon retirement.
The cyclical, politically informed nature of Ghost’s transitions between frontmen is mirrored in how Conclave presents the vote for pope as a high-stakes political thriller — but that’s not where the similarities end.
*SPOILERS for “Conclave”
Queer allusions and identities within Catholicism are not new. The greatest examples of this date back to medieval times and religious iconography. There are many depictions of Jesus, the angels and sometimes even the Virgin Mary that portray these figures in ways that, by today’s social and cultural lens, can absolutely be read as queer — and, arguably, should be.
Jesus’ side wound, for instance, has often been depicted as a vaginal opening, as a symbol of birth and nurturing. “Conclave” does something similar with Vincent Benítez. Both the movie and the book cast Benítez as a Christ figure. He arrives at the Vatican in the midst of a conclave (a gathering of cardinals that happens after the Holy See — aka the papal position — has been vacated; in this case, yes, the pope dies and thus the conclave is called), arriving late and as a cardinal appointed in pectore. This means he was appointed in secret by the late Holy Father — known only to the pope and God.
Already, Benítez begins as an outsider. In the Bible, it’s no secret that many saw Jesus that way — not necessarily as an outsider, but as an “other.” A man who preached and acted in ways that didn’t align entirely with the power structures of his time.
[Spoilers] In a twist that both the book and film handle well, Vincent Benítez is elected pope. It is then revealed to the Dean of the College of Cardinals — Thomas Lawrence in the film, Jacopo Lomeli in the novel (both the central characters) — that Benítez is intersex.
Many who watch “Conclave” do so knowing it’s a film about the Catholic Church. I mean, really, it’s about a conclave. You don’t get more Catholic than electing a literal pope. And yet many are surprised, even shocked — not just that the new pope is intersex, but that a movie about Catholicism even dared to go there. It is, I’ll admit, both moving and darkly funny when you see those reactions unfold.
So, the pope is intersex! Throughout the film, “Conclave” critiques the Church. It never critiques the religion itself, per se. In fact, it paints belief in Jesus, God and the Holy Spirit as something inspiring, even good. Vincent Benítez himself is portrayed as closer to God than the other cardinals — a connection framed as holy and admirable. It’s inspirational and, at times, even aspirational.
But that doesn’t mean the Church is treated the same way. Catholicism is a religion, yes, but it’s also a powerful institution. Historically, the Church has not always followed the word of God. It has committed violence, oppression and trauma. Even within academic circles, the Bible and Jesus never promote conversion by force — yet that’s part of the Church’s history.
Thomas Lawrence, the protagonist, struggles with this. He confesses to a “crisis of faith,” something he once told the late pope and something Cardinal Aldo Bellini learns about. In a pivotal conversation, Bellini tells Lawrence that the pope “had his own doubts toward the end.” Lawrence, stunned, asks if the pope really doubted God. Bellini replies, “No. Never about God. What he had lost faith in was the Church.”
Doubt matters when we talk about queerness and identity in religious spaces — especially within Catholicism. Many in the real world experience doubt about themselves because of the Church. In “Conclave,” Benítez nearly resigns years before the conclave. He books a trip to Geneva to undergo a hysterectomy. But he never goes. He chooses not to. And then he becomes a cardinal. And then he becomes the pope.
So — again — the pope is intersex. And that alone becomes a commentary on the Church. The late pope doubted the institution. The Dean of the College of Cardinals builds his entire character arc around his doubt. Benítez doubts himself — only to ultimately accept who he is, fully, and step into power within that same institution.
“Conclave” doesn’t excuse the Church. It simply says: It can be better. And that’s exactly what Benítez shows Lawrence. By the end, the Dean regains part of his faith — not because of doctrine or tradition, but because of Benítez. It’s a metaphor for how the Church harms those who are “othered,” and how that cycle must change. It asks for something beyond the institution.
In one of his speeches, Benítez says: “La Iglesia no es la tradición. La Iglesia no es el pasado. La Iglesia es lo que hagamos en adelante.” (“The Church is not tradition. The Church is not the past. The Church is whatever we do going forward.”)
In that single quote, “Conclave” says everything it wants to say about the Church.
Vincent Benítez tells Cardinal Lawrence, “I am what God made me” — and he believes it with his whole heart. The movie wants you to believe that within Benítez, God resides in His purest form. That divinity exists in doubt, in otherness, in queerness and nonconformity, and in all those true to themselves. It doesn’t matter what you are or who you are or who you become — because you were made exactly as you’re meant to be. And that’s not about biology. It’s about identity.
It’s a beautiful message. One that, frankly, both broke and healed me in terms of religious trauma. It’s a great message — but we’re still talking about the Church. Despite its critique, “Conclave” goes a little soft on it. It isn’t radical; it’s hopeful in the opposite direction of what the Church has historically stood for. And that hope has its limits.
Unfortunately, Vincent Benítez isn’t real. And unfortunately, the Catholic Church — liberal pope or not — is still an institution that has harmed and continues to harm, something that Ghost critiques often.
Similarly, themes of queerness and sexual freedom have also been a long-standing pillar of Ghost’s mythos. The band touts a hugely queer fanbase — though it’s somewhat an unintentional side effect of being a theatrical glam band with an ethos that “nothing is taboo.” As well, Ghost has made it clear that they are exceedingly pro-liberation in not just sexual taboo, but for queer and trans people alike. One such example is their donation of all the profits from their hugely popular cover of “Enter Sandman” to trans summer camp “Camp Aranu’tiq.” With the recent unveiling of Papa Perpetua V, themes of gender identity and expression have taken the forefront through numerous allegorical references to gender fluidity and nonconformity. The newest frontman shares a name with the Catholic martyr and mother, Perpetua.
The real-world saint Perpetua is immortalized by a gilded mosaic in the crypt of the National Shrine in Washington DC, along with a message: “Another inside me suffers for me just as I suffer for him.” Whether Papa Perpetua V was informed by her history and the implicit androgyny in her & her memorial is yet to be seen, but the heartbreaking sentiment is arguably present in the new music released under him.
Perpetua is adorned with panniers under a large, purple, gemstone-adorned cassock. On the back of the vinyl for their upcoming album, “Skeletá,” he is shown wearing a combination of a bishop’s mitre and a nun’s cornette. New photography heavily utilizes the colors of purple and yellow/gold along with shades of black and gray, the same colors used to represent both the nonbinary and intersex flags. The gendered “Ghouls” and “Ghoulettes” who play backing instruments for tours and music videos are no longer strictly in gendered costumes. Instead, members swap between both the “masculine” top hats and the habits of skeletal nuns throughout photoshoots and videos.
In their most recent song & music video, Perpetua is portrayed both as himself performing with the band and as a young woman wrestling with self-doubt — and a literal demon under her bed — before coming to terms with both her reflection in the mirror and the haunting figure in the shadows. One of the male Ghouls, who has historically worn a masculine costume, appears as part of a trio of nuns singing backup vocals. In another moment, lightning strikes and Perpetua is framed standing on the lip of a well like Sadako from “The Ring,” poised between two figures: one seemingly male, one female, both nude and in capes with inverted-cross cutouts down the center.
The song, though it sounds like a breakup record — literally titled “tears” in latin — ”Lachryma” is actually written about “self-deceit,” and carries many markers of an anthem for the difficulties of self-doubt in gender expression. Whether or not Papa Perpetua is meant to be gender-nonconforming or trans-coded is left ambiguous, as Forge still refers to Perpetua as “he.” When asked about Perpetua’s connections to womanhood, Forge said he’s grateful that people look deeply into the choices he makes and research the hints he drops — particularly the reference to martyr Perpetua and the femininity in the newest character. Sometimes, though, he says these interpretations lead down unintentional paths. Still, he states that there’s “always an androgynous touch” to Ghost, which seems to be coming out in full swing with the newest Papa.
To be extraordinarily cliché, art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable and heavy metal has always been considered a great genre for disruption. From its very beginnings, it’s been considered “anti-flower pop, anti-establishment, anti-war, anti-nuclear and so on, making it a rebellious genre…” It’s attracted those who’ve been othered, shunned or made to feel damaged by society at large — often by Christianity and religious dogma. Ghost was founded on those “anti-” ideals of metal, pointing the finger directly at the culture of the Catholic church. Though it’s long been debated what genre they actually fall into, their musical fluidity isn’t a flaw. In fact, it fits their nonconforming identity even more than strictly being a heavy-metal band would.
In being anti-religion and anti-Catholic on their gaudy surface, Ghost appeals to metal fans, Satanists, and the “shunned” incredibly well. But under the surface, their music and ideology are less anti-religion and more pro-human. Beyond the devilish exterior, that’s what their supporters find comforting and important in their critique of Catholicism and the hatred perpetrated in the name of religion. Forge has long since discussed that the “Satan worship” in his music was more an expression of rebellion and his personal struggles with grief and anger rather than literal religious ideas. He’s also stated that he’s not anti-religion or even an atheist, but someone who looks to religion as a vessel for art and also a weapon of hurt. The way he discusses Satanism gives a great understanding of how and why Ghost utilizes the devil in their music:
The idea that either “Conclave” or Ghost is blasphemous comes from the same roots as the Catholic critique of Renaissance humanists. To put the human body and spirit above god-honoring mass conformity is seen as sinful — why critics threw stones at Michelangelo’s “David” and adorned him with a bronze loincloth in the 16th century. Both pieces of media choose controversy over conformity, using the Catholic Church as a spiritual vessel and art form rather than a rulebook. Controversy isn’t a drawback for either work — it’s intentional. Harris has mentioned that he knew his book would be controversial; it was part of the decision-making process in creating the novel.
At their core, both “Conclave” and Ghost aren’t just flipping the bird to religion for the sake of shock — they’re focused on the human behind it all. They take the weight of religious symbolism and ask: What if this could mean something different? What if faith could make space for those of us who’ve been pushed to the margins? Whether it’s a quiet, gentle pope who happens to be intersex or a theatrical anti-pope in glitter and sequins, both stories say the same thing: You are not a mistake. There is significant power in being different and there is divinity in being fully yourself. Whether you find comfort in the counterculture and what is “taboo” or seek to carve out a space for queerness in the Church, you deserve to belong.
