It’s fascinating what moviegoers deem acceptable and unacceptable when it comes to historical fictionalizing: As Washington Post critic Ann Hornaday recently reminded us, lying about Winston Churchill taking the Tube in Darkest Hour incited an angry online mob. But in The Two Popes, fabricating important conversations between our two world-famous leads is not only tolerable but celebrated.

That said, I’ll confess to feeling the same way; I didn’t mind that The Two Popes feels like a realistic fantasy. Maybe that’s because it doesn’t come with the same importance as Winston Churchill’s actions during World War II, or maybe it’s because Jonathan Pryce and Anthony Hopkins are so perfect as the titular popes that you don’t care about their words being dramatized for our entertainment. Either way, it lays the foundation for one of the best films of the year.

Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio (Pryce) does not want to be pope. Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger (Hopkins) very much does. The former represents the reform wing of the Catholic Church; the latter is quite conservative. But once Ratzinger achieves his goal and becomes Pope Benedict XVI, a series of scandals rocks the papacy and brings the two together for intense discussions on faith, moral responsibility, and the Beatles. 

That might sound more like a play than a feature film, but most plays-as-movies don’t have charismatic talents like Pryce and Hopkins lighting up the screen. Nor are they directed by Fernando Meirelles (of City of God fame), who accentuates the pomp and spectacle of the papal conclave with striking visuals and even an ABBA song.

But it is play-esque in that it goes nowhere without virtuoso performances from our leads. Though it’s pretty clear from moment one that Bergoglio is the “good guy” and Ratzinger is the “bad guy” – several characters referring to Pope Benedict as a Nazi really hammers it home – their roles from scene to scene are not as cut and dry. They both get to bounce between being confident and beleaguered: Hopkins is brilliant as a pope who feels uncomfortable in social situations but thrives when he’s back in the Vatican, while Pryce’s soon-to-be Pope Francis charms everyone he meets but wilts when asked to lead.

Ultimately, this is the Jonathan Pryce show. Maybe it’s because we’ve seen this brand of Anthony Hopkins before, but his work feels a bit more rote while Pryce radiates deep, real warmth. It’s probably another byproduct of the clear dichotomy between the two: Hopkins is playing strait-laced and dour while Pryce taps into his own everyman likeability to make Bergoglio seem like a genuine saint. It all feels so effortless, and it leads to a quietly triumphant moment when the two popes share a dance and a late embrace…even though that probably never happened.

Where the film falters is when it revisits Bergoglio’s past. An early flashback to his time as a young Jesuit in Argentina is enlightening, but a lengthy return to depict his deepest sins goes on for far too long. This isn’t The Zero Popes; I get why Meirelles and screenwriter Anthony McCarten wanted to add a little depth and let the film breathe, but it’s ultimately a mistake. 

Fortunately, it’s not one that goes on forever. And even if this is a dramatization of exaggerated events, it’s still impressive to make a film about papal politics that is informative without being preachy and engaging without dipping too heavily into melodrama. I’m not sure who sold the powers that be at Netflix on a 125-minute pope movie starring two old Brits, but god bless them for succeeding.