The Shoes of the Fisherman 1968

In the tense atmosphere of the Cold War, Kiril Pavlovich Lakota, the Metropolitan Archbishop of Lviv, is unexpectedly freed after twenty years in a Siberian labour camp by his former gaoler, Piotr Ilyich Kamenev, who has risen to the position of Premier in the Soviet Union. Sent to Rome, the pope awards him cardinal status and assigns him the titulus of the Church of St. Athanasius. The Elder Pope insists on the formal rite, and Lakota, who longs for a simple mission among ordinary people, is pressed to accept the scarlet zucchetto that marks his rank. The scene is set for a return to the center of power, where faith, politics, and personal history collide in a way that will test Lakota’s humility and resolve.

When the pontiff suddenly collapses and dies, the papal conclave begins. The College of Cardinals is split, and two senior electors, Cardinal Leone and Cardinal Rinaldi, emerge as the leading papabili. After seven deadlocked ballots, Lakota is elected as a compromise candidate, chosen by spontaneous acclamation in the Sistine Chapel. He accepts the role with reluctance, and the world watches as the recently freed man becomes the universal figure of the church, choosing the name Pope Kiril in a moment that resonates beyond Rome. The election unfolds as a dramatic counterpoint to a world standing on the brink of nuclear war, with a Chinese–Soviet feud aggravated by famine and fear.

The new pope’s first night in office unfolds with a quiet, almost stealthy humanism. With the help of his loyal valet Gelasio, Lakota slips out of the Vatican to explore Rome in plain clothes. A chance encounter brings him to Dr. Ruth Faber, a Rome-based physician entangled in a troubled marriage with journalist George Faber. Lakota’s instinct to help overrides protocol: he secures medicine for a dying Jewish patient, offering a Catholic blessing while the man’s friends respond in Hebrew, a moment Lakota says he learned from a rabbi he met in the labour camp. The scene highlights Lakota’s openness to different faiths, and his willingness to bridge divides even in small, personal moments.

A major thread follows Lakota’s relationship with the controversial theologian, philosopher, and scientist Father Telemond. Telemond’s ideas intrigue the pope, who admires the priest’s probing intellect even as the Holy Office moves to censure Telemond for heterodoxy. The two men form a deep, fragile friendship, and Telemond becomes one of the pope’s most trusted advisers. Yet Lakota’s official duties pull in the opposite direction, and the theologian’s later illness and death deprive him of a valued ally in a world where doctrinal boundaries are constantly shifting.

As tensions mount, the pope travels back to the Soviet Union in civilian dress to hold a private conversation with Kamenev Piotr Ilyich Kamenev and Peng, the Chinese leader, about the escalating crisis. Lakota recognizes that if China’s problems persist, the casualties could be global. The pope’s empathy and insistence on dialogue contrast sharply with the machinery of state power, offering a glimmer of hope that religious authority might help avert catastrophe. In this light, the papal coronation becomes a public moment of bold action: The Elder Pope witnesses Lakota—now fully the moral center of the Church—pledge to sell church property to aid the Chinese crisis, a move celebrated by crowds in St. Peter’s Square and watched with relief by leaders around the world.

Throughout the drama, other faces from Lakota’s orbit appear with their own quiet arcs. The Marchesa moves with the social currents of Rome, while Chiara and others provide intimate counterpoints to grand political schemes. The shadow of the East–West standoff shapes every conversation, and the audience is drawn into a meditation on power, faith, and responsibility. The film threads these human stories with the looming threat of war, creating a tapestry in which Lakota’s personal humility and his willingness to risk everything for peace stand in stark relief against the cold calculations of politicians and clerics alike.

In a narrative that blends spiritual inquiry with geopolitical urgency, the pope’s actions culminate in a hopeful, if tempered, turning point. By choosing to use the church’s moral authority to ease international tensions, Lakota reframes the role of faith in a world where the line between sacred duty and worldly duty is continually negotiated. The result is a compelling meditation on leadership, sacrifice, and the possibility of peace when compassion guides policy, even in the most dangerous of times. The endurance of Lakota’s humanity, his openness to truth across borders, and his insistence on dialogue offer a powerful message about what faith can achieve when it is tempered by courage and a steadfast commitment to the common good.