Vatican City – This morning at 11:30 a.m., the Sala Clementina hosted a gathering that brought cinema back to its original core: a lens through which to observe the human condition. Pope Leo XIV, addressing representatives of the so-called “seventh art”, recalled that cinema, though little more than a century old, has managed to evolve from a simple “play of light and shadow” into a form of contemplation. Not an accessory diversion, but a way to enter into contact with the depths of existence. That simple gesture – a darkened room, a beam of light cutting through the darkness – becomes for the Pope a metaphor of spiritual dynamism: the moving image is not mere entertainment, but a call to return within oneself, to reopen the gaze, to reawaken hope. In this perspective, Leo XIV links cinematic language to a long spiritual heritage: narrating to understand, telling stories to recover what had been forgotten.
The theatre as threshold: educating the gaze, not saturating it
In his address, the Pope stressed the nature of the movie theatre as a threshold space: not only physical, but existential. Entering a theatre means crossing into a dimension of attention and listening that digital hyper-connection tends to dissolve. Amid always-lit screens, incessant notifications and rapid flows of content, cinema stands out precisely because it demands concentration, silence, suspension. It is an art that slows down in order to go deeper. Here Leo XIV introduced a critical point: the logic of the algorithm, which suggests what “works” according to consumption criteria, risks suffocating creative freedom. Art, by contrast, exists to open possibilities, not to repeat predictable patterns. Defending slowness, difference, even silence, becomes an act of cultural resistance. Authentic cinema – not the kind produced to please – names the questions that inhabit the human being and awakens what seemed dormant.
Disappearing theatres and the need for visual community
Leo XIV then turned to a decisive theme: the crisis of movie theatres. He addressed it with the frankness of one who perceives the cultural risk of an era in which collective experience is being progressively eroded. Theatres and cinemas, the Pope reminded, are beating hearts of local communities: not mere containers, but places that generate bonds, offering cities spaces for encounter and growth. Their closures are not marginal events, but an impoverishment of civic life. For this reason, he made a direct appeal to institutions: not to surrender to market inertia, but to protect the social and cultural function of cinema. This echoes what twentieth-century Pontiffs consistently recognised: from Pius XII, who saw in cinema an extraordinary narrative power capable of mobilising global audiences, to John XXIII, who sensed its educational force, to Paul VI, who urged artists not to turn their art into poison but to make it a balm, a vision, a responsibility.
Cinema as pilgrimage: a language that traverses the human mystery
The Pope placed the encounter within the context of the Jubilee, speaking of cinema as a “pilgrimage of the imagination”: a journey that measures not kilometres, but images, words, memories and shared desires. A definition that broadens the very understanding of the cinematic craft: not only narration, but exploration of the mystery of human experience. Leo XIV acknowledged the unique capacity of artists to detect beauty even in the furrows of pain, hope within tragedy, humanity in the shadows. In this, cinema confirms its universal nature, just as John Paul II recalled when he described the diversity of cinematic languages: from documentary to fairy tale, from history to science fiction, each form is a breach toward the absolute. It is precisely this versatility that enables cinema to bring distant peoples closer, mend social wounds, and build cultural bridges.
Beauty, Spirit and responsibility: the heart of Leo XIV’s appeal
One of the most powerful passages was the reference to David W. Griffith and his expression about the “beauty of the wind in the trees”. For Leo XIV that image does not merely evoke the poetry of early cinema; it recalls the Gospel passage in which the wind symbolises the Spirit, blowing where it wills. Here the Pope’s reflection becomes theological: he invites filmmakers to make cinema an art of the Spirit, a space where the image does not only entertain but regenerates. From Benedict XVI, who saw in cinema the ability to bring pages of history back to life, to Francis, who emphasised its power to rekindle wonder, a common thread emerges: cinematic beauty can become a response to the despair of the contemporary world. But, Leo XIV warns, such beauty must be honest: not exploiting pain, but accompanying it; not deforming fragility, but listening to it. Only in this way can a film educate the gaze without slipping into rhetoric or manipulation.
Cinema as communal work: a school of fraternity in an individualistic age
In the final part of his speech, the Pope reminded listeners of what spectators often overlook: a film is never the product of a director’s solitary genius, but the collective labour of hundreds of professionals. Assistants, technicians, electricians, make-up artists, costume designers, sound engineers, set designers, editors, producers: a constellation of roles that makes what appears on screen possible. In an age marked by heightened and conflictual individualisms, cinema becomes a concrete example of cooperation. No one is sufficient unto themselves; no one can shine without the contribution of others. It is a lesson that transcends the artistic sphere and touches social life: creativity is never pure individual expression, but arises from a network of relationships. This is why the Pope urged the cinematic world to safeguard this spirit of collaboration, so that films continue to be spaces of encounter, languages of peace, places where one can glimpse a fragment of the mystery of God.
A final mandate: being artisans of hope
In conclusion, Leo XIV entrusted artists with a mission that goes beyond the professional dimension. He asked them not to fear confronting the wounds of the world, not to censor the complexity of emotions, not to relinquish the truth of the image. Cinema, when faithful to its vocation, becomes an act of love: it restores dignity, listens to suffering, illuminates what is hidden. The Pope blessed those present so that they may continue to be “artisans of hope”, capable of generating beauty in an age at risk of disillusionment, and of portraying humanity not as a problem to be solved but as a mystery to be understood. A great responsibility, yet also a gift: the gift of speaking to the human heart through the inexhaustible power of images.
f.J.U.
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