Don’t too many priests spoil the soup? The Vatican’s two-curator, two-site, countless-artist pavilion tries to please crowds in the garden and confuses them in the sacristy. The sonic walk installation, with works by Obristian sidekicks cued up to the heavens, is outright trivial. It’s pleasant, granted, to stroll through Venice’s one patch of secluded greenery, but that’d be the case even without wireless headphones. This installation could happen (and has) anywhere; the holy soundtrack’s transcendental pathos is, in this end, entirely generic. 

Across the city, Kluge’s dying confession to Hildegard of Bingen is spectacular but by contrast too heavenly to dwell in. Architectural reconstruction hardware, drapery, and sickly yellow lighting turn the church complex into a site of renewal. In it, twelve filmic stations bear the sound of nuns singing, musicological trivia, and interruptions in… Comic Sans. What they narrate God only knows, though. In vain, one waits for this Medieval sonic payload to trump its contemporary counterpart.