Directed by Denis Villeneuve, Starring Timothée Chalamet, Zendaya, Oscar Isaac…
Dune, the Movie
I first read Frank Herbert’s Dune as a teenager and that’s the right age to meet this hallucinogenic, intergalactic trip of a novel. It’s one of those books that almost literally transports you to another world, and I got lost there a couple of times (the sequels, not so much). So, I was one of the crowd eagerly awaiting this new adaptation by Canadian director Denis Villeneuve. His previous work (Arrival and Blade Runner 2049) showed a dedication to serious (even ponderous) science fiction and he seemed the sort of star director who could finally bring such an epic and original story to the screen (earlier attempts can most charitably be described as “eccentric”).
Two and a half hours later, I think I’ve outgrown Dune. Or, at least, I’m no longer interested in this particular sort of ponderous, pseudo-philosophical, humourless, mythic tale about a legendary “chosen one”. Which means I may not be qualified to write this review (please keep reading, though!).
Dune, the Novel
The novel’s utterly unique and deeply imagined world building accounts for a lot of the impact it had upon publication in 1965. It’s set in a far future where mankind has colonized the stars. A vast inter-galactic empire is divided between a number of noble houses, all owing fealty to the emperor, but all rivals for territory, wealth, and influence. Behind the scenes lurk the Bene Gesserit, a female order of nuns, spies, and theologians, manipulating events from the shadows in pursuit of their own mysterious and mystical goals. Warfare has become as archaic as the empire’s politics; personal shields (which stop fast moving bullets) have made projectile weapons obsolete. Since these, however, can be penetrated by a slow moving blade, combat has reverted to sword fighting, and skill with a blade is a prime attribute of soldiers and nobles. Finally, space travel depends on a substance called “spice”, which enables members of the Navigator’s Guild to see through space and time — essential for interstellar navigation. The only source of spice is the desert planet, Arrakis, making it the most valuable possession in the empire. But Arrakis is an incredibly hostile place, its extreme ecology made even more dangerous by giant, desert-dwelling sand worms and the native Fremen tribes.
– WARNING! Mild spoilers follow for a fifty-five year old novel. –
Herbert uses this setting for a classic hero’s journey. The novel opens with the emperor gifting Arrakis to House Atreides in place of the brutal Harkonnens, who have terrorized the planet for decades. The head of the house, Duke Leto, suspects this is merely a ploy to pit the two noble families against each other, weakening both as possible rivals to imperial authority. And so it proves; the Atreides are barely established on Arrakis before they’re betrayed. Aided by a spy in the Atreides household, the Harkonnens invade, reclaiming the planet and killing Duke Leto. Only the young heir, Paul Atreides, and his mother (a Bene Gesserit witch) escape into the hostile desert. There Paul must prove himself and gain the trust of the hostile and fiercely independent Fremen if they’re to survive.
The new movie is being released in two parts, so that’s where Dune (2021) ends. Part Two will cover the the rest of the novel: Paul’s adventures with the Fremen and his rise as the prophesied saviour who unites them and liberates Arrakis. It’s an epic tale, full of archetypal characters, mystic prophesies, and an elemental clash between good and evil.
For me, though, the heart of the novel is Paul Atreides’ personal journey from pampered heir to desert warrior. This is told in wonderfully specific detail: his complicated relationship with his mother (both caregiver and agent of the Bene Gesserit), the conflict between his personal desires and the call of duty, and the contrast between his wealthy upbringing and the harsh austerity of the desert. Paul begins as a callow youth, facing challenges he isn’t ready for; he makes mistakes, suffers setbacks and has to learn fast if he’s to survive. He’s older and wiser at the end, but has paid a fearful personal price to get there.
Paul is an appealing protagonist and his struggles to matures from child to adult are universal experiences anyone can identify with. As with any heroic tale, this inner journey both parallels greater events in the outer world, imbuing them with an emotional consequence. Our sympathy for Paul as an individual draws us into his story, hut his experience also resonates as a symbol of universal human experiences. He is both Paul, the uncertain heir, and an archetype of fundamental struggles that have always defined us: between brutal narcissism and self-control, between authoritarianism and individualism, exploitation of nature and living naturally, free will and destiny…
Story vs Legend
Villeneuve, however, seems only interested in this story only on the legendary, archetypal level; his Dune gives short shrift to almost everything personal. Notice how much of the talk about the film concerns its visual spectacle. Appropriately as an enormous amount of craft and effort have gone into making Dune 2021 look epic: the landscapes of both the Atreides home world of Caladan and Arrakis are gorgeously portrayed and seem like distinctive, real places. Grand vistas abound, not just sweeping pans of the landscapes, but vast military parades, mighty imperial delegations, giant spaceships in formation… Plus, lots of shots of our protagonists staring into the far distance, every moment accompanied by the Hans Zimmer score welling up in a mighty reminder that the fate of the universe is at stake.
Even with two and one half hours of run time to cover half the novel, all these long shots of landscapes and moody staring don’t leave much room for conversation or character motivation. What dialogue there is tends to be exposition-heavy, filling us in on the empire’s complicated politics and the situation on Arrakis. For dramatic effect these alternate with pseudo-profound proclamations from the book (“fear is the mind killer”). On the few occasions the characters actually talk to one another as people, the writing is excruciatingly clunky. When, for example, Paul expresses doubt about his future as heir of House Atreides during an intimate personal conversation, his father adopts a noble expression and declares: “If your answer is ‘no’ you’ll still be the only thing I’ve ever needed you to be — my son.”
Even the visuals, for all their grandeur, lack any sense of how people actually live in this universe. Both Caladan and Arrakis seem largely uninhabited (the only time we see civilians is when a delegation of locals welcomes the Atreides upon their arrival at Arrakis space port). Interiors are decorated to suggest the different cultures but, even in the bedrooms, we never see any personal possessions that might provide clues about their occupants. And there’s nary a bathroom in sight (not that you could imagine these noble warriors pooping).
Finally, far too much of the action is prophesied or foretold, rendering character action and motivation largely meaningless. Duke Leto repeatedly foretells the Harkonnen’s betrayal and yet, when it does happen, he can only sacrifice himself as another character’s instrument of vengeance. Meanwhile Paul’s identity as the Muad’Dib, the Fremen’s prophesied saviour, is hammered home by almost every one he meets. He is, in fact, doubly chosen since the Bene Gesserit also believe he might be their destined vessel who will fulfill their mystic goals (a task for which his mother has been secretly training him).
A less portentous movie would maintain some ambiguity about whether these prophecies are real or just superstitious beliefs. But here Zimmer’s score is always welling up to assure us that Paul’s destiny is A Very Big Deal Indeed. Much is also made of incidents that foreshadow his identity as the chosen one (he even knows, without any training at all, exactly how to wear a Fremen Still Suit in the proper desert style). The whiff of fascism implicit in a “chosen one” rising to lead his people by virtue of destiny and birthright is an issue the movie doesn’t address…
Characters vs Archetypes
Given that Dune 2021 treats its characters more as archetypes than distinct individuals, the casting choices are interesting. The wispy Timothée Chalamet seems an odd choice to play a warrior prince, but he’s twenty-five now and able to bring an adult’s gravity to the role. Combine this with his slight, boyish looks and it does suggest an adolescent on the cusp of adulthood. His exaggerated features also make for arresting visuals that play well on posters and in the trailers: all giant eyes, angular cheekbones, and floppy hair. Given how much the film relies on static shots of its characters staring into the distance, that’s not unimportant. In interviews Chalamet can be lively and charming, but in the movie he’s not called on to show much range; his Paul is all seriousness and huskily whispered dialogue; he might smile once in the whole film. In place of a personality his character has a list of virtues: he’s concerned for others, loyal to his friends, and serious about his studies.
Although the Fremen woman, Chani, is a major character in the novel, the film ends just as Paul joins up with the desert nomads. Zendaya (like Chani she she goes by one name) thus doesn’t have much opportunity to play an actual personality; she mostly appears as a vision in Paul’s dreams and spice induced hallucinations. All that can be said, then, is that her striking features and naturally solemn expression also look great in static shots and posters. And her rake-thin build means she won’t physically overwhelm her wispy co-star in Part Two, when they should have more scenes together.
The rest of the cast are reliable veterans who embody their roles perfectly (essential, given their limited screen time and dialogue). Oscar Isaac is suitably dignified as Paul’s beardy dad and Jason Momoa is rakish and energetic as the swashbuckling Duncan Idaho, the movie’s one colourful character. It’s Josh Brolin’s stern Gurney Halleck, though, who gets the movie’s only joke (“I am smiling” — replayed endlessly in the trailers as there’s so little other humour). Dave Bautista and Stellan Skarsgård are magnificently twisted as the evil Harkonnens (without falling into the campiness that marred the 1984 film). Only Rebecca Ferguson, who’s been excellent in other action-heavy roles, feels miscast here: too young and trembly for the Bene Gesserit witch that is Paul’s mother.
Sci Fi of Ideas?
Villeneuve’s oeuvre shows a penchant for big, slow moving spectacles. Despite their epic style, though, his previous Sci Fi films were centred on personal stories and human concerns. Arrival’s science fiction elements (aliens with no linear concept of time) were used to explore the nature of grief and recovery. And Blade Runner 2049 used its futuristic setting, in which replicants (and synthetic girlfriends) exist, to question what it means to be human.
Dune (2021) reaches for similarly grand themes: the contrast between the high technology and feudal politics of its space empire, the conflict between duty and personal desire, and the Harronen’s brutal effort to conquer and exploit Arrakis against the alternative of living in harmony with the desert, as the Firemen do. But I’m not sure it has much that’s anything interesting to say on any of these topics.
And worse, without a stronger or more distinctive personal journey to carry the legend of Muad’Dib, the movie feels narratively inert. It’s half a metaphor; a signifier without the signified. Dune (2021) may not be as convoluted and hard to follow as Arrival, nor quite so excruciatingly slow paced as Blade Runner 2049 but (flawed as they were) those films had a real emotional impact. Villeneuve has obviously poured similar levels of craft, dedication, and even love into Dune, but the result is more portentous than profound; a lot of sound and fury signifying little.
WOBBLY THUMB
Note: A problem I had with Dune, that kept getting bigger as the movie went along, is that as a story loses its credibility your attention starts to wander to questions the author would rather you didn’t ask:
- Personal shields may stop bullets, but wouldn’t chemical or high explosive weapons then take over as the primary mode of combat rather than sword fighting? (the movie shows toxic gas penetrating a shield and when Duncan Idaho escapes in an Onithropter he devastates the chasing Harkonnens with a barrage of rockets);
- Why would anyone trust, much less conspire with the obviously evil Baron Harkonnen when he keeps publicly murdering his henchmen as readily as his enemies?; and
- If interstellar travel is impossible without spice, which is only found on Arrakis, how did humans get there in the first place?
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