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Frank Herbert’s 1965 novel Dune is one of the most important and influential
books of science fiction ever written. Its dramatic and complex universe coupled
with a fusion of future and fantasy brings new meaning to epic. It might even
define the word. But for almost 40 years, adaptations of the work have
struggled. Alejandro Jodorowsky’s planned adaptation never got off the ground, and
David Lynch’s 1984 film is notoriously divisive (even for its own director). The
2000 mini-series on the Sci-Fi Channel came closer to success, if only because it
gave the dense, sprawling narrative enough breathing room, but it still comes
off as unwieldy in many spots.
Now in 2021, we have an adaptation by Denis Villeneuve, who’s already proven he
can deliver heavy, atmospheric science fiction epics with style and skill in
Arrival
and
Blade Runner 2049. Will he be the one to finally get it right? If
anything, he’s given us a massive epic that stands on its own regardless of its
source material.
Villeneuve’s film only covers the first half of the first Dune novel; if you’re
not familiar with the book, seeing “Part One” appear under the film’s title card
might throw you for a loop. It’s the year 10191, and we open on Paul Atreides (Timothée
Chalamet), heir and only son to Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaac) and Lady
Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson). House Atreides has been commanded by the Emperor of
the known universe to become the new stewards of the desert planet Arrakis and
the spice it produces. Spice extends life and enables interstellar travel, and
Arrakis is its only source. But House Harkonnen, Arrakis’ previous steward, has
plans to destroy House Atreides, and Paul soon finds out that his destiny is not
his own.
There’s much more to the story of course, but I’m going to leave it there not
just because of spoilers but because there is SO much more story to unpack just
in the first 30 minutes of the film. And even with Villeneuve’s streamlined and
accessible way of presenting the story’s sprawling web of intrigues and
connections, that first 30 minutes unfolds in a slow, stumbling, even stilted
pace. It’s rough, no question, and it’s not entirely Villeneuve’s fault. This is
a book that comes with appendices and a glossary, and even then the first part
of it is so thick with exposition that it could induce headaches trying to
comprehend it.
But if you can trust Villeneuve’s approach, you will be rewarded with a
gorgeous, elegiac mélange of drama, action, and humanity. It’s clear that
Villeneuve understands what makes the novel run and what keeps it resonant and
vital. He allows the story to proceed in a measured, articulate way using a
masterful ratio of dialogue, visuals, and music to paint his adaptation. His
command of this palette can’t be overstated. His frame is engrossing, even
insidious, slowly drawing the viewer in and making us invested in Paul’s story
without us even realizing it.
Timothée Chalamet initially comes off as perhaps an odd choice for Paul but
ultimately proves to be the correct one. Possibly the only one. His Paul is
definitely portrayed as the youngest and least worldly version of the character,
and his understated approach to the part can initially come off as aloof. But
Chalamet has a stronger understanding of Paul than his initial impression gives,
and as the film travels forward, so too does his performance. He approaches the
role with a very deliberate and tightened way of expression, slowly allowing
more emotion out as Paul’s story progresses.
The dramatis personae of the film in general is quite well cast, and there are a
number of memorable performances, especially Rebecca Fergson’s conflicted Lady
Jessica and Stellan Skarsgård’s hypnotically grotesque portrayal of Baron
Harkonnen. Special note must go to Zendaya, portraying a native of Arrakis named
Chani that Paul sees in prophetic dreams. Zendaya is alluring as the symbolic
Chani of Paul’s visions, and Villeneuve films her with graceful, characteristic
passion. When Paul eventually meets the real Chani in the film’s third act,
Zenadya transforms that allure into a grounded charisma that is as quiet as it
is confident.
As great as the cast is, however, it is also quite large. We meet at least a
couple dozen characters in the first half of the film, and keeping track of them
can be a challenge. Because the focus is so squarely on Paul — with a lesser
focus on Leto and Jessica — this means that sometimes these characters come and
go quickly with large gaps of time between appearances. And if you’re not paying
attention, it’s easy to miss simple things.
Part of this is due to Villeneuve’s pared-down approach to the novel’s
notoriously dense volume of lore. The first part of the film is heavy with
exposition, which honestly could probably never be avoided, but other than that
Villeneuve only gives us as much information as we need to place Paul’s story in
context. He distills Herbert’s world down to something highly digestible, which
may upset fans loyal to Herbert’s words but allows the film to becoming
accessible. His approach gives the film a distinct flow, a distinct feeling of
experience without sacrificing the essentials. You may never know, for instance,
that David Dastmalchian is playing a character named Piter De Vries, but after
one scene you know exactly what kind of character he is and how he relates to
the plot.
Villeneuve doesn’t fully rely on his cast to tell the novel’s story, however. A
good portion of the film is moved forward solely by audio/visual narration. Much
like he showed in
Arrival, Villeneuve infuses the film with a kind of
understated epic, hinting at the awesome scope of the story and individual
scenes with a easy, adept hand. This approach is harmonized with by Hans
Zimmer’s music, a sometimes dizzying, almost hallucinogenic score that is
capable of quiet contemplation and heavy drama, sometimes at the same time. In
some scenes, it actually conveys more emotional weight than the dialogue and
performances. Both Villeneuve’s and Zimmer’s talents are brought fully to bear
during the film’s action sequences, where this legato approach turns furioso
without sacrificing any confidence or grace.
But while those action scenes are part of pivotal plot points, they ultimately
make up a small portion of the film, at least in relation to how the film was
sold to the general public. For as assured and intriguing as Villeneuve’s film
is, its trailers painted a poor picture of what to expect, focusing heavily on
the action sequences when the film’s true heart is in the more quiet, emotional
moments. This is a space opera, not an action blockbuster, and the truth of the
matter might be jarring for those expecting the more Star Wars-esque adventure
that the trailers hinted at.
It’s important to see through that, however, because it cannot be stressed
enough about what a gorgeous, humanistic film Villeneuve has crafted here.
Beyond Dune’s complex and complicated canvas, it’s ultimately a story of
identity and determination, of the discovery of hard, emotional truths that can
only be learned through experience and painful self-examination. Villeneuve’s
powers of storytelling are in full bloom, highlighted by an excellent cast,
buoyed by an almost synesthetic score. This is a film that might be hard to step
into but quickly becomes impossible to leave.
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