When I was a senior in high school, I was allowed a free period every day, and instead of soberly studying, I spent the extra time reading Frank Herbert’s Dune novels in the library. I quickly became obsessed with Herbert’s detailed imagination.
It was like discovering J.R.R. Tolkien, all over again.
I had only just started to grapple with the confounding films of David Lynch, and when I had finished reading Herbert’s novels I sat down to watch Lynch’s doomed adaptation from 1984. The producer had forced Lynch to cram the story of the first book into a single film, and the result is like a Cliff’s Notes version of Herbert.
The interior monologues are clumsy. The voiceover narration sweeps the viewer through portions of the story that should have been dramatized. Some of the missteps are Lynch’s alone; I doubt that the infamous rape scene originated with a note from a suit. Still, I can understand why Lynch has always refused to talk about the movie. It’s not as bad as people say; the visuals remain spellbinding, and the spirit of the book is so faithfully rendered that Herbert reportedly liked the finished result. If the movie had been six hours long, it might have been decent. But it was not six hours long, and after I watched it I spent decades wishing for a worthy re-adaptation.
I wasn’t holding my breath, though.
For those who aren’t in the loop, the novel Dune is set many thousands of years in the future, when a vast, interplanetary society depends on the flow of a narcotic substance called spice. Spice can only be found on the desert planet Arrakis (commonly known as Dune), and this makes Arrakis the most important place in the galaxy.
A messianic leader emerges on Arrakis, leveraging his control of the spice into power over the galaxy. And as the character of Paul Atreides rises, Herbert shines a cynical light on politics, religious fundamentalism, secret societies, and war. Dune is the story of every charismatic leader who ever inspired fanatics to go on the warpath. It’s a story that ought to resonate with anyone who studies human history, or pays attention to the world. It’s a story that will probably resonate far into the future.
In 2021, Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part One did justice to the story, but it was billed as the first half of a larger movie, and a lot of things can go wrong between a really good film and its sequel. For several years, I patiently reserved judgement as I waited for the second installment. And now that it’s here, all I can say is, “Wow.”
Dune: Part Two is an adrenaline rush that succeeds in almost every way. From the strange black-and-white gladiatorial match on the creepy industrial planet, to the scene where a giant sandworm is tamed, the epic set pieces deliver. And the CGI is some of the best I’ve ever seen; it lacks the flat quality that mars a lot of big science fiction movies, with no false illusions to take the viewer out of the experience.
The movie nails the small moments, too, and contains some excellent performances. Paul Atreides is a nobleman’s son who loses everything, then steps into a second life as a warrior/savior, and Timothy Chalamet convincingly straddles both sides of the character. Zendaya is wonderful as Paul’s true love and moral compass.
As the evilly capitalistic Baron Harkonnen, Stellan Skarsgard is bestowed with an extra four hundred pounds, through prosthetic makeup, not CGI. Skarsgard’s Baron seems both consumed by, and bored with, his gluttony and perversions.
The Baron’s crazy, sadistic nephew, Feyd-Rautha, is portrayed by Austin Butler, clearly having the time of his life. Kudos to Butler for choosing this role as a follow-up to Elvis; Dune 2 cements him as a talented, charismatic performer.
No movie is perfect (other than The Godfather) and Dune 2 has its weak elements. Christopher Walken is horribly miscast as the galactic Emperor, and brings abosultley nothing to the table. I’m normally his biggest fan, so I couldn’t have predicted the way he would drag down the movie whenever he was onscreen.
At least it’s not a very big role.
The bigger problem: even at two hours and forty-five minutes, this movie is too short. There is a LOT of narrative ground to cover, and the film is sometimes (sadly) reminiscent of David Lynch’s rushed adaptation. A mere fifteen minutes added to the run time would have made the movie smoother and more satisfying.
Still, this is the kind of movie that Hollywood ought to be pumping out. This is what IMAX was desinged for. This is the fulfillment of the history of visual effects. There are so many great works of literary fantasy, sitting on the shelf, waiting to be told on film. There are so many compelling, imaginative stories, waiting to be adapted with dedication and polish. And modern filmmakers have so many tools to work with.
Give me something awesome, or go home.