Dune, Part 1

Or: Coarse, and Rough, And it Gets Everywhere


On the drive out to the theater I asked my companion if there was any film he would want to see for the very first time again as an adult. His answer of the Lord of the Rings trilogy was a) absolutely correct and b) a very interesting comparison to meditate on when we emerged two and a half hours later.

The new Dune film is gorgeously shot, skillfully adapted, and finally, finally shows us a film that knows its way around exposition: both the troubles of Fremen, the native population of the exploited, eponymous planet, and the dynastic struggles between the noble house of Atraides and the evil Baron Harkonnen, human party balloon (Stellan Skarsgard).

But the script leaves a great deal to be desired (“We have ruled by air power and sea power,” Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac) exclaims at one point, “We need to cultivate Desert Power!” This is a phrase repeated, with equal intensity, at least three times through the movie.) And unlike other long reaching epics (most notably the Lord of the Rings trilogy) there’s very little chance for any character to show off evidence of, well, character (with the exception of Jason Momoa as the irrepressible soldier Duncan Idaho, who gets away with being Jason Momoa as well as the Never Disappointing Artistes Rebecca Ferguson and Zendaya, who we will discuss later.)

This is not a terrible set back and certainly plays to the strengths of Timothee Chalamet, who’s just too darn pretty and capable to dislike, even when he’s doing unconscionable things to peaches. Here he is Paul a young man of such admirable equanimity you can nearly see the teenaged angst as he is torn between the expectations of his father Leto, the best loved and fairest Duke in the galaxy, or his mother Jessica’s (Fergeson) training from her days as a member of the order of sadist nuns who run the empire with the power of The Compelling Voice and boxy hats. Not to mention that he might be the prophesied Space Jesus whose coming will lead the Fremen on a holy war against the universe; visions of parkouring over the field of battle invades Paul’s dreams and keeps him up and diffident at all hours.

The family Atraides and all their staff are commanded by imperial decree to leave their comfortable safe quarters on planet SpainScotland and settle on Arrakis, a world composed entirely of sand, rock, giant worms, and valuable hallucinogens.

The first act is Leto and Paul trying to convince the Fremen (as represented by the brusque and laconic tribe leader Stilgar (Javier Bardem) and ecologist Dr. Liet-Kynes (Sharon Duncan-Brewster) that the current regime, while far from perfect, is notably better than the previous kill-all-fremen-on-sight policy, whilst the human party saloon bobs sinisterly in the background. The second act showcases A Lot Of Things Going Wrong For A Lot Of People Very Quickly. The Third, which might have taken up an entire movie in itself (but I’m not complaining) is a Mother Son Road Trip of Death.

This sounds like a lot (and yes, I am poking fun) but despite the length and the lack of humanizing quirks (features endemic to Herbert’s novel) the film still manages to satisfy and even wow. From the landing of vast space ships to a gut-dropping danger of a no-frills knife fight, the movie knows exactly how to present each scene. At least one of my theater mates burst into tears at points and even my stony heart was cleft by the poetry as a character is suddenly stabbed, their sudden demise accompanied not by gore but a burst of water from their environmental suit (director Dennis Villeneuve does a beautiful job and keeping our eye trained to water, scare and sacred in this story, both its abidance, its conservation and its waste).

There’s also the remarkable skills of Ferguson. She cuts a fine line between scary levels of competence and knee knocking terror, torn over the need to be Paul’s mother or his sadist nun guardian. Her trembling mantra, “I must not fear, fear is the mind killer,” as she stands guard between a potentially fatal interview between Paul and the head of her order (Charlotte Rampling) has a magnetic quality that sows a thriving crop of fear in our own hearts, even more than the sadist nun test itself. You can tell you’ve a great actor when even close ups of her Hand Cants come across as full of character and expression.

And while she’s barely in the film for twenty minutes Zendaya shines as Chani, the Literal Girl of Paul’s dreams and his real life Fremen Frenemy. Mostly she’s seen walking across the sand, smiling mysteriously, occasionally dangling a bloody knife, but when she shows up in the flesh and gets to speak she brings all the electric energy of Momoa without the high tension crackle, just a smooth hum of amassment. Zendaya easily makes off with any film she appears in, and even scrapes the smooth abalone of Chalamet out of his shell and I cannot wait to see her take on a larger role in Part Two.

Dune may not ultimately be anything to write home about, and its smooth polished surface does not leave much to hold onto. And most grievously the actors have to fight tooth and nail to clamber up the script to make any indentation at all. But I greatly enjoyed it as an exercise in storytelling, as a prime example of adaptation and an awed mediation on DESERT POWER! I eagerly await part two.