Learning the ways of the desert … Timoth茅e Chalamet as Paul Atreides Courtesy of Warner Bros. Pictures
Directed by Denis Villeneuve
In cinemas from 1 March
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So here鈥檚 where we鈥檙e at, in the concluding half of Denis Villeneuve鈥檚 adaptation of Frank Herbert鈥檚 Dune.
Cast into the wilderness of arid planet Arrakis by the invading force of House Harkonnen, young Paul Atreides (Timoth茅e Chalamet) learns the ways of the desert, embraces his genetic and political destiny, and becomes, in one swoop, a focus for fanaticism and (with an eye to a third film – an adaptation of author Frank Herbert鈥檚 sequel, Dune Messiah) the scourge of the universe.
From Alejandro Jodorowsky鈥檚 mid-1970s effort, which never came to fruition (but at least gave Swiss artist H.R. Giger of Alien fame his entr茅e into movie design), to David Lynch鈥檚 4-hour-plus farrago, savagely edited prior to its 1984 release into something closer to 2 hours that approached (but only approached) coherence, the industry assumption has been that Dune is an epic too vast to be easily filmed. However, throw enough resources at it, goes the logic, and it will eventually crumble.
That this is precisely the wrong lesson to draw was perfectly demonstrated by John Harrison鈥檚 2000 mini-series version for the Sci Fi Channel and its sequel, Children of Dune – both absurdly under-resourced, both satisfying stories that the fans paid attention to, even if the critics didn鈥檛.
Now we have Villeneuve鈥檚 effort. Like his Blade Runner 2049 (which, by the way, is by far the better movie), it uses visual stimulation to hide the gaping holes in its plot. Yes, the story of Dune is epic. But it is also, in the full meaning of the word, weird.
It is about a human empire that has achieved cosmic scale, and all without the help of computers, thinking machines and conscious robots, which were overthrown long ago in some shadowy phase of the Dune universe known as the 鈥淏utlerian Jihad鈥.
In its rise, humanity has bred, drugged and otherwise warped individuals into becoming something very like gods; in conquering space, it teeters on the brink of attaining power over time. The drug-like 鈥渟pice鈥 mined on planet Arrakis isn鈥檛 just a rare resource over which great rivals fight, but the spiritual gateway that makes humanity, in this far future, viable in the first place.
Leave any one of these elements undeveloped (or, as here, entirely ignored) and you鈥檙e left with an awful lot of desert to fill with battles, sword play, explosions, crowd scenes and giant sandworms – and here an as-yet-unwritten rule of special effects cinematography comes into play, because I swear that the more those wrigglers cost, the sillier they get. Your ears will ring, your heart will thunder, and by morning the entire experience will have evaporated, like a long (2-hour-and-46-minute) fever dream.
As Beast Rabban, Dave Bautista outperforms the rest of the cast to a degree that is embarrassing. The Beast is a Harkonnen, an alpha predator in this grim universe, and yet Bautista is the only actor here capable of portraying fear. Javier Bardem鈥檚 desert leader Stilgar is played for laughs (but let鈥檚 face it, in the entire history of cinema, name one desert leader that hasn鈥檛 been). Chalamet stands still in front of the camera; his love interest, played by Zendaya, scowls and growls like Bert Lahr鈥檚 Cowardly Lion in The Wizard of Oz.
Dune: Part Two is an expensive ($190 million) film that has had the decency to put much of its budget in front of the camera. This makes it watchable, enjoyable and even, at times, thrilling. Making a good Dune movie requires a certain eccentricity, though. Villeneuve is, on the contrary, that deadening thing, 鈥渁 safe pair of hands鈥.
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