(Note: As the Dennis Villeneuve adaptation of Frank
Herbert’s Dune has only been in theaters for a short time; and as the
1984 David Lynch adaptation is strange and divisive; and as the 1969 novel can
be a challenge for folks reading it for the first time – I am going to keep
this review as spoiler-free as possible, and tag the paragraphs that reveal
significant plot points or notes about the Duneiverse.)
Frank Herbert’s Dune weaves together many themes, and
one of them – one that permeates the first three books of the series, in
particular – is the relationship between fathers and sons, and the inheritance
(metaphorical and literal) that accompanies those relationships. This is
particularly interesting to me because Dune – like Johnny Cash’s At
Folsom Prison, the art of shooting pool, and an unquenchable thirst for
Louisiana-style hot sauce – is something I inherited from my father. I
was an advanced and voracious reader as a kid, and dad passed many an excellent
book my way.
I will freely admit that the first time I read it, Dune
was over my head (which is different than above my reading level). I lacked the
life experience and knowledge to fully comprehend what Frank Herbert had
cleverly built. Still, I plowed on and read Dune Messiah and Children
of Dune, the books that constitute the “trilogy” where even the most
extended adaptation (SyFy’s 2000 miniseries Frank Herbert’s Dune and the
follow-up, 2003’s Frank Herbert’s Children of Dune) stop. However, a few
years ago I decided to reacquaint myself with the Duneiverse (or the Frank
Herbert Extended Universe, if you will). This time, I rode the sandworm as far
into the deep desert as I could. I even choked down about half Son-of-Frank
(Brian) Herbert’s prequels and sequels, most of which are pretty awful.
In total, I’ve read a dozen Dune books; all six of Frank’s, plus the six prequel novels by Brian. This means that I still haven’t read the “entire” series, but I consider Brian Herbert’s work to be at best a poor execution of his father’s notes and legacy, and at worst an act akin to graverobbing. All of this is to say that I came to Dennis Villeneuve’s Dune (2021) with more lore crammed into my skull than your average viewer. Thus, I did not have an “average” reaction to Dune – I had a fan’s reaction. Keep that in mind as you read on.
Dune is considered a towering classic of science
fiction for many reasons. One of them is that Dune seemed to arrive out
of nowhere in one fully-assembled and seamless whole, an entirely original
vision that wasn’t a derivation or continuation of standard trends in science
fiction (beyond, I suppose, space travel and laser beams). Dune
presented a vision of the future that’s extraordinarily dark; a reactionary
far-flung time in which humanity, having even mastered interstellar travel and
other technological wonders, had nonetheless reverted to feudalism. This is a
future rife with slavery, exploitation, and genocide, overseen by the lords of
“Great Houses” and a longstanding galactic imperial dynasty (the Padishah
dynasty). Herbert’s vision is that of a far-flung empire of ducal fiefdoms,
blood feuds, and constant political intrigue up to and including constant assassination
plots. The workings of this vast imperium rely entirely on a single substance,
the “geriatric Spice Melange,” or just “the Spice.” The only place in the known
universe to obtain this substance is on the desert planet Arrakis, under
dangerous conditions that include sandstorms, sabotage, and gigantic,
awe-inspiring sandworms.
The effects of Spice Melange are, to put it mildly,
extremely interesting. Its primary purpose is to facilitate interstellar travel
by enabling Guild Navigators (semi-humans with murkily-explained psychic gifts
who eat, drink, and literally breathe Spice). Navigators use it to map the
future of possible routes of faster-than-light travel, ensuring that ships
don’t accidentally materialize inside of, oh, a star, for instance. In normal
humans it radically extends one’s lifespan, promotes health, and “increases
awareness.” The way that Herbert writes about the Spice makes it clear that
it’s a stimulant (especially when brewed and served as Spice coffee, a popular
beverage), is mildly hallucinogenic to some, and cripplingly addictive.
(SPOILER)
Here’s the interesting part: in a certain, tiny percentage
of humans, Spice also produces precognition and other psychic effects. In a population
of one (Paul Atreides), it produces a super-hyper-precognition. This is both a
curse and a blessing, as Paul’s horrifying visions of galactic jihad and
millions slaughtered in his name indicate.
(SPOILER CONCLUDED)
Herbert’s prose conjures a world that is one part stone castles and swords and
one part warp drives and personal force fields (“shields,” in the Duneiverse). As
a rather bitter
editorial in Jacobin notes, Dune represents a reactionary future.
Villeneuve’s adaptation captures this vision beautifully. I can think of no
better way to explain the atmosphere of Herbert’s future than the image of a
vast, motionless, and peacefully-floating space ship waiting for its passengers
near an ancient coastal castle that looks like something straight out of
medieval Europe. Dune 2021’s effects work, set and costume design, and
shooting locations could not be better. It feels like a real, living, breathing
world (actually, several worlds). The acting is incredible; while
Patrick Stewart is fantastic, and one of my favorite actors, his portrayal of
Gurney in 1984 was too grandfatherly or avuncular. In the novels, Gurney is a hard
bastard and survivor of Harkonnen brutality; this is brought to life very
effectively in the few scenes Josh Brolin is in. Jason Momoa’s Duncan Idaho is
phenomenal, a welcome change from the short shrift that thisvery important
character was given in Dune 1984 and the two SyFy adaptations from the
2000s. Not to bag on the ‘84 version: I will always have a soft spot in my
heart for Kyle MacLachlan’s Paul Atreides (not to mention Sting as Feyd Rautha
Harkonnen – meow!),
but to be blunt the casting decisions and acting in Dune 2021 are far
superior; not least because it’s not an all-white cast. Herbert takes note of
race and religion in his novels, and makes no bones about the fact that some
folks are white (i.e., Houses Atreides, Harkonnen, and Corrino – most of the ruling class, as far as the
books indicate), while others are people of color (particularly the Fremen, the
native inhabitants of the planet Arrakis, who could not more clearly be based
on MENA cultures in either the
text or film).
 |
| Art from "Dune: Adventures in the Imperium," the new tabletop role playing game (whose sourcebook I proudly own!) |
A common critique of Dune is that it’s a white savior narrative.
This is an absolutely understandable interpretation of the material – provided,
that is, you’re only dealing with Dune (the first novel) and Dune
only, detached from any of the other books. Paul’s status as a white “savior”
is radically resituated in the opening passages of the second book in the
series (which I hope we get to see Villeneuve’s version of), Dune Messiah.
Speaking of which – I’ve always found the use of “Messiah” in the title of the
second volume enormously confusing. Christianity plays absolutely no role
whatsoever in the Duneiverse, which is fascinating (and, to be honest,
refreshing).
Even if Villeneuve’s films are Marvel-level blockbusters, I
doubt that we’ll ever see film adaptations of the last Dune books Frank
wrote, so I do not consider this a spoiler. In the Duneiverse, Christianity is
largely forgotten (a book called the Orange Catholic Bible (allegedly) contains
the accumulated wisdom of Earth’s ancient religions, including a syncretic
movement called Mahayana Christianity). The two faiths that have survived in
their most recognizable forms* are Buddhism and Islam. Not only have they
survived, they’ve blended and spawned multiple syncretic faiths: both
“Zensunni” and “Buddhislamic” are sects in the Duneiverse, as is the unique
variation practiced by the Fremen. Paul Muad’dib (AKA Paul Atreides) is never
depicted as a god-made-flesh or a savior of souls. The term used in
Villeneuve’s adaptation is Mahdi,
which is the correct term. True, the Mahdi is a messianic figure; but,
importantly, one native to Islam.
(SPOILER)
The Bene Gesserit Sisterhood has had its hand in religion up
to the shoulder for millennia, we learn in later books, going so far as to
establish a program called the Missionaria Protectiva, that deliberately plants
superstitions, prophecies, and whole religions throughout the known universe, “preparing”
people everywhere to accept the Bene Gesserit “chosen one” (the Kwisatz
Haderach) as savior when he appears. Their intention is to manufacture a
genuine messiah through a careful (and ideologically completely gross) “breeding
program” between the Great Houses.
(SPOILER CONCLUDED)
Dune (the 2021 film, not the book) is an improvement
on the text in a few ways. This is understandable, as the original book is more
than a half-century old. First, the destructive and exploitative power dynamic
between native Fremen and imperialist overlords (be they Harkonnen or
Atreides) is made explicit right up
front, whereas in the novels it takes until fairly late in the series to
address this issue head-on. The film also…
(SPOILER)
…breaks the news that Paul is – at best – a reluctant
Mahdi, and at worst, a tyrant / holy warlord at whose feet countless corpses
will eventually be piled. When Paul trips balls during his first serious Spice
exposure in the tent, he specifically mentions “a galactic holy war**,” “worlds
on fire,” “the Atreides banner flying over it all,” and “they’re chanting my
name!” Let’s leave aside the question of any given religion’s messianic figure
of choice. Paul Atreides reminds me of nothing so much as a revolutionary
insurgent leader (perhaps a religious figure, perhaps from outside the region he
seeks to liberate – not an uncommon occurrence in reality) In seeking to
liberate a people from imperial oppressors, Paul winds up so awash in blood
that any question of ends and means is rendered laughable.
(SPOILER CONCLUDED)
Now, obviously, I have a lot to say about the Dune franchise. Seeing
where the film leaves the story, however, I promise to only explain things or
give them away if people ask.
Dune is a magnificent, jaw-dropping adaptation of some very challenging
subject matter, and yet manages to immerse one completely in its lore and
atmosphere without the incessant hand-holding of the mixed-bag 1984 version (the
one that David Lynch demanded take his name out of the credits). It’s all of Dune’s
strengths, and what weaknesses it inherits from the source material have been
tempered. Go see it – it’s amazing.
* Actually, at one point very, very late in the series, you do learn that one faith has secretly survived into the unimaginably distant future unchanged: Judaism! Although the way Frank handles that concept is (without being hateful) less than deft.
** There has been a HUGE amount of debate and hand-wringing over which word or words should be used to represent Paul's holy war. In fact, that's the phrase they use in the film: "holy war." Evidently the original line used in the new film was "crusade," which caused outrage. The word that Herbert repeatedly employs is specifically and only "jihad." Not just Paul's Jihad, but the "Butlerian Jihad," an anti-AI revolution led by a woman named Serena Butler long before the events of Dune. Weirdly, when Son-of-Frank was writing the prequels, he (appropriately) called the first book The Butlerian Jihad, and (bewilderingly) called the second one The Machine Crusade.
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