FILM REVIEW - DUNE (2021)
25/10/2021
Paul Atreides, a brilliant and gifted young man born into a great destiny beyond his understanding, must travel to the most dangerous planet in the universe to ensure the future of his family and his people. As malevolent forces explode into conflict over the planet's exclusive supply of the most precious resource in existence, only those who can conquer their own fear will survive. Release date: 21 October 2021 Director: Denis Villeneuve Cinematography: Greig Fraser Music by: Hans Zimmer A film review by James Bennett
Appearing on bookshelves in 1965, Dune is widely regarded as the greatest science fiction novel of all time. It’s interesting, because things didn’t start out that way. Written by then-emerging author Frank Herbert, the story was first published by Analog magazine in two serialized parts, Dune World and Prophet of Dune, and edited by none other than John W. Campbell, who had a notorious fondness for tales that featured genetically engineered white Übermenschen. Campbell’s racism is as well documented as his shadow over the genre entire. As author Jeanette Ng famously stated at the 2019 Hugo Awards, Campbell was “responsible for setting a tone of science fiction that still haunts the genre to this day. Sterile. Male. White. Exalting in the ambitions of imperialists and colonisers, settlers and industrialists”. Dune is a colonialist’s wet dream, for sure. But it seems the novel originally faced problems getting into print due to its slow pace and dense narrative, seeing several rejections before it found a home at Chilton Books, a publisher of car manuals, no less. And it’s fair to say the novel had troubled beginnings, with poor sales, hostile critics and an editor who refused to pick up the sequel, Dune Messiah, for daring to turn the white saviour narrative on its head by recasting the hero, Paul Atreides, in a flawed, even villainous light. Whether Herbert intended to support imperialism or critique it remains one of the main talking points surrounding the novel. It’s fair to say the later novels in the series invert some themes of the first book, while doubling down on others (in Heretics of Dune, for instance, the MC asserts that homosexuals are good for the priesthood, but bad for the army as it encourages men to fuck each other. Um. OK). The author raised a lot of questions, but never provided easy answers. As a result, interpretations of Dune have divided fans for decades. At the same time, that’s left Dune open to interpretation, which boosts its continued popularity and has made this latest version possible. This potted history provides the fuel for an endlessly debateable novel that went on to enjoy major success, win Hugos and Nebulas, spawn twenty sequels, and became one of the most influential books ever. No one can deny the grandeur and scope of Dune, nor the fact that the novel has captured imaginations around the world, having been translated into dozens of languages and selling almost 20 million copies. The blend of scientific speculation with religious mystique set the template for thousands of genre novels to come. There’s an ineffable quality to the tale that keeps us coming back for more, thorny as it is, and Herbert’s contribution to the genre, inspiring countless sci fi authors to this day, is certainly worthy of respect. So what’s the problem? The prevailing attitudes of the ‘60s loom large in its constructs, from the genetic engineering that gifts the desert planet of Arrakis its ‘messiah’, to the witch-coded Bene Gesserit who seek power via the means of shadowy concubines and wives, to the troublesome portrayal of gay-man-as-incestuous-paedophile/rapist in the shape of the obese Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (the only queer in the universe, apparently). There are reams of essays and articles about Dune that explore the novel’s more problematic facets, which I invite readers to explore. While the ecological aspects of the novel are inarguably prescient, complex and considered, the stereotypes and biases that populate its weft are far from it. Frank Herbert was a known homophobe who had a difficult long-term relationship with his youngest son, Bruce, a photographer and activist who later died from AIDS. One can choose to separate the artist from the art, of course, but the evidence for ethnocentrism and fascist iconography is overwhelming, even in a surface reading of Dune. And it isn’t presented here for debate. Rather, for context. It’s a context noticeably – yet unsurprisingly – lacking in several recent leading reviews, which appear to regard the film as a straight up summer blockbuster and little more. The fact is that Dune 2021 isn’t in line with previous iterations and the same old commentary doesn’t really suit it. Bear in mind that some of Herbert’s more abhorrent views – evidently, there are no racial minorities on the Arrakis of the novel and well, we’ve covered the homophobia – have been presented as ‘intelligent thought’ and ‘valid opinion’ around the globe for decades. In 2021, it seems more painfully clear than ever that we haven’t all read the same book. In light of that, how does one approach a modern film version of a novel like Dune, anyway? David Lynch had a go back in 1984, with a visually stunning, but confusing take, and one that added a crass disease element to the already problematic Baron – and at the height of the AIDS epidemic to boot. The film was considered a box office flop and garnered brutal reviews from Roger Egbert to the New York Times. Many regard Lynch’s opus as a cult classic regardless.  Which brings us to Dune 2021, director Denis Villeneuve’s latest interpretation of Herbert’s benchmark novel. The bold approach certainly seems to beg an overview of the history of Dune and the socio-political background. Both swirl in the genes of this modern day version, while at the same time presenting a subtle subversion of the themes. To those unfamiliar with the novel, Dune is the story of Paul Atreides (played by Timothée Chalamet, on ethereal, passionate form), the young heir to a powerful house in a multi-galactic imperium. Drawn into a feud with the depraved Baron Harkonnen (a forbidding Stellan Skarsgård), matters come to a head when House Atreides finds itself commanded to take up governance of the desert planet Arrakis (the ‘dune world’ of the title), which is the industrial mining centre for spice, a substance that enables deep space travel between the worlds. As such, spice is highly prized, and the scene is set for treachery and warfare on the planet’s surface. The political scenario takes on a numinous scope when Paul begins to suffer visions and comes to learn that the indigenous inhabitants of Arrakis, the desert-dwelling Fremen, regard him as a messianic figure, destined to bring about a galactic holy war… Where the previous screen version attempted to condense the source material and thus garbled its plot, Villeneuve gives Dune space to breathe, focusing on the first half of the novel (with a much-anticipated follow up film). This proves a smart move, the story unfolding through its characters rather than in weighty and inscrutable exposition. No cheesy voiceover here. No ‘Here’s the science!’ bit. For once, we’re seeing through the eyes of the players involved, the youthful excitement and doubt of Paul, the cautious guidance of his father, Leto (a solid Oscar Isaac) and the anxiety and hope of his mother, the Bene Gesserit adherent and ducal concubine Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson in a standout, galvanising role). Jason Mamoa and Josh Brolin provide credible macho support as Paul’s mentors Duncan Idaho and Gurney Halleck respectively. The menace is palpable in the Baron’s laconic and murderous mien. At times, Dune scales to Shakespearean heights, the cast elevating the material while the measured pace gets the gist across with bite-sized aplomb. Which brings us to Dune 2021, director Denis Villeneuve’s latest interpretation of Herbert’s benchmark novel. The bold approach certainly seems to beg an overview of the history of Dune and the socio-political background. Both swirl in the genes of this modern day version, while at the same time presenting a subtle subversion of the themes. Most impressive of all, Villeneuve makes no attempt to moderate or play apologist for the homophobia of Dune and its cinematic predecessor. He simply erases it, a sly move that feels progressive, while falling a step shy of inclusive. Considering the classic stature and regard of the novel, one can’t help but see the fine line the director is treading, and with so much on his plate, it’s hard not to appreciate his lightness of touch. From the off, it’s clear we’re in unorthodox territory with the square placement of Chani (a stern yet beguiling Zendaya) at the heart of the narrative. Dreamlike sequences add colour and romance to the otherwise claustrophobic halls of the Arrakeen Palace, as does the sweep of the desert itself when we eventually get to it. An early scene with a clapped out spice harvester and an approaching sandworm rachet up the tension with nail-biting oomph – even when you’ve read the book innumerable times. It’s the blend of shadow and light throughout Dune that works so brilliantly. The massive Heighliner ship suspended over the planet, disgorging smaller craft, harks back to the space opera of Kubrick’s 2001. The test of the Gom Jabbar takes place on a set worthy of Dracula, with a suitably cadaverous Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling’s scheming and aloof Reverend Mother). The Sardaukar, the elite imperial troops, are rendered with no-holds-barred violence, bringing blood and fire to proceedings. There’s a horrible spiderlike creature for extra shudders. The ocean of the Great Flat, with its seething subterranean worms and hidden tribes, dazzles and steals the breath. The director’s respect for the source material is plain and you feel that you’re in safe hands. It’s perhaps that respect which inspires Dune 2021’s more impressive change ups. The women on Arrakis possess more agency this time around and feel less bound to the patriarchal paradigm. All the same, the paradigm lingers – it’s Dune, after all – and Jessica remains a concubine, somewhat unnecessarily. There’s a timely portrayal of Imperial Planetologist Liet-Kynes in the form of Sharon Duncan-Brewster, whose apparent neutrality gives way to a thrilling and noble bid for escape under the sands. Despite that, the first half of the film is decidedly male-dominated and it takes a little while to comfortably merge with these revised elements. Chani, when she appears, isn’t presented as a living receptacle for our pale insta-messiah, however. There’s a depth and spine to her that’s both believable and refreshing. Most impressive of all, Villeneuve makes no attempt to moderate or play apologist for the homophobia of Dune and its cinematic predecessor. He simply erases it, a sly move that feels progressive, while falling a step shy of inclusive. Considering the classic stature and regard of the novel, one can’t help but see the fine line the director is treading, and with so much on his plate, it’s hard not to appreciate his lightness of touch. On this score, it may prove tricky to criticise this version of Dune for ‘wokeness’ when the plot remains, for the most part, faithful to the book, the setting stuns and the acting is so absorbing. Unless one wants to bemoan a lack of dated and damaging stereotypes, that is. Thematically speaking, the film refocuses the colonial thrust of the novel on one that looks to unity and indigenous empowerment. ‘Desert power’ and ‘peace’ are the repeated buzzwords that shift Duke Leto’s presence on Arrakis away from ‘the latest coloniser’ to one who respects the Fremen and wants to secure them as allies to fight the Big Bad. In this sense, Dune leaves some of its moral ambiguity behind, and there are some who may feel this excuse for imperialism doesn’t sit quite right. Either way, Dune 2021 makes no bones about the fact that House Atreides and Harkonnen are outsiders, and unwelcome ones at that, who have only a slippery grasp of their new domain and no understanding of its spiritual core. In this sense, Villeneuve comes down firmly on the side of the story not being a ‘glorification of the white saviour narrative’ (his words) and while his reading of the novel is generous (to put it politely), it works all the same, resulting in by far the best screen version of Dune to date. In summary, and sans spoilers, Dune is bound to enthral audiences with realistic special effects, captivating drama and pulse-pounding action. On the surface, it’s a beautifully shot and well made film. But it’s the subtle reworking of the narrative that elevates Dune to epic and visionary status. Yes, the book has problems. That may come as news to some. There’s an awful lot of sand on Arrakis – let’s leave it at that. As Frank Herbert’s concept once transcended him as an author, Villeneuve’s Dune transcends the author’s shortcomings and realigns his central vision with our times. Love it or hate it, it’s an act of reverence that – perhaps undeservedly – suggests the legacy of Herbert’s breakthrough novel will endure for decades to come. Grade A JAMES BENNETT  James Bennett is a British writer raised in Sussex and South Africa. His travels have furnished him with an abiding love of different cultures, history and mythology. His short fiction has appeared internationally and his debut novel CHASING EMBERS was shortlisted for Best Newcomer at the British Fantasy Awards 2017. TODAY ON THE GINGER NUTS OF HORROR WEBSITE THE BOYS ARE BACK IN TOWN… A YA HORROR HALLOWEEN SPECIAL THE HEART AND SOUL OF MOVIE REVIEWS |
Archives
April 2023
|
RSS Feed
|
|