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Dune: Part Two

Timothée Chalamet and Zendaya are star-crossed lovers in Dune: Part Two

When I recently rewatched David Lynch’s 1984 adaptation of Dune with filmmaker Mars McKay, we agreed that Lynch had omitted one of Frank Herbert’s most important themes. In Lynch’s version Paul Atreides, a nobleman from a decimated great house, is in hiding from his enemies on the desert planet of Aarakis. When he’s rescued by the nomadic Fremen, they discover that he is their prophesied messiah, and he leads them to victory over their Harkonnen oppressors, and in the process, they install him as emperor of the galaxy. It’s a standard Chosen One narrative, like King Arthur or Star Wars. 

But in his 1965 novel, Frank Herbert makes it clear that the whole situation is a setup. Paul’s mother Lady Jessica is a Bene Gesserit, an all-female order of space witches who are the power behind the throne on hundreds of worlds. Over the course of centuries, the Bene Gesserit spread a belief in a coming messiah on many worlds, while they secretly manipulated dynasties in order to breed a psychic superbeing called the Kwisatz Haderach. When their demigod is finally born, he will have an army ready to serve him no matter where he goes. 

Paul knows this, and wants no part of it. He has visions of billions of people killing and dying in his name, and tries desperately to avoid his fate. His victorious ascendence to the galactic throne is actually a defeat. 

Denis Villeneuve understands that Paul’s interior conflict is central to the emotional impact of the story. The mounds of burning bodies from Paul’s visions are the most indelible image of Villeneuve’s 2021 Dune, and the creeping dread of jihad hangs over Dune: Part 2 like smoke from the funeral pyres. 

Paul Maud’Dib rallies the Fremen in Dune: Part Two. (Courtesy Warner Brothers)

The first installment ended with Paul and Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) joining the Fremen tribe led by Stilgar (Javier Bardem). Part Two begins light years away in the palace of Emperor Shaddam IV (Christopher Walken), who is starting to think that helping House Harkonnen ambush House Atreides was a mistake. His daughter Princess Irulan (Florence Pugh) writes in her journal of rumors that Paul survived the massacre. 

Meanwhile, on Arrakis, Stilgar’s band fights off Harkonnen attacks as they head for the relative safety of the deep desert. Paul’s guerrilla war in the desert — which Lynch’s version all but omits — provides some of the most thrilling sci-fi action in recent memory, even before Paul becomes Muad’Dib by riding a giant sandworm through the desert. 

Bardem’s magnetic performance proves crucial. Stilgar steps in as a jovial father figure to the grieving Paul. But he’s also a Fremen fundamentalist who takes the prophecies seriously, and Lady Jessica makes sure he sees Paul as the “voice from outside” who will lead them to victory and make Dune green again. Chani (Zendaya), the beautiful warrior who takes a shine to Paul, sees the would-be Mahdi for what he is. “You want to control people? Tell them to wait for the messiah to come,” she spits. 

Paul and Chani’s love story is heartrending. They cling to each other as the currents of history threaten to pull Paul away from his humanity. If they can kick the Harkonnen off the planet without calling millions of Fremen religious fundamentalists to jihad, maybe they could make a life together in the aftermath. But when Baron Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgard) replaces Harkonnen commander “The Beast” Rabban (Dave Bautista) with his more competent cousin Feyd (Austin Butler), the Fremen are backed into a corner, and holy war becomes the only way out. 

Sandworms attack in Dune: Part Two. (Courtesy Warner Brothers)

Dune is the product of Herbert’s very 1960s obsessions with religion, desert ecology, and psychedelic mushrooms. Nevertheless, it has only become more relevant over the 60 years since its first publication. One need not look far to find leaders cynically using religion for political gain, or sparking savage wars of extermination by appealing to ancient scripture. The clarity Villeneuve brings to this multilayered story is its own kind of miracle, and he’s able to do it without sacrificing the visceral action blockbuster cinema requires. 

None of this heady stuff would mean much without the human element. From Dave Bautista’s petulant manchild Rabban to Josh Brolin’s crusty warrior Gurney, everyone in the sprawling cast delivers. Rebecca Ferguson is especially creepy as she whips believers into a frenzy while mumbling conversations with her unborn child. 

But Zendaya and Chalamet are the beating heart of Dune: Part Two. It ain’t easy to draw real human emotions out of such fantastical material, but these two movie stars make it look like it is. Like Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman in Casablanca, they try to carve out a little solace in the midst of war, only to find out the problems of two little people ain’t worth a hill of beans in this crazy galaxy. 

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Film Features Film/TV

Dune

Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) and Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) face their fates in Dune.

Science fiction claims to be about tomorrow, but it’s really about today. Predicting the future requires seeing the present clearly; if the artist gets it right, their vision will last. That’s the secret of the success of Frank Herbert’s 1965 novel Dune. It’s set about 8,000 years in the future, but underneath all the sandworms and psychic messiahs, the human dynamics still feel spot on. Competing interest groups recognize a chokepoint in society, and battle to control it. The decidedly Arabic intonations of the Fremen, the indigenous population of the desert planet of Arrakis, is no accident. Eight years after Dune’s publication, the Organization of Arab Petroleum Exporting Countries, instituted an oil embargo, which severely disrupted the economies of the West, destabilized the colonial world order the great powers had been building for 400 years, and set the stage for the conflicts that have dominated the 21st century. 

In Dune, the equivalent of oil is spice, a psychedelic drug that enhances the psychic abilities of its users (it was the ’60s, after all), allowing specially trained addicts to navigate faster-than-light spaceships, thus enabling the development of a sprawling interstellar empire. Spice can be found on only one planet in the Imperium, so Arrakis (aka Dune) becomes the focus of great-power politics, war, betrayal, and rebellion. 

Harkonnen harvesters deliver the spice.

The political complexity of the text is only one reason why it has long been considered unfilmable. Long passages take place entirely within the minds of the characters. The galaxy lacks intelligent computers or cute robots, because of an ancient jihad. There’s a thousand-year eugenic breeding program by the Bene Gesserit, a cabal of space witches, to produce the Kwisatz Haderach, a psychic super-being who will access the genetic memories of the entire human race and impose “benevolent” rule on the galaxy. That’s a lot to explain to a 10-year-old squirming in a theater seat. 

Not that filmmakers haven’t tried. Watch the documentary Jodorowsky’s Dune for the story of the first attempt. In 1984, David Lynch got a crack at it, and failed spectacularly — the best way to fail. In 2000, the SyFy Network produced the most successful Dune screen adaptation by spreading out the sprawling story into a miniseries. Now, it’s Denis Villeneuve’s turn in the barrel. 

Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin), Duke Leto Atreides (Oscar Isaacson) and mentat Thufir Hawat (Stephen McKinley Henderson) await the arrival of the Emperor’s delegation.

Going in, Villeneuve looked like the best person for the job. Arrival is one of the best science fiction films of the 21st century, and Blade Runner 2049 is a mesmerizing, minor classic. To do Dune right requires a big bet and patient hands. At $165 million, this pandemic-delayed epic is much cheaper than the average Pirates of the Caribbean installment. 

Unlike Disney’s Depp-driven wank-fests, every cent is on the screen. This Dune is one of the most beautiful sci-fi films ever made. Villeneuve looks to Lawrence of Arabia for inspiration (David Lean turned down Dune in 1971), and riffs on other cinematic fence-swings like Apocalypse Now and Eisenstein’s Odessa Steps. The production design, from mountain-sized spaceships to the dragonfly-like ornithopters, is immaculate.

Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) goes native in one of Paul’s visions of the future.

None of the actors are just collecting paychecks. Timothée Chalamet plays Paul Atreides, the deeply conflicted revolutionary leader, as the callow youth of Herbert’s novel. He’s mostly along for the ride as galactic events unfold around him, until he embraces the bloody destiny he knows he can’t escape. Rebecca Ferguson gets the juiciest role as Lady Jessica, the concubine who forces the hand of the Bene Gesserit out of love for Duke Leto (a pitch-perfect Oscar Isaacson.) Josh Brolin and Jason Momoa play Paul’s military mentors, while Javier Bardem comes in late as Stilgar, the Fremen leader who will join Muad’Dib’s jihad. Zendaya is Chani, Paul’s future Fremen consort. She features prominently in Dune’s advertising, and will play a vital part in the story’s future, but for now she’s mostly relegated to swishing around like a Ridley Scott perfume ad.

Zendaya as Chani, a desert nomad destined to conquer the galaxy.

Dune is an epic 156 minutes long, but only covers about the first half of the first book. That’s a lot of table-setting, but the story’s complexity needs room to breathe — especially since Villeneuve tells it without the dozen layers of voiceover Lynch required. It’s engrossing enough to sustain attention, except for one thing: Hans Zimmer’s score is awful. I like ambient music as well as the next guy, but Zimmer’s whoopee cushion subwoofer schtick gets old quick. The story would have been better served by a traditional symphonic score — or even the prog rock Toto made for Lynch — to shape the emotional peaks and valleys. 

Music aside, the spectacle is unparalleled, and Herbert’s story still resonates. Two of Villeneuve’s images swirl in my mind: Duke Leto striding down a spaceship ramp to the tune of space bagpipes, confidently leading his family — and the empire — to ruin in the desert; and Paul’s recurring vision of his future, where piles of burning bodies stretch to the horizon. Dune is a different kind of blockbuster, a rare feat of cinematic virtuosity. 

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Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen

The Big Lebowski

It’s hard to overstate the impact Joel and Ethan Coen have had on American film. Beginning with 1984’s Blood Simple, the two brothers from Minneapolis were a major influence on the indie revolution of the 1990s. 1987’s Raising Arizona made a star out of Nicolas Cage and proved that smart, surrealist comedy could attract an audience. Today, the TV series inspired by their Cannes- and Academy Award-winning 1996 film Fargo, keeps their legacy alive by being one of the consistently best things on the little screen.
With new film releases scarce because of the pandemic, Malco Theatres is celebrating the Coen brothers with a mini-film festival, which runs from November 20-26. The six titles represent a cross-section of the Coens’ work, from legendary comedy to existential drama. And the price is right, at $2 per ticket.

The twin crown jewels of the Coens’ filmography came out back to back in 1996 and 1998. Fargo is a crime thriller like no other. Frances McDormand, who happens to be Joel’s wife, won her first Oscar for her portrayal of Marge Gundersen, police chief of Brainard, Minnesota, who uncovers a plot by used car salesman Jerry Lundegaard (William H. Macy) to fake the kidnapping of his wife Jean (Kristin Rudrud) that goes terribly wrong. Here’s McDormand delivering one of the greatest soliloquies in all of film history as she takes kidnapper Gaear (Peter Stormare) to face justice.

Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen

Two years later, the Coens took a wild left turn and made one of the most beloved comedies of all time. The Big Lebowski forever associated Jeff Bridges with The Dude, an unreconstructed hippie turned amateur detective. Intended as a parody of Southern California noir classics like The Big Sleep, The Big Lebowski’s greatest strength is as a series of indelible character sketches. Just check out this legendary bowling alley scene with Bridges, John Goodman, Steve Buscemi, and John Turturro.

Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen (2)

2003’s Intolerable Cruelty is a rarity. It did not start out as a Coen script, but the brothers took over the production and rewrote it. It’s not one of their classics, but if anyone else had made it, it would have been the highlight of their career. It features remarkable comedic performances from George Clooney, Catherine Zeta-Jones, Cedric the Entertainer, and Billy Bob Thornton.

Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen (3)

2007’s No Country for Old Men was the Coens’ adaptation of a late-period Cormac McCarthy novel which won Best Picture, Best Director(s), and Best Screenplay Oscars, as well as Best Supporting Actor Oscar for Javier Bardem as the killer Anton Chigurh.

Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen (4)

2008’s Burn After Reading saw the Coens returning to Big Lebowski-style comedy, this time set in Washington DC. It features a powerhouse cast, including McDormand, John Malkovich, George Clooney, Tilda Swinton, and Brad Pitt. Here’s McDormand and Pitt trying to blackmail soon-to-be-former CIA agent Malkovich.

Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen (5)

The next year, the Coens returned to their Midwestern Jewish roots with A Serious Man, which they describe as a Yiddish folk tale that never was.

Coen Brothers Film Festival Brings Fargo, The Big Lebowski Back To Big Screen (6)

You can review Malco’s COVID policies here and buy tickets for the Coen Brothers Film Festival here, on their website.

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mother!

As we were trailing out of the matinee of mother! at Studio on the Square, a woman in front of me asked of no in particular “What was that?”

A Malco employee, waiting to clean up the theater, said, “It’s the Bible!”

Javier Bardem and Jennifer Lawrence do things in Darren Aronofsky’s mother!.

The weary few filmgoers in the theater groaned in unison. Mr. Malco was right, of course. That reading explained so much of the baffling imagery. What it didn’t explain was, why?

I’m a fan of everyone involved in mother! Darren Aronofsky’s Pi is one of the best indie films of the 1990s. I loved The Wrestler and particularly Black Swan, the psychedelic ballet body horror movie that got him five Academy Award nominations and Natalie Portman a Best Actress Oscar. Jennifer Lawrence is actually a great actress in addition to being one of the highest paid people Hollywood. Javier Bardem is a always a welcome presence, able to be either warm and human or terrifyingly cold. Michelle Pfeiffer is a legend. So is Ed Harris. Domhall Gleeson still has fun Lord Of The Rings vibes attached, and Kristin Wiig is frequently the best thing in all the films she’s in. So how could mother! have happened, and why?

After an arresting initial image of Lawrence in flames, she wakes up in a half-finished house in the middle of nowhere. The home burned down a while back, and she is rebuilding it while Bardem, a writer, tries to finish his new manuscript. Then Ed Harris, a chain smoking doctor with a hacking cough, shows up. He’s a big fan, and Bardem asks him to stay the night. Harris and Bardem get drunk and trash the place, while Lawrence tries to clean up. The next morning, Pfeiffer arrives. She’s Harris’ wife, and the two of them team up to be houseguests from hell. Lawrence wants to kick them out, but Harris is dying, and Bardem says he doesn’t have the heart. While they’re making a nuisance of themselves, their two squabbling sons show up, played by Domhall Gleeson and his actual brother Brian, and one quickly kills the other.

You can see in this scenario that Bardem is God (later in the film, he is asked his true identity, and he replies “I am I”, the literal translation of “Yahweh”), Harris is Adam, Pheiffer is Eve, and the Brothers Gleeson are Cain and Abel. But where does that leave Lawrence? Since she spends most of the film having anxiety attacks in extreme close up, she’s obviously meant to be the lead character, and yet she falls outside the symbolic system which seems to be the film’s reason for being—that is, unless you’re willing to go deep into the history of ancient Canaanite religions.

Back when Yahweh was the combination storm and military god of a tribe that didn’t yet call themselves Israel, he lived in a tent on a magic mountain and had a consort named Asherah, the goddess of motherhood and fertility. After the Babylonian diaspora, when the Yahweh cult made the Jews monotheistic, Asherah’s temples and altars were destroyed, and the goddess became a theological footnote. Considering all of the crap Lawrence puts up with in this picture, the neglected, semi-ex-wife of Yahweh seems like a good fit for her. But that doesn’t explain the soon-to-be-infamous sequence where Bardem and Lawrence have a baby, who is then torn apart and eaten by a crowd of Bardem’s fans. If the kid is obviously Jesus, doesn’t that make Lawrence Mary?

Aranofsky has said in interviews that Lawrence represents Mother Earth, and the Biblical structure is a hook on which to hang an allegory of man’s environmental destruction. I’m not big on authorial intent, which can be good to know but is usually beside the point, but somehow knowing that’s what the director was going for makes mother! even worse. It would be better if the artist had some kind of dense personal meaning he abstracted into symbols and I just didn’t get it. This, I got, and it’s bad. It’s bad because it’s both too obvious yet not obvious enough. It’s bad because it’s a 15-minute short film’s worth of ideas expanded into two hours. And it’s especially bad because the experience of watching mother! is so unpleasant. Aranofsky is really, really good at invoking anxiety, and this time around, he pulls out all stops. He’s basically revving up the audience’s endocrine system for 121 minutes for no reason. There’s no payoff, no catharsis, no changed understanding of the world. Just “It’s the Bible” and “Pollution is bad.”

There are occasional flashes of brilliance in mother! Lawrence has never looked as beautiful as she does under the lens of Aranofsky collaborator Matthew Libatique, and there’s a delicious shot where Wiig executes a bunch of counter-revolutionary refugees from Bardem’s book signing (don’t ask) before pivoting and glad handing Lawrence. But mother!’s sparse pleasures aren’t worth enduring its brain pounding absurdities. I’m a bigger than average fan of surrealism, but this is just a half-baked mess. As my wife asked after being confronted by Mr. Malco’s biblical hypothesis, “You’ve read the Bible, Is there a bloody floor vagina in it?”

No. No there is not.

mother!