Dune (2021)

They came to Arrakis for the spice, but the real treasure was the friends they made along the way. Ok, maybe not so much, but Denis Villeneuve’s 2021 adaptation of Frank Herbert’s sci-fi classic Dune finds more than just spice in the desert landscape of the post-covid cinema dystopia. This version of Dune, part one of two, is a triumph, and Villeneuve deserves credit for presenting a nearly flawless take on notoriously difficult source material.

In Dune, House Atreides is called upon by the Emperor to take over the desert planet Arrakis and it’s spice production. Paul Atreides, the son of ruling Duke Leto, starts to have foretelling dreams and embarks on a path that leads to his true destiny. For a spoiler-free synopsis, All hell breaks loose and zany wackiness ensues.

I read Frank Herbert’s Dune before I saw the new film, and at the risk of being mercilessly hunted and beaten to death by an angry mob of bespectacled sci-fi fans, I was not in love with the book. I definitely saw the merits of Herbert’s story, like the world building, the politics, and a few amazing scenes. Herbert also created some great characters, like Gurney Halleck, Duncan Idaho, and so on and so forth. In my opinion, the author failed to flesh out these characters, beyond Paul and Jessica, mainly. In a tome as dense as Dune, there obviously wasn’t enough time and space to give each character their due and proper. I get that. I just wanted more of Gurney Halleck. I wanted to see why Baron Harkonnen is so evil, and the same with Beast Rabban. Glossu Rabban only has like ten lines in the book, yet I’m supposed to see him as this major threat, and I was left wanting more. Many of the characters have very little dialogue in the novel, and it feels difficult to care about them with so little development.

This isn’t to say that Frank Herbert’s Dune is crap, because it’s a classic and I can see that. Maybe I’m unfairly comparing Dune to the Lord of the Rings, since it was advertised as being on the same level. That’s a whole different discussion, and I’m gonna get into trouble, so let’s get back on topic. Enter Denis Villeneuve, the director whose resume is as solid as they come. His films are quality, from Sicario to Arrival, Enemy to Prisoners; at the very least, Villenueve came into Dune riding a streak as hot as the Arrakeen Desert. I was a bit skeptical too, especially after watching David Lynch’s Dune (1984), that this adaption would reflect my thoughts on Herbert’s novel; a somewhat promising but messy sci-fi affair. I was wrong and I should have kept faith in Denis Villeneuve.

First things first, the film is beautifully shot. The desert, the spice, Caladan, the shots of space; each frame pops and is gorgeously rendered. It’s a magnificent spectacle on it’s own, and the film brings this world to life perfectly. The art direction and concept design is delightful as well. When I first saw the thopters with dragonfly-like wings, I had a tattooed onto my face. The massive balloons that carry the even bigger spice harvester’s are so well realized, and the attention to detail is impressive. When I saw these elements on Arrakis, I was moved far more than I was reading their descriptions in the novel, and maybe this says something about my (lack of) imagination.

Where other epics get bogged down by endless amounts of exposition or far too grand of scope, (I’m looking at you Oliver Stone, for Alexander) Villeneuve paces Dune well and with just enough exposition. For example, Paul and Gurney train and within thirty seconds we learn how the force-shields work, and then on with the film. Villeneuve treats the audience with respect, not like dumb children, and it’s refreshing. Another instance is a brief early scene where Paul attempts to use the voice, a Bene Gesserit trick to control others. It’s an important idea to the plot and efficiently demonstrated with minimal exposition. Anytime a concept is introduced, it’s done so with a confident touch, and this causes the film to flow well throughout, even making the bloated run time seem not as long.

The actors, perfectly cast I will add, propel Villeneuve’s adaptation in a way that adds much vigor to the novel. One great example of an actor bringing vitality to a scene and elevating it higher than it probably should be is the Gom Jabbar scene. In the scene, Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohian tests Paul by making him endure pain. Mohian is played with commanding presence by Charlotte Rampling, with minimal screen time, and Rampling relates the mysterious and uncomfortable nature of the Bene Gesserit perfectly; communicating a sense of danger with that of some ancient wisdom; the scene is done so well and Rampling is a big part of this realization.

I wasn’t sure about Timothee Chalamet as Paul at first, but he grows on me as the film goes on. Chalamet comes off as a bit too boyish and whiny at first, but when Paul shares more scenes with Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), Chalamet is able to breath. It seems that the more purpose Paul has as the film goes on, the better Chalamet comes on as Paul, and by the end, he is a worthy Paul. Rebecca Ferguson is the best part of this film. She seems to get the mystery and importance of being a Bene Gesserit, while also embodying the role of Paul’s mother effortlessly. Ferguson portrays both a vicious and protective nature, and she gives nothing away. There’s an enigma about her, which Ferguson relates quite well. An odd moment near the end is where she looks at Paul undressing and looks away and there appears to be some sexual tension? I’m not sure of that choice but it could be a comment on Paul becoming a man, or something, it was an odd choice. Nonetheless, These two actors played off of each other brilliantly, and their best work comes among each other.

There’s not a bad performance in this film, it’s not only perfectly cast, but flawlessly acted. Oscar Isaac gives Duke Leto a quiet confidence with disarmingly sensitive moments, especially with Paul and Jessica. Jason Mamoa is so much fun as Duncan Idaho and Josh Brolin is perfect as Gurney Haklleck. Brolin nails the protective sensibility of Halleck and while his character does dish out some poetry, it’s too bad he doesn’t bust out his baliset, as that was one of the best parts of Gurney From Herbert’s novel. Stellan Skarsgard plays Baron Vladimir Harkonnen in a way that makes my skin crawl, so I’d say he nails it. There’s also Javier Bardem as Stilgar, who gives us a glimpse, but I think he’ll be big in part two. I may have expected more from Bardem, but it’s pretty clear that he’s holding back a bit for more next time out.

Hans Zimmer does Hanz Zimmer type stuff as far as the music goes. Honestly, the cinematography of Greig Fraser, and Editing of Joe Walker are so top notch that Zimmer’s score just settles in, and maybe that’s the sign of a great score; one that blends so well you hardly notice. Zimmer uses mostly choir and percussion, and it adds much gravity to the world, each scene seems more important than the last.

In the end, the quality of Dune Part Two will help decide the fate of this adaptation as a whole, but Denis Villeneuve has done a marvelous job adapting Frank Herbert’s Dune in part one. With a stellar cast and gorgeous cinematography, Dune is another triumph for Denis Villeneuve.

9/10

What Brett Watched

Melancholia (2011)

Depression is a destructive rogue planet; an unstoppable force to the initiated, and Melancholia, written and directed by Lars Von Trier, thoughtfully illustrates the weight it bears with artistic strokes and a deeply personal touch. Superb acting and powerful, atmospheric imagery highlight Von Trier’s apocalyptic dive into the mystery and reality of depression.

Melancholia begins with a wedding that works as a perversion of the Shakespearean comedy, foreshadowing destruction, as the event slowly deteriorates. We are introduced to sisters, Justine (Kirsten Dunst) and Claire (Charlotte Gainsbourg). Claire and her husband John, (Kiefer Sutherland) have organized and funded Justine’s wedding, held at their castle on an 18-hole golf course. As the night goes on, Justine’s depression worsens, and she sabotages her career and her marriage. Soon after the wedding, a rogue planet, Melancholia, appears in the sky and threatens Earth with annihilation.

The film is separated into two parts, each focusing on one of the sisters. Von Trier gives us two portraits of contrasting behaviors in the face of a destructive force. In part one, Justine is feigning happiness at her wedding, trying in vain to play the part of the gracious bride. The ostentatious wedding, held on the cosmically insignificant setting of an 18-hole golf course, is contrasted with Justine’s creeping depression. The event is a pretense, as everyone is tip-toeing around Justine’s depression, knowing it will eventually rear it’s ugly head. Von Trier makes the event uncomfortable with manic, flittering shots, and quick cuts. Justine and Claire’s mother Gaby (Charlotte Rampling) and father Dexter (John Hurt) serve as a genetic reminder of Justine’s burden, both doing their part to derail the wedding. Rampling and Hurt play off of each other well, and both actors savor their limited screen time.

Von Trier wrote Melancholia during his own battle with depression and it is very apparent throughout, with Justine’s character mirroring the director himself. Justine describes her feelings, “I’m trudging through this gray, wooly yarn, it’s clinging to my legs, it’s really heavy to drag along.” We get a sense that failure is the expectation at this wedding, and that the wedding traditions, rituals, and happily ever after are the unspoken farce. Claire tries to uphold this charade, staying positive throughout while Justine is determined to fulfill the expectation of failure, which to her is as certain as depression, and when her fiance Michael (Alexander Skarsgard) leaves the wedding, saying “This could have been a lot different,” Justine answers “What did you expect?” The outcome of this wedding is never in doubt, it is just disguised with pretense and ritual, just like Melancholia which is hiding behind the sun before it is revealed. Justine symbolically corrupts the idea of happiness by urinating on the golf course and later having sex with an acquaintance on it.

In Part two, the focus shifts to the rogue planet Melancholia and we learn more about Claire, who becomes increasingly anxious about the planet’s approach. There is role reversal for the sisters, as Justine is comfortable with the certainty of Melancholia’s approach, much to the detriment of Claire. Justine welcomes Melancholia’s promised destruction, basks nude in the planet’s glow, and claims to “know” things, commenting on the insignificance of human life, while Claire is so uncomfortable and frightened that she conjures a suicide plan for herself and her family. Von Trier juxtaposes these behaviors to comment on the existential dread that depression engenders. The images of Melancholia are gorgeous, and compliment the well-lit, high-resolution photography of the rest of the film. Von Trier is not subtle in any way about the film’s theme, or what Melancholia represents, and the photography and tableau images are quite apparent to the audience.

The acting stands out here, with Kirsten Dunst leading the way. Dunst is at her very best here, balancing what is essentially two personalities. At first Dunst’s Justine is quietly troubled and subdued; a powder-keg waiting to explode. Dunst reveals some serious bite and ultimately adopts a fatalistic nonchalance in the face of annihilation. Dunst is effective at demonstrating depressive swings, which I’d imagine is difficult for an actor to do genuinely. Gainsbourg also evolves her character throughout the film, in the opposite direction of Dunst. Gainsbourg’s Claire is at first grounded and secure, but becomes increasingly insecure and unraveled as Melancholia approaches, and Gainsbourg walks this balancing act with fluidity.

Von Trier uses music from Richard Wagner’s Tristan und Isolde throughout Melancholia, which adds an element of magnificence and drama to his film. The operatic musical theme works perfectly, especially with the shots of approaching Melancholia, to instill an artistic painting-like feel to the film, like we’re watching an artistic vision of destruction manifest with each frame.

By the time the film ends, and Melancholia’s promise of destruction is fulfilled, it is apparent that this is deeply personal for Von Trier, and his familiarity with the subject shows. The result is a well acted and beautifully composed portrait about depression and destruction, proving that one needs not always be so subtle when communicating something so deeply complicated.