Although no one ever thought it could be possible after David Lynch’s 1984 catastrophe (at least, cinematically, for there are those who still stand by its “artistic value”—just not Lynch himself) or Jodorowsky’s failed attempt resulting in a documentary about the botched filmmaking process, here we are in 2021 with a new interpretation of Frank Herbert’s seminal 1965 sci-fi novel, Dune. Not really so sci-fi at all when one gets at the core of its political, religious and ecological messages.
This time around, direction comes from newly-embraced Hollywood darling Denis Villeneuve of Arrival and Blade Runner 2049 fame. Co-writing the script with Jon Spaihts and Eric Roth, the former has plenty of screenwriting experience in sci-fi, with a filmography that includes The Darkest Hour, Prometheus and Passengers. To balance out the sci-fi writing expertise is Roth, who most recently penned the 2018 remake of A Star Is Born. After all, Dune has its amorous moments.
Those namely come in the dreams of Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet), who keeps having visions of a “mysterious” Fremen woman named Chani (Zendaya, taking on a much more silent role after the verbosity of Malcolm & Marie). When he’s not having prophetic dreams of her and the future, he’s being prepared by his father, Leto (Oscar Isaac), and mother, Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson, fresh from co-starring in the underrated Reminiscence), in different ways for their journey to the desert planet Arrakis. A place where Fremen like Chani have lived for ages, watching their land pillaged and plundered for a hot commodity called melange (a.k.a. spice—oui, it’s a very sixteenth century interpretation of what a commodity is). And yes, if you haven’t noticed already, such a thematic plot point is highly applicable to real life on Earth both past and present, what with all of America—nay, most of the Earth—being founded on the concept of subjugating forces taking from native peoples and controlling their lands.
At the time Herbert first wrote Dune, of course, it seemed most likely that melange was an allegory for oil in the Middle East, foreshadowing the many increasing tensions between the U.S. and OPEC (which famously reached a zenith during the oil embargo of the 1970s when the U.S., among other Western nations, showed its support for Israel during the Yom Kippur War). Not to mention it was one of the primary reasons Osama bin Laden cited as part of his “doctrine” against the West for constantly entering into lands they did not understand for the sole purpose of taking from it. In the present, “melange” can easily serve as a symbol for many things that humanity, particularly Western countries, have a desire to pilfer and stockpile. At the moment, for example, “melange” might more accurately pertain to a catch-all term like “energy”—the thing everyone is racing to get hold of in anticipation of the environment’s increasing state of flux.
As Paul begins to step up to the implications of being the “son and heir” to Leto’s proverbial throne, he also starts to learn more about his capabilities, including the useful skill of being able to change the timbre of his voice so that its pitch gets anyone to obey whatever command he makes. However, he realizes there are some aspects of his genetic code that his mother failed to inform him about with regard to his Bene Gesserit heritage. With Lady Jessica having conditioned Paul both mentally and physically throughout his life to endure the sort of trials that no ordinary being could withstand, his prowess is put to the test when he is visited by Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling), the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother. She tells him to put his hand inside a box wherein he will experience the most brutal pain (called the gom jabbar test in the novel). Yet if he removes his hand at any point before the Reverend Mother tells him to, she will pierce him with the poisonous needle she’s holding up directly next to his neck. Ah, the classic conundrum of being trapped between a rock and a hard place. Fortunately, Paul being the “Chosen One” that he is, ends up conquering the pain by channeling the helpful tutelage his mother has long given him.
When Paul’s father finds out the extent to which his concubine has schooled his son in the ways of the Bene Gesserit, a sisterhood that expressly only serves itself, his stress level intensifies. After all, he’s groomed Paul to take over his own responsibilities, confusing enough already without adding this witchy identity into the mix. Although Leto takes on Arrakis—alternately called Dune—knowing he’s being set up to fail because of how inhospitable it is—he believes in the value of the land. Particularly its native inhabitants, the Fremen. Unlike previous “stewards” of the planet, Leto’s intent is to rule with a “gentler,” more “inclusive” hand. How généreux indeed (not). Still, it’s better than what the Fremen have had to put up with before…not that they don’t see all outsiders as being the same, no matter how “kind” they might try to come across (think of it as the transition of power from Trump to Biden, in this regard). For, in the end, they’re still coming to Arrakis with the intent to loot the land.
With the motifs of environmental scarcity and severity at play, so, too, is the nature of “man” when faced with the extreme form of competition presented by these phenomena. All vying for the same scant resources with more intensity than under ordinary circumstances, which begets the propensity for further cruelty against one another in a bid for basic survival. Then, obviously, there is the structure of feudalism that exists in all political systems. Granted, many would like to believe feudalism was left behind in the Middle Ages and, yet, like racism, it has simply morphed and found better ways to “hide” itself. Hence, Leto being handed Arrakis as a “fiefdom.” Containing some very surly “peasants” he needs to work for (or at least with) him rather than against him. To compound the difficulties of harvesting the melange, there are those pesky, giant sandworms to contend with as well—which one could potentially deem a phallic symbol of the blind rage of a patriarchal society.
And where there is patriarchy, there is arbitrary violence. Therefore political betrayal is a key theme of Dune, to boot, with Leto’s own doctor, Wellington Yueh (Chang Chen), turning against him to bring him to the Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgård) in exchange for the supposed release of Yueh’s wife. Luckily for Paul and Lady Jessica, Yueh isn’t so callous as to not warn them of Harkonnen’s machinations, helping them escape into the desert. So yes, here the messianic aspect of the story can truly begin with Paul being “cast out into the desert.” That so much of religion and “messianic narratives” trace back to the desert environments of the Middle East lends an added layer to the underlying notion that Dune speaks to the Western infiltration of Arab nations for oil (and in general).
Herbert’s own reverence for ecology played an integral role in creating the premise and world of Dune in the first place. In fact, it was the Oregon Dunes that served as inspiration for the novel’s setting, with Herbert standing in awe of Nature’s oblivion to humanity, especially in its attempts to control the dunes with use of specially designed grass called poverty grass. What a name. And, talking of poverty, that’s essentially the state everyone who isn’t at the top of the feudalist food chain must remain in. Not just within the lens of Herbert’s interplanetary universe, but in ours as well. And yes, there’s a reason “feudal” sounds a lot like “futile”—for it’s made apparent every day that fighting against this system is a losing battle for those on the wrong (read: broke) side of it. For even if, like the Fremen, one happens to live in a realm with resources that can be used to their advantage, those resources can simply be plucked away by those “in power” (read: the rich).
Herbert’s allegorical assessments of existence might have been spurred by the use of psilocybin (a detail that makes him imbuing melange with the ability to heighten the senses feel laden with even more meaning), but they were accurate—and extremely prescient—nonetheless. That Villeneuve finally turned out to be that rare breed of director who could make the resonant concepts of Dune translate to the screen as never before might just be a direct result of how very real the themes of this story currently are.
