Anticipation.
We loved part one, so we're front of the queue for part two.
Enjoyment.
An epic undertaking that delivers a very fine adaptation of the novel and its themes.
In Retrospect.
The last act doesn't quite land, but the opening two hours make for some of Villeneuve's finest work.
We join Timothée Chalamet’s Paul Atreides at a moment of cautious acceptance, with the prospective mini-messiah having just bested a noted Fremen warrior in a mano-a-mano knife tussle.
The first part of Denis Villeneuve’s impressive Dune saga covered the opening salvo of Frank Herbert’s freaky 1965 opus, setting up the political context of warring noble families and a desert planet (Arrakis) rich in a multi-purpose hallucinogen referred to as “the spice”. This continuation of the story charts Paul’s ominous rise and eventual transcendence, but refuses to ride the ragged coattails of his heroism and charisma, instead dealing in the moral minefield that comes with being ordained a mystic god.
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Villeneuve very lightly tweaks the successful formula that was coined for Part One, with the sights, sounds and sensual stigma of Arrakis carried over in his patented, supremely tasteful less-is-more visual schema. Those who perhaps found that the first film sapped Herbert’s book of some of its more lurid and eccentric delights in favour of a stern, teutonic grandeur will be pleased to hear that the director – who is not known for working in warm or comic hues – has scattered the first half of the film with some nice jocular horseplay and a few salty one-liners. And not to mention a burgeoning, beautifully-realised romance between Paul and Fremen footsoldier Chani (Zendaya).
There is focus, too, on the various contraptions and gizmos that make life in the desert possible, most notable of which is the iconic “thumper” which, when planted in the sand at the correct point, issues a pounding beat to draw in the planet’s sandworms – who are complete bastards, unless you know how to lure them in then surf on their heads. The uncluttered design and decoration of the film means that these details receive the attention they deserve without drawing you out of the story which, for better and for worse, was not something you could say about the David Lynch movie from 1984.
With the Atreides clan now decimated due to a surprise attack from House Harkonnen (overseen by Stellan Skarsgård’s rotund floaty slime-bather, the Baron), secretly sanctioned by the Emperor of the Known Universe (Christopher Walken, obvs), the Fremen now have the tactical advantage of being able to mess with the planet’s spice-harvesting programme. Indeed, if there’s an issue with the film at all it’s that the Harkonnens don’t ever seem to pose that much of a threat to the Fremen, what with their underground lairs and guerrilla warfare tactics.
As such, the story’s climax plays like the obvious conclusion to the a careful counterattack rather than a tense flashpoint riven with the possibility of failure. Retribution is received in a manner that eschews triumphalism, to the point where it all feels a little bit rote. Yet Villeneuve somehow acknowledges this with a pair of haunting, politically-loaded images which top and tail the film, both of which decry the inhuman roundabout of power and the arrogance of leadership which always seem to end up punishing those whom it should, in theory, be elevating.
A more general point of praise derives from the simple, tactile qualities of the production where digital effects and green screen have been used extremely sparingly. Seeing a lavish sci-fi epic which has actual visual texture and artisan craft is suddenly special again due to the sad fact that such practices have fallen out of favour (or, more likely, are not deemed financially worthwhile) within the Blockbuster Industrial Complex.
Filmmakers should take pride in the work they’ve done and want to display the wares they’ve painstakingly produced, and in this respect Villeneuve is very much following the charge led by Christopher Nolan in his belief that viewers respect artistry that takes time and patience rather than processes that are used as time and money savers. Sure, there is artistry in the process of digital effects, but not when they’re being used – as they so often are – as a bandaid.
The first half of Dune: Part Two is among the best things that Villeneuve has ever done, though the sheer eventfulness of the plot and a bustling retinue of side-players (Austin Butler upgrading Sting’s cod-pieced ninny from the 1984 film into a hairless psychopath is worthy of mention) means that the final act does feel rushed. In terms of narrative pacing, it’s easy to see how this could’ve been sliced into three films, but the question remains as to where part two would’ve ended and whether a lack of closure may have alienated the more casual Dunehead.
Small niggles aside, this is an undoubted success, and is powered a clutch of lead performances – Chalamet, Zendaya and Rebecca Ferguson as a newly-ordained Bene Gesserit reverend mother at the shining core of the ensemble – help to foreground the rich political ambiguities inherent to the text.
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