‘I Will Face My Fear’ — The Mind-Killing Little Deaths of ‘Dune’ (Part Eleven): The First Shall Be Last, The Last Shall Be First

Sci-Fi Channel’s ‘Dune’ miniseries 2000: Gurney, Lady Jessica, Paul, Chani, Stilgar

Past and Future Leaders

As Paul reunites with his forces and prepares for the final confrontation, the ghost of Duke Leto (William Hurt, in a brief cameo) materializes before him to acknowledge his son’s progress from novice to leader.

This is the spot where Leto hands off the reins of power to his natural-born offspring. Consider this incident tantamount, if you don’t mind the Christian analogy, to Jesus receiving the Lord’s blessing from the Gospel of Matthew 3:17: “This is My beloved Son, whom I love. In Him I am well pleased.” Or, in a more literary realm (and in another context), the Ghost of Hamlet’s father paying a nocturnal visit to his namesake.

But the conflict between mother and son continues, both dredging up the past as they attempt to piece together what has come before – and, more importantly, what lies ahead. This is another key moment, in which the actors, Alec Newman as Paul Maud’Dib and Saskia Reeves as Lady Jessica, insisted they should perform on the fly (director John Harrison’s first thought was to cut the scene, but he wisely let it stand come airtime). The thrust of the argument is this: must the things they see come to pass, or can the future be changed?

A nuclear-style explosion and the participants’ attitudes and reaction to it give life to Paul’s “Second Coming.” The combination of parallel story lines culminating in Rabban’s death and the next chapter of Paul’s rise to leadership will lead the way.  Note that the same little boy whose father was executed by Rabban as he cried out “Muad’Dib!” is the same one who carries the Beast’s severed head aloft in the prior scene. Hah! Payback’s a bitch, is it not?

Paul enters the Arrakeen palace with Stilgar and Otheym; the dead and dying bodies of the Sardaukar, the Emperor’s elite guards, are strewn about the great hall as lifeless monuments to the battle raging on outside and the resultant carnage within. The viciousness of the slaughter, the merciless manner in which the Fremen achieve their victory is presented in all their gory detail. “As graphic and savage as all wars deteriorate to,” according to Harrison’s commentary.

As Paul, Alec Newman has his head cocked to the left (or our right, as the viewer), his pale blue eyes glowing brightly, due to the spice’s miraculous properties. Paul, in the scene to come, will reiterate, with absolute conviction and certainty, that without the spice the Navigators will become blind, the Bene Gesserit will lose their grip, and all trade and commerce will cease to exist.

Then, after a short pause, Paul tilts his head to the right so as to show that he, as the head of the new order, will have changed the course of events for the planet Arrakis, if not that for every inhabitant. Subtly, too, Paul shifts his head once more, back to the left (and our right). We take this to mean the new order is now in place. Nothing can change what is coming.

Paul Atreides (Alec Newman) as Maud’ Dib, lays it all out in ‘Dune’ (2000)

We come now to the final confrontation between opposing forces. This is, without a doubt, the climax of the series – a fitting conclusion to the saga; a Greek tragedy of immense proportions, an Odyssey of a kindred sort, and a testament to those stories of old that we, as young adult readers, took most to heart. We stared at fantastic drawings and paintings, we marveled at recreations of heroes, heroines, villains and monsters, all of which stirred our imagination and thirst for ever more relatable fantasies.

Pretty boy Feyd Rautha will continue to taunt Paul with boastful threats of what he will do with Chani(!) after he takes possession of her. Chani, for her part, will reassure her consort that she does not fear the outcome of their clash. Indeed, none of us need be concerned, for the result has been preordained.

Still, Feyd is a most resourceful foe and not to be taken lightly: a vicious, cold-blooded killer and brute, like his badass brother Rabban before him, and overly confident of his abilities. But there’s something else that Feyd Rautha lacks that will give Paul the advantage in their duel to the death: and that is, the inevitability of fate and how it works to bring about that which has been foretold.

To be precise, it could have been any one of the participants: Stilgar, Otheym, Gurney Halleck, or the ferocious Fremen. The outcome would have still been the same: victory for their side. For prophecy has a way of working its insidious way into men’s minds. What about the minds of the women? Ah, there, too, we will find that, in the end, their voices will be the ones that matter.

For now, the die has been cast. The spice must flow.

To recap, Paul has entered the body-strewn palace with his forces. As he takes in the gory sights, he remembers what life in the palace was like prior to his father’s death. It has been many years since Paul Atreides has stepped onto these grounds. Finding his way into his parents’ quarters, Paul tries to comfort a weeping Chani.

“Tell me again about the waters in your homeland, Muad’Dib,” she asks poignantly. There is no triumph in her voice. No sense of victory, of a war being fought and won; only sadness and regret, despair at the loss of so many loved ones. What have they suffered through if not death and destruction? Despite all that, Paul describes to her the lushness of what he knows from his home world Caladan and how Arrakis will one day become.

Chani is overcome with grief and torment, along with thoughts of her slain son. She is inconsolable in the face of so much pain and loss. They embrace, warmly. “Then, it’s over?” Chani asks.

“Almost,” Paul replies.

Back to the throne room. Paul, in full regalia, is flanked by Gurney Halleck, Reverend Mother (and Lady) Jessica, and Chani by his side. Stilgar is also there, as is Otheym. They “greet,” if that’s the proper term (more like “receive”) the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV, who treats Paul rather too dismissively for a failed head of state. The Emperor hints that, in a word, he can summon the other Great Houses to rally around to his cause. Bad move!

“Your word means nothing anymore,” is Paul’s curt retort.

 Taken aback by this obvious insult to his person and power, Shaddam fires back: “I am the Emperor!”

“Not for long,” Paul responds calmly. He signals to his guards to bring in the representatives of the Spacing Guild, including the long-faced, lugubrious talking Guild agent, the one who Paul had captured earlier on.

The Spacing Guild agent does not take kindly to Paul’s bossing him around. But Paul, wiser than his years, informs the lot of them to look into the future, as they have the ability to do so. What do they see? Paul rises from his place on high and descends to their level. He paints a grim picture for them, if his orders are not obeyed – one of which is to destroy all spice production on Arrakis. If this is carried out, he claims, it will ruin the Spacing Guild and everyone else whose lifeblood depends on the spice’s flow.

It’s more radical that that! Paul threatens to bring death to the Makers – those giant sandworms out in the high desert, the ones who produce the spice, thus “killing the cycle of life.” This is an abomination, they howl. But Paul is deadly serious. It is no idle boast but a very real possibility. A catastrophe? Yes, by any means. But it’s much more than that: It is a blatant display of power and resolve. Paul means to have his way with the Spacing Guild and with the former “Great Houses,” if that’s what you want to call them.

In sum, Paul has them by the you-know-where and is perfectly capable of squeezing them for all they are worth. You can bet on it!

Cast of ‘Dune’ 2000 miniseries from the Sci-Fi Channel

The Reverend Mother Gaius Helen Mohiam is horrified. She angrily charges Lady Jessica to silence her son. But Jessica throws her taunt back in Reverend Mother’s face: “Silence him yourself!” The Emperor, fearing his hold on power is about to loosen, turns to the Spacing Guild agent to confirm if this can truly be done.

“They know I can do this,” Paul answers for them. “That’s what they fear the most.” As he says this, Paul approaches the disbelieving Emperor and what remains of his court and followers. “They know precisely where we are,” he gloats, his eyes glowing with a piercing blue light, “and what we can do.” Paul does not mince words. Things can get much, much worse.

In the end, Paul has used their methods against them: the very monopoly on trade and commerce that the Spacing Guild and the Great Houses have been resorting to for millennia will vanish overnight. Is this what they really want to happen, a reversal of who rules and who gets ruled? The worker bees become the bosses by governing the hive, while the queen and king become their slaves? Workers of the world, unite? And is Paul truly capable of burning down their houses?

“If I am not obeyed,” he goes on, “the spice…will not…flow.”

“It would be suicide!!!” the Emperor stammers out. Oh, yes. Indeed it would.

Stepping out from the crowd, the haughty Princess Irulan (only she’s not so haughty as she was before but rather looks upon Paul in a most admiring fashion) offers herself as a concession, a bargaining chip if you prefer; a gesture of peace and one the still irritated Emperor is loathe to accept.

Both Lady Jessica and the Emperor try their best to interfere. Neither is in agreement with this proposed solution. Yet, Irulan knows, probably better than anyone else, that the cards are stacked against them and in Paul’s favor.

“What choice do we have?” Looking at the Emperor with determination and forbearance, Princess Irulan tries one last time to convince him to go along with the idea: “Father, here is a man fit to be your son.”

Paul Atreides after combat with Feyd Rautha in ‘Dune’ miniseries 2000

Battle to the Death

Throwing in his own two cents, the still very-much-alive Feyd Rautha challenges Paul to a duel to the death. Paul turns to Gurney and asks who this rash fellow might be. Gurney fills him in on Fey’s ruthless nature and offers to kill the Baron’s last surviving nephew as a gift.

In his mind, Paul remembers his slaying of the rugged Jamis, his first unpleasant killing. He is not at all pleased by this turn of events, especially since he recently avoided a fight to the finish with Stilgar for leadership of the Fremen clans. But then, as Muad’Dib, he is in a very different position from where he was early on. He’s no doubt convinced himself that, as the Savior of his people, he has no choice but to accept the challenge of leadership – and before a receptive audience, too.

In another respect, Paul has been waging war for years. He is battle hardened and tested, a proven warrior to himself and to his men; while the Baron’s self-obsessed nephew is plainly a pretty boy – if a patently odious one; more of a prancing pony and a show-off, but a devious and dangerous adversary, nonetheless.

With all that occupying his thoughts, Paul is still able to strengthen his resolve, in the knowledge that, though he is mortal, his status and reputation as a leader will carry him through to victory. These are the differences that separate one combatant from the other.

Paul sighs to himself. “So it’s come to this,” he whispers, half to himself and half to Gurney and his retinue. Feyd demands satisfaction – and satisfaction, for lack of a better word, is what he will get. Their duel to the death becomes the climactic sequence to the entire saga, and the best scene in the series.

“May thy knife chip and shatter,” Paul relays to his opponent. It is the ritual cry of the Fremen to a fellow combatant, an acknowledgment that all are mortal and life is tenuous, held onto by a thread.

The Emperor offers his crysknife to Feyd as a gesture of support. Feyd accepts it and will fight in Shaddam IV’s name. Not satisfied with that, Feyd continues to issue off bald-faced threats at Muad’Dib, treating him with contempt and taunting his consort Chani for all it is worth. But Chani is not afraid.

Feyd Rautha, the Emperor, and Princess Irulan in finale to ‘Dune’ miniseries 2000

Paul goes through with the ritual. He takes his crysknife and folds it in his arms, crossing them across his bare chest. Feyd sneers at him. He appears smug and over-confident, which he must do if he is to hold up his end as defender of the late Baron Harkonnen’s fiefdom. They are both acting within the sphere and boundaries set forth by the feudal system they adhere to, and by their respective positions within that system.

Dark, foreboding shadows descend upon the throne room as the battle begins. The light continues to pour in from the right, making the duality of dark and shadow, right and wrong, that much more prominent. The stakes are, indeed, high.  

Trans lights, which bathed the shadowy interior of the palace (a huge set, according to director-writer John Harrison) from the back and to the right, express both the darkness and foreboding of what has transpired and the coming out of that darkness into the light of “reason” and Paul’s pathbreaking ideas. It’s a superb use of staging, grouping, individual moments, and spotlighting specific to character and detail, along with the personal stakes involved in the developing story line.

Harrison did not want too many jump cuts in this action sequence, and no “whole hog” Matrix-y special FX either, as he phrased it in his commentary. But he also didn’t want to shy away from kung fu or other martial art form. The final result was a seamless blend of wide and medium shots. This gave credibility to the actors, who rehearsed this scene intensely over the course of several weeks.

In sum, this was the culmination of six months of shooting which, it must be mentioned, was worth the extra time and effort that were lavished on the entire project. The rudimentary CGI components, while not always seamlessly coordinated and at times sticking out prominently like the sorest of thumbs, nevertheless lent purpose and meaning to what could have been a dull, routine affair.

Paul gets the jump on Feyd when, after our pretty boy all-but appears to gain the upper hand, he hears Paul call out to him, using the name “cousin” (which Feyd was, as it was already revealed that the Baron was Lady Jessica’s father). This throws Feyd off his game, enough to distract him to the point that the younger Muad’Dib has thrust his crysknife deep into Feyd’s chest, killing him instantly. It’s all over at that point.

The victorious Paul (Alec Newman) and the Princess Irulan (Julie Cox) in ‘Dune’ miniseries

The Spacing Guild and the long-faced agent slink silently away and over to Paul’s side, accompanied by their gloomy-sounding exit music. The shocked Emperor sees his daughter, Princess Irulan, stride over to where Paul is standing. They eyeball each other for a brief instant as Irulan studies the victorious winner with hungry eyes. For his part, Paul joins Chani (his official consort) on the dais, while the Emperor strides slowly off and out the door – alone and unaccompanied.

Chani gazes lovingly at Paul, and he does likewise. As for Irulan, she is alone at the other end of the great hall, casting a very long shadow on the beautifully tiled palace floor – a power still, but only onto herself.

Lady Jessica, or Reverend Mother Jessica as she is now called, is given the final word. Yes, Jessica has survived. In fact, all the major women characters are the only ones to have lasted. Frank Herbert, the novelist and visionary exponent of the saga and its official sequels, was one the foremost auteurs of science fiction to have given women a prominent place in their stories. So it is only fitting that Lady Jessica summarizes the proceedings with her epitaph.  

“There, so haughty, so confident,” Lady Jessica comments. “Let us hope she finds solace in her writing and her books. She’ll have little else.” Jessica continues: “She may have my son’s name, but it is we, the ones who carry the name of ‘concubine,’ that history will call ‘wives.’ ”

The story concludes with a replay of Grame Revell’s marvelous Middle Eastern-influenced scoring.

“The saga of Dune is far from over…”

 (To be continued)

Copyright © 2024 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘I Will Face My Fear’ — The Mind-Killing Little Deaths of ‘Dune’ (Part Ten): Muad’Dib Earns His Place and More

The Water of Life sequence with Paul (center), Chani (left) and Mother Jessica (right)

The Challenge to Leadership

In a brief scene, Feyd appears with his uncle, the treacherous Baron Harkonnen, whose fat floating form hovers near his brash nephew. In the same instant, a seemingly haughty Princess Irulan gives Feyd the cold shoulder (or interplanetary “brush off”). That’s quite a different reception from the one he got at their first meeting four years earlier. Time waits for no man! It’s still the Baron’s intention, however, to groom his pretty boy nephew for the emperor’s throne.

Transition to the moment where Paul becomes the unifier of the disparate Fremen forces in their respective sietches, to include their current leader Stilgar who’s been a bit in the background of late. The entire purpose and thrust of the action are for Otheym and the other tribesmen to finally acknowledge that their old way of doing things — in this instance, of trial by combat between Stilgar and Paul to determine who will reign as “head dude” — is over and done with.

In the process, a “miracle” is performed by Paul whereby the Water of Life literally pours out of his body (an optical illusion, really) which turns the tide, so to speak, in the Atreides’ favor. It is the form by which leadership can be attained that is being challenged here, not the combatants themselves. For this purpose, a fight to the finish, or trial by combat to the death of one of the participants, turns out not to be a very practical or effective method of achieving the aims indicated.

It’s one that needs to be developed by both Paul and Stilgar, if they are to come out of this situation alive and ready to do battle: not with themselves, of course, but with their real enemies, the hated Harkonnens. More crucially, the aim is to assume the rightful leadership roles of their respective forces. This culminates in the most time-consuming shot of the series, one that needed to be pieced together bit by tiny bit, according to director Harrison and his crew, i.e., the many disparate elements that point the Fremen in the right direction as far as their future existence is concerned.

From their chants of “Maud’Dib, Muad’Dib,” to “Mahdi, Mahdi” (a blanket reference to the actual Mahdi of history who confronted British General “Chinese” Gordon in the battle for Khartoum), Paul is now the de facto head of all his tribespeople. Whether this was a planned maneuver or not, whether the Bene Gesserit had any inkling of his powers, or what was going on in the background, remains to be seen.

In the subsequent section, Otheym is summoned to fulfill Paul’s plan to gather up the available spice, including the giant sandworms themselves, in one strategic place. His scheme is to threaten to flood the underwater caves — and with them, drown the sandworms, thus destroying the spice trade once and for all. This will be his sword of Damocles, the means by which Paul Atreides, now the Mahdi, will be able to win the battle for Arrakis’s freedom from oppression — ironically, by employing the same harsh methods the Baron, his nefarious nephews, and Emperor Shaddam IV himself, have been using on the Fremen and other home worlds.

Now comes the crucial scene (one that director Harrison had serious thoughts of cutting), whereby a bruised and battle-tested Paul reveals to his mother Jessica the truth of who he really is: to wit, the grandson of the dreaded Baron Harkonnen! And that Lady Jessica herself is also, in fact, the Baron’s daughter! (Remember those hand gestures massaging his right temple?)  

Mother Superior Jessica shares Paul’s (now Muad’Dib) vision for the future

The problem, regrettably, is that Paul’s time has come too soon. Initially, the Bene Gesserit’s long term strategy of inbreeding called for him to appear later — several generations later, to be exact. Be that as it may, Paul’s imbibing of the Water of Life altered the situation, as well as transformed Jessica’s son into a veritable messiah. But in his case, Paul becomes a vindictive monster instead, hell bent on wreaking vengeance at all costs for the many lives that have been and will continue to be lost.

In a momentary change in focus, little Alia, Paul’s younger sister, senses the warring Sardaukar factions, to include those aerial ornithopters, which puts their plans into motion, the beginning if not the end not only for the emperor’s forces but for the Harkonnen fighters as well.

We, the viewing audience, are the uncomfortable witnesses to the brutality inherent in the scene of two massive Sardaukar guards confronting tiny baby Leto, left alone and stranded after the slaying of his nursemaid. One guard bears a noticeable resemblance to Rabban the Beast, the Baron’s brutal killer of a nephew.

In the very next instant, Chani awakens abruptly to see Paul sitting up on the edge of their bed. He informs her that their little son… is dead.

The Battle Begins

Paul, Gurney Halleck, and Otheym are gathered high up on a plateau, overlooking the Arrakeen palace. They are ready to make their move. “Time to let them know I am here,” Paul remarks. His plan is to send a captured Sardaukar officer back to his masters. It is revealed that the frightened, reluctant Sardaukar officer will be charged with delivering the terms of surrender to Emperor Shaddam IV.

“You’re mad!” shouts the terrified officer, knowing full well that anyone delivering such an ultimatum will be met with execution (Author’s note: For a comparison, see John Woo’s epic Red Cliff: Part One, where a messenger from the opposing forces hands Minister Cao-Cao a blank scroll, the meaning of which is clear: no surrender. Cao-Cao immediately has the poor messenger beheaded). But Paul is not deterred. He understands his role and knows what must be done. His time has come and he has no choice but to act on it.

Back at the palace, the Emperor is furious at this challenge to his authority — interesting that Shaddam IV should be put in the same position as Paul was placed with Otheym, vis-à-vis his challenge to Stilgar’s authority as titular head of the Fremen sietches. While the wily Baron tries to turn the situation to his advantage (and away from himself), the Emperor has little Alia brought before them as a hostage.

For her part, Alia turns brazenly toward the bloated Baron and insults him to his face.

“What is this? Some kind of midget?” the Baron asks sarcastically. The Emperor strolls over to Alia and introduces her as Muad’Dib’s sister.

Alia steps up to the plate, while Feyd and the Baron (at left) look on contemptuously

Without warning, the palace shields are raised in anticipation of an attack. Thumpers are heard, while Paul urges Gurney Halleck to set their plan into motion. The final battle is about to begin.

Meantime, the sweaty-faced Baron, sensing he’s about to be cornered for his past misdeeds, feigns ignorance of Alia’s relationship to Muad’Dib. “He’s lying, of course,” Alia blurts out. She is obviously relishing the moment. But the Emperor wants to move on. He orders Alia to convince her brother to surrender. Alia remains adamant, her “impudence” and disregard for the Emperor’s authority obvious to one and all (especially, to the assembled Bene Gesserit).

“I’m beyond your power,” Alia gloats openly, as she points to the Reverend Mother. “Kill her! Kill her now, the Abomination!” the Reverend Mother shouts in desperation. She realizes, full well, who this child is: an usurper with powers outside even their tight control.

Stepping up to assume her place in the conversation, Princess Irulan knows instinctively that Alia is Atreides born, the sister of Paul, the Duke’s son. “HE is Muad’Dib!” Irulan reveals.

The Baron is incredulous.

Back to Paul, who orders Gurney to throw the switch. KABOOM!

We are back again at the Arrakeen palace where Reverend Mother cowers before the little child as a gigantic explosion signals Paul’s approach. The coming storm will bring the revolt to its height. A huge dust cloud develops and engulfs the palace, thus bringing down its defenses. In a flash, dozens of ornithopters fly over and into formation — evidently, the Fremen have done their job well in sealing off any hope for the Emperor’s escape.

At that moment, the Emperor orders that Alia’s body be given to the storm, but Alia stands firm. Swooping down and grabbing hold of the child, the Baron, overconfident as was his wont, tries to whisk her away. But Alia is too fast for the fat man’s own good. She stabs and scrapes the Baron’s pudgy hand with a poisoned dart from her ring. Clever girl! This one would make a formidable enough foe for any would-be assassin.

Her parting words to him are telling, to say the least: “Goodbye, grandfather!” she intones to the hefty Harkonnen’s face. The Baron instantly chokes to death from the fast-acting poison, his massive frame floating slowly away.

And just as well, too, for the full force of the Fremen’s power has finally been unleashed. Giant sandworms, “thopters” galore, artillery, and aerial bombardments overpower what is left of the scrambling Sardaukar and Imperial forces. The Emperor is helpless, unable to act in view of the mighty onslaught he is forced to witness. That hasn’t stopped the Bene Gesserit or anyone else from beating a hasty retreat.

Finally, we see Paul, Gurney and Stilgar riding a gigantic sandworm to lead the final assault. It’s kill or be killed as the slaughter reaches its height. Ironically, the Sardaukar guard who took poor little Leto’s life walks straight into Stilgar’s rifle. He’s shot through the belly, a fitting end for an unworthy opponent.

Transition to Paul staring at an aerial dogfight of thopters versus Imperial fighter jets — a veritable World War I midair collision. Back and forth they fly, while on the ground Gurney leads a house by house assault on the combatants. It’s every man, woman and child for themselves. Finally, the native forces break through to the palace as the hand-to-hand combat reaches its climax.

As Paul envisioned, the dead and dying are all around. Smoke and flames billow skyward, as if the souls of the dearly departed have been sent upward to the heavens. The main square is filled with lifeless bodies. In the next sequence, a frightened Rabban the Beast, cowering and overly cautious (now, where has HE been hiding throughout all this time?), scurries along the side walls like a cornered rodent, hoping to make his escape. All is quiet.

Rabban looks around, a dagger still in his right hand. For a split second, we get the feeling that this vicious brute might make it out after all. He even allows himself a half-smile, a little smirk at his supposed “good fortune.”

Rabban the Beast meets his inglorious end in the Sci-Fi Channel’s ‘Dune’

But his hopes are short-lived. The entire populace steps out from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with the eerie blue glow of the spice; their looks thirsting for vengeance. Rabban breaks out in a cold sweat. He turns his head upward, only to see Stilgar pointing a huge weapon in his direction. For a split second, Rabban is relieved, thinking to himself, “I’d rather be shot to death than tortured.” Not likely, for Stilgar withdraws the weapon and saunters off, leaving the bested Rabban to his fate.

Realizing all is lost, the brutish killer drops his weapon and lets out a final yell. Which, as expected, signals to the crowd that now’s the time for retribution. Onward they charge, stabbing and pulverizing the Harkonnen nephew to death. At the end, a young boy breaks away from the slaughter. He’s holding onto something. What could it be? Clutching the object closely, the boy runs up the steps to the top of the parapet.

From there, the boy lifts Rabban’s severed head for the people to see, a gruesome reminder that (paraphrasing what Lincoln’s assassin, John Wilkes Booth allegedly cried out at Ford’s Theater), “Thus death comes to tyrants!” The crowd cheers wildly at the horrid sight, lifting their bloody arms in victory.

“The saga of Dune is far from over…”

(To be continued…) 

Copyright © 2023 by Josmar F. Lopes

In Flight – A ‘Dream Zine’ Poem

(Today’s piece is a short poem by guest contributor Thais Angelica Tavares Lopes. Thais Angelica is my oldest daughter. Her varied background encompasses a range of subjects, including art instruction, drawing, sewing, dress designing, convention-hopping, and creative writing.)

Massive wings like  

thick umbrellas, 

 heaving,  

pounding,  

lit by dusk. 

Muscles dance rhythmically  

under sleek, scarlet scales, 

as if listening to a barely  

audible beat by the Muses.  

  Mysterious, hulking power  

 pulsates opulent pleasures  

through the air.  

Morose, clear eyes track every motion, 

foreseeing all and 

welcoming their fate. 

Majestic ivories gleam and glint 

like royal gems, 

unchanged by centuries 

 of constant use. 

Monsters of firmament; 

 such are dragons.  

Making their way through the mundane, 

like a stealthy caravan of kings, 

basking in the glory of their ways. 

Magnificent in their flight, 

all beware their might! 

Copyright © 2023 by Thais A. Lopes 

Legs Open, Mouth Open: An Analysis of Alex Garland’s ‘Men’ (2022)

Harper (Jessica Buckley)

(Today’s guest contributor is writer, artist, and animator Natalia C. Lopes. A graduate of North Carolina State University’s Master’s Degree Program of the College of Art & Design, her latest essay is an in-depth discussion and analysis of writer-director Alex Garland’s controversial 2022 film, MEN.)

*** NOTE: Spoiler Alerts: Contains major spoilers for the entire film and explicit language.

Reactions to Men, the new horror film by writer and director Alex Garland (Ex Machina, Annihilation, 28 Days Later), have been quite divisive among critics and audiences. Some have argued that the messages contained in the film are timely, but that ultimately those who would benefit from it are less likely to seek the film out (https://www.wired.com/story/men-alex-garland-review/). Some have dismissed both the film and Garland for not taking a clear stance on the topics Men intends to tackle, unlike the position more clearly suggested by other horror films highlighting toxic masculinity that were also released this year, Barbarian (dir. Zach Cregger) and Watcher (dir. Chloe Okuno). The story of a woman looking to escape from her trauma by seeking refuge in the English countryside only to be thwarted at every turn by the men who inhabit it can be interpreted as Garland calling out the current dialogue surrounding gender inequality and the patriarchy.

If anything, Harper, the female lead (played most empathetically by Jessie Buckley), is the active female protagonist modern audiences keep hoping for. At any sign of bullshit or foul play, Harper is on it. When a naked man is caught wordlessly stalking her outside of the house, she calls the police immediately. When a vicar listens to her vulnerability with performative empathy only to victim-blame, or when a policeman refuses to validate her concerns about safety surrounding the naked stalker’s return, she leaves in a huff, but not without getting a verbal dig into them. Her actions provide a welcome relief in a cinematic landscape where many female protagonists do just the opposite and fail to escape their attackers.

Harper “alone” in the woods

It is perhaps all-too commonplace the amount of micro-aggression and gaslighting women face as they navigate everyday life (here women are defined by this writer as cis women, those assigned female at birth, trans women and/or people with uteruses). There is no shortage of the obvious in the many personifications of toxic masculinity performed with aplomb by Rory Kinnear (Penny Dreadful, Years and Years). But is it obvious enough to filmgoers that don’t share this daily experience? Garland suggests in an interview it might be so. He would rather audiences interpret his role in making the film as “a man writing about a sense of horror of what it’s like to be a man and not about a man writing from a woman’s point of view” (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QECFZTJ_nnY). Frustrated that some audiences create assumptions about [Garland’s] motivations for making the film, he believes the assumptions are more projections of “their own motivations and prejudices.” It is not a stretch to suggest that his experience as the father of a teenage daughter may account for the lived experience he contributes to the film’s discourse. In the same interview he shares that he has heard many accounts of his daughter’s interactions with people on public transport that were “staggering” and never cease to surprise him.

Writer-director Alex Garland

At the beginning of the film, when asked if Harper’s “hubby” is coming to stay (she booked the country house under her married name, Mrs. Marlowe, out of habit), Geoffrey the landlord is a little put off by the knowledge that she comes alone. We never learn what her original last name was before marriage, as such a union can at times feel like the loss of individual identity. Yet Harper reclaims her identity in the very next scene as she takes a walk out in the woods beside the country home. In this writer’s opinion it is one of the most emotionally bittersweet scenes put to film. We see her smile and absorb the rain as it starts to fall (a symbol of purification), laugh with joy as she hears her liberated voice make music as it echoes inside a long tunnel (a metaphorical canal she reclaims for her own), all while a graceful choir sings in Latin.

It appears that Harper summons The Green Man, or one of many incarnations of this mythical archetype, whenever she vocalizes her joy or sorrow. Her musical echoes draw the attention of a dark male figure at the other end of the tunnel who starts to run after her. As she recalls the actions that prompted the death of her husband James (played by Paapa Essiedu) she is seen screaming in agony in the church, and there she summons the vicar. There are further allusions to the theme of vocalization and the restriction of voices throughout the film, in moans of ecstasy, disembodied calls in the woods, and screams submerged by water. This theme is most prominently accompanied by a brilliantly beautiful and haunting score from Garland regulars Geoff Barrow and Ben Salisbury. The musical duo are known for their intimately powerful scores that give life to the state of being of the characters and haunt the environment surrounding them, as evidenced in their incredible work on Ex Machina and Annihilation. Here the vocals ring like Gregorian chants soon to be followed by a seizure.

The Green Man (Rory Kinnear)

During the eve of the film’s conclusion, Harper is confronted in a deeply unsettling scene by the vicar. She finally asks what he is, and he simply replies, “a swan”. This reference to the famous Greek story of Zeus transforming himself into a swan to impregnate Leda is repeated in the final song of the film, “Brute Blood.” It is an eerie hymnal arrangement of the words from the poem “Leda and the Swan” by W. B. Yeats, which the vicar recites to Harper:

A shudder in the loins engenders there

The broken wall, the burning roof and tower,

And Agamemnon dead.

The vicar’s second recital of poetry shortly after hails this time from “Ulysses and the Siren” by Samuel Daniel:

I must be won, that cannot win

Yet lost were I not won;

For beauty hath created been

T’ undo or be undone.

He makes incredibly accusatory and unfounded statements about Harper that, if one has been on the receiving end of these comments, will sound all too familiar. “I have decided that you are an expert in carnality.” Claiming his lust is actually a display of Harper’s “power” and “the control that [she] exerts,” “You are singing to me,” these are phrases that sound straight out of an incel’s book.

One incarnation of The Green Man, an uncanny and unstable young boy named Samuel, also digs passive-aggressively at Harper when he is refused a game of hide and seek, calling her a “stupid bitch”. When he breaks into the house later that night, he claims, “You really hurt me,” “You’re so mean.” The quasi-Marilyn Monroe mask he wears is a bitter reminder of the primitive way women are still regarded by men who wish to take away their liberties and autonomy. This reminder comes in a timely manner given the current women’s protests in Iran and the revoking of the right to abortion by the United States Supreme Court.

Boy in the Marilyn Monroe mask!

The way the Green Man’s arm reaches through the large mail slot at the front door in search of Harper is also a reminder that women’s bodies are constantly threatened even where they should feel the safest. One can see this as his attempt to violate, to assault, to feel entitled to entering her. But Harper bites back. She does her share of penetrating with her weapon, a kitchen knife, that to an extent matches the power of the male phallus. Harper also uses the knife to penetrate the vicar’s side when he makes an attempt to sexually assault her.

Despite what one might be led to believe about the film’s subjecting Harper to harsh treatment, she is never seen completely naked in the film. She is always modestly dressed, both in and outside of the home. The same cannot be said for The Green Man, who for all intents and purposes must have been “asking” to be arrested when he wordlessly stalks Harper stark naked in broad daylight outside the front garden, turning the typical assumption of assault victims on its head.

It has also been pointed out that Harper’s ex-husband James’ death results in Christlike puncture wounds. Even the way he lies on the ground, half-propped by his hand injury, lends itself to a sense of male martyrdom often felt by men who think doing the bare minimum of being polite and respectful is to be regarded as the exception and not the norm. (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t9dn8TjfVQ4) When we witness the first look into the couple’s fight that led to tragedy, it is clear that James is more concerned with victimizing himself to emotionally manipulate Harper into not divorcing him. He demands, “you have to live with my death on your conscience”, a sentiment repeated by the other men in the town towards the film’s conclusion.

Harper has a conversation with her husband, James (Paapa Essiedu)

The vicar’s offering to help Harper by listening to her as she shares her vulnerability is short-lived. He begins by telling Harper what she wants to hear. “I think you need to be understood,” but immediately follows that up with “You must wonder why you drove him to it.” He questions her about whether she allowed him to apologize before throwing him out of the house. How often have women been told they are not allowed a moment of aggression or wrath because it is irrational? How often have men been told that they are entitled to aggression?

It has been brought up that the protagonist Harper doesn’t make note of the fact that all the men in the country town look the same, as if to imply that toxic construction is just as much in the woman’s perception of socialized safety and security in the voice of another woman. And though we do find other women in this film, not all of them are on the same page. When a policewoman takes down Harper’s report of the naked stalker, she confesses “I think he’s harmless” and convinces Harper not to worry about him coming around again. But when Harper speaks to her friend Riley (Gayle Rankin) over video chat about the incident, Riley levels out any chance of Harper’s fears being diagnosed as a hysteria. She is just as quick-witted and incredulous about the lack of support her friend has while she wishes to enjoy her time in the country home.

Whether or not Harper is dreaming the events of the entire film or just the final act do not matter to this writer. Harper is forced to deal with her condition as a woman that just wants to be free of guilt and fear. Harper states to Riley during one video call, “I didn’t come here to be afraid.” The universality of her experience causes extreme anxiety to witness because it’s not exclusively her life we’re seeing in front of us. The fact that this happens to so many is what makes it all the more horrifying.

When the vicar makes his poisonous monologue that leads to his attempt at sexual assault he blames the victim for the lustful thoughts that plague men’s minds. The visual of Harper with “legs open, vagina open, mouth open” as somehow a spell she has put on him is reflected back at him later when he grows his own vagina when revealing his true nature at the film’s “climax.”

Harper and the vicar — an uncomfortable feeling

Though Harper is seen with her mouth open in screams, she is never with legs or vagina open. That is left to The Green Man to put himself on full display in front of Harper as he gives an orgasmic birth. He bears both penis and vagina in a desire to claim the womb fully for himself and to absorb it into the patriarchy. When Harper stabs the vicar during his assault, he moans as if in orgasm before dropping to the floor.

There is enough of a message sent to the audience during this first birthing scene. I say first because birth will occur three more times as the many forms Kinnear has played stumble and crawl their way toward Harper into the house. She has been trying to protect herself from memories of James and his overbearing emotional manipulation but is thwarted at every turn. In her attempt to maintain safety, even her car is taken away preventing her escape, and she lies prostrate on the ground in defeat. Instead of trying to escape it anymore, she finally lets The Green Man into the house. Harper and the audience can fully see how pathetic and sad it truly is that the man can do nothing but perpetuate himself and his belief systems, shaped by the world and enforced by the patriarchy. His penultimate birth is Geoffrey, arguably the one that had been the most level-headed and kind throughout the film, and he is seen sobbing bitterly before he is robbed of voice by his final form springing from his mouth, James himself.

The ultimate stance of the film is not made clear, which is the main source of confusion from critics and audiences. Must men be made aware of their toxic behavior by seeing it reflected back at them? Must women be mindful of projecting their fears and anxieties on all men and miss opportunities for growth and healing by remaining forever vigilant and protected? Is the universality of the power dynamics of gender and sex a mere construction that has the power to be rewritten if enough victims raise their voices? Will men cease to birth and propagate hateful and harmful behavior? Is seeing the mythological man attempting to claim ownership over the role of the womb – and failing at creating any being other than itself – an attempt at making men realize their powerlessness? Or will it just disgust and shock them upon seeing the act of birth on their bodies?

Men – The Green Man

Women and minorities are socialized in a nearly universal way to be a receptacle, one not just for reproduction but as a place where men can almost unanimously direct their hostility and superiority with little consequence. Until now. With every person that speaks up, shares their story, bites back and fights against repression in all its forms and in every society, the “men” in Garland’s film and by extension those that wish to enforce the patriarchy lose their receptacle.

At the bitter end, James still blames Harper for his own demise, stating, “this is what you did”. Upon being asked what he wants from her, he responds, “your love.” It is unclear what occurs before her friend Riley finally drives out to the country home to rescue Harper. We see that Riley is actually pregnant, representing a symbol of new life being reclaimed by a woman. Perhaps it is also hoped for a new myth to be born. Harper holding one of the leaves the Green Man adorned his face with is, in a sense, proof that the myth of the woman can be rewritten and reclaimed as no longer a receptacle, but a never-ending echo.

Copyright © 2023 by Natalia C. Lopes

Beautiful Dreamers: Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman’ Comes to Life on Netflix

Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman’ comes to Netflix – Morpheus is played by Tom Sturridge

“To Die – To Sleep, No More”

A voice — a man’s voice – starts the narration. His tone is solemn, slow, aloof, full of portent. And cold, calculatedly cold. Emotion has been drained from his delivery, with the exception of the words “your loves,” spoken with barely concealed contempt:

“We begin… in the waking world, which humanity insists on calling the real world… as if your dreams have no effect upon the choices you make. You mortals go about your work, your loves, your wars, as if your waking lives are all that matter.”

In the next section, an imperceptible change has taken place. The coldness is still present, as is the solemnity. Yet, subtle hints of an obligation arise, and a mounting commitment – call it an anticipation – over what is to come:

“But there is another life which awaits you when you close your eyes… and enter my realm. For I am the King of Dreams… and Nightmares. When the waking world leaves you wanting and weary, sleep brings you here to find freedom and adventure. To face your fears and fantasies in Dreams and Nightmares that I create… and which I must control, lest they consume and destroy you. That is my purpose and my function.” – Morpheus

In a relative sense, the above passage mirrors (and sounds comparable to) the voiceover alert from the classic 1960s science-fiction anthology, The Outer Limits:

“There is nothing wrong with your television set. We are controlling transmission. You are about to participate in a great adventure. You are about to experience the awe and mystery which reaches from the inner mind to… The Outer Limits.”

A trailblazer in many respects, The Outer Limits broke new ground for intelligent science-fiction programming on television. From the limitations set forth by one’s inner mind, as finite and tangible a substance as that might appear, to the infinite realms of mystery and the unknown, or the great beyond – truly, wherever they may lead.

Either way, it’s the voice that instantly grabs hold of your attention. The voice is firmly in control. The voice tells you what to do, where to go, what to think. Right from the start. Straight on to the end. And it never loosens its grip, never letting up.

In Netflix’s fantasy-horror series The Sandman, adapted from British writer Neil Gaiman’s graphic comic-books from the late eighties to the mid-nineties, the voice belongs to that of Morpheus, the King of Dreams. Not only does the voice make one sit up and take notice (as it should), but also the look and the style, if not the overall presentation. Oh, and the eyes.

Ah, yes, the eyes! And what eyes! Those twin orbs from which you, the viewer, are accorded a momentary peek into the very depths of the soul itself.

Whose soul, you may ask? Yours? Mine?

From this premise, more questions will arise: Can one truly see inside a person’s soul? Can one perceive the thing that makes an individual tick? That nebulous, indefinable substance that both appeals to and repulses the curious viewer?

This brings to mind that oft-quoted phrase: “Curiosity killed the cat.” Yes, cats figure prominently in ancient cultures, particularly the Egyptian. (For feline lovers, Netflix provides plenty of catnip in Bonus Episode 11). They are certainly curious creatures and, in our humble estimation, the closest in mood and behavior to us humans.

We mortals, too, are curious by our natures. And curiosity is what fascinates and takes hold of the characters in The Sandman. Some even get killed because of it. But here’s the most intriguing aspect of all: What is it that makes everyone so curious in the first place, and so obsessed with their past? Their present? Their… future?

Neil Gaiman’s ‘The Sandman’ – Lucienne (Vivienne Acheampong) walks with Morpheus (Tom Sturridge)

“Perchance to Dream”

Simply stated, we live a third of our lives in a dream state called “sleep.” Psychologically speaking, sleep is nothing more than a natural outlet for our unconscious and/or subconscious thoughts; an escape valve from reality, such as it is, and a remedy from earthly deprivation.

It’s all a fantasy world, concocted by ourselves in the act of sleeping; an involuntary making-of tale, if you so prefer. And more often than not, dreams are entirely out of our control. When dreams begin to deteriorate by taking a darker, more terrifying turn, they evolve into what we call nightmares.  

In the waking world, we fancy ourselves distinct from what others perceive. The tendency, then, is for appearances to take precedence over substance. We want others to view ourselves as better or more beautiful or more loving than we fundamentally are.

Of course, it’s only natural to be liked and admired by those around you. But if we were to see ourselves as we really ARE, instead of what we pretend to BE… Why, that would destroy the illusion those dreams have so carefully built up, would it not? So, then, what would the end result of this situation lead to? Our disillusionment? Our descent into madness and despair, or perhaps into chaos, into suffering? Which would then lead to our ultimate destruction and demise?

In turn, this shattering of illusions is what makes Netflix’s The Sandman so endlessly fascinating, so watchable, and (dare we say) so forthright in the extreme. Author Gaiman’s elaboration on those ancient Greek myths, to include names and characters from the Bible, the Bhagavad-Gita, as well as familiar themes from past literary figures Jonathan Swift, Lewis Carroll, C.S. Lewis, T.S. Eliot, and others, along with those of his friend and contemporary, Alan Moore, have been incapsulated into the Eleven Episodes of Season One. (Hopefully, there will be more.)

While varied and wide-ranging, these episodes resist being carbon copies of the books; nor are they facsimiles of Mr. Gaiman’s writing in general, which featured the wonderfully dark children’s fantasy Coraline (2002), among others. Instead, series’ developers Gaiman, David S. Goyer, and Allan Heinberg have retained the essence and scope of the stories, in keeping to their flavorful and erudite language, modifying and/or expanding upon them at will, while reassigning the gender and/or racial components in several of the protagonists.

For the most part, the above variations on Gaiman’s themes tend to hold up reasonably well, as their impact continues to reflect vividly on the lives of the participants. Take the Librarian, Lucienne (Vivienne Acheampong), whose wise-beyond-her-years appearance and world-weariness are exemplified by the way she constantly keeps her head tilted (and pointy ears cocked) at a precise 45-degree angle (so marvelous!); or by Dream’s older sister Death (Kirby Howell-Baptiste) and the extraordinarily empathetic feelings she extends toward those who fear her chilling presence, yet who learn to accept their passing — either inevitable or accidental — with grace and resignation.       

Morpheus (Tom Sturridge) broods as he speaks with Death (Kirby Howell-Baptiste)

“Ay, There’s the Rub”

As Morpheus, our titular Sandman (also known by various other names and titles), London-born actor Tom Sturridge stands out. In fact, he comes off best as a cross between Alan Rickman’s Professor Snape and the Heathcliff of Sir Laurence Olivier from Wuthering Heights (1939).

Could Sturridge be the new Tom Hiddleston? Well, there’s more than a passing resemblance to his predecessor’s work as the gloomy vampire Adam in Jim Jarmusch’s Only Lovers Left Alive (see my review of the film: https://josmarlopes.wordpress.com/2020/06/15/only-lovers-left-alive-2013-a-parable-of-class-consciousness/). But of Hiddleston’s enigmatic and ever-changing Loki, there is no comparison.

What is more, it’s our opinion that Sturridge, with his imposing height and brooding mien, may have taken a lesson or two from repeat viewings of Johnny Depp as Edward Scissorhands, to say nothing of his “partial” embodiment of Gary Oldman’s temperamental Sid Vicious (in Alex Cox’s biopic, Sid and Nancy) – the quieter aspects, at any rate. There are hints as well of Christopher Lee’s towering Count Dracula, but we do digress.

Be that as it may, the Shakespearean air and spirit alluded to in Gaiman’s writing are alive and all-but ends well for Sturridge’s artfully enunciated Morpheus, aka The Dream (or “Dreamboat,” in our view), which survives intact and bears comparison to Olivier’s Hamlet. If you don’t believe us, please revisit Episode 10, “Lost Hearts,” where towards the end Morpheus holds a shrunken skull in the palm of his hand. You may hear yourself speaking those immortal words: “Alas, poor Yorick!” Oh, yes, we knew him only too well.

As a none-too-subtle appetizer of sorts, there’s the heady “inside joke” of Episode 6, “The Sound of Her Wings.” Here, our stand-in for the Common Man, the glib Hob Gadling (Ferdinand Kingsley), meets up with the dark-visage of Morpheus, in hundred-year intervals, at a tavern patronized by none other than Christopher “Kit” Marlowe (“a very good poet,” according to Hob), and a shabby individual Morpheus calls “Will Shaxberd,” a playwright of little consequence – that is, until he strikes a Mephistophelean bargain with a devilishly clever Dream. We find this tantalizing bit of name-dropping to be positively infectious.  

The mystery of who Morpheus is and what he’s about are registered through voice, tone and visage; through body language and carriage; and (as pointed out earlier) by way of his eyes. He’ll need those eyes as a means of conveying his vexation at being captured by a selfish, wannabe necromancer. And how expressive the Dream’s eyes are, too; how emotive and transparent.

Despite Morpheus’ outward display of calm, he is in fact bursting with emotion inside his own shell. In the graphic novels, the Sandman’s eyeballs sparkle with a star-like gleam in each pupil: two radiant gemstones, guiding the unwary observer to unimaginable adventures. His ghostly pallor and post-punk hairstyle provide contrast and high drama, while matching his dour physical attributes to distraction. Does the term “beautiful dreamer” suffice in these surroundings?  

John Dee (David Thewlis) in the diner/restaurant sequence, Episode 5, “24/7”

“Good Night, Sweet Prince!”

The series’ depiction of a televised graphic novel is an oft-recurring motif. Truth be told, this approach not only encompasses the visually focused, comic-book realm to a verifiable “T” but, most luridly, to the adult-world context and vulgar street language inherent therein – think Fritz the Cat meets Taxi Driver.

Not for nothing did Gaiman, a British citizen by birth, come along at nearly the same moment as another fellow Brit: Northampton native Alan Moore and his adult re-examinations of the superhero ethos in such works as Watchmen and V for Vendetta, about vigilante warriors out for blood; a modern-day monster story in Swamp Thing; the hunt for serial killer Jack the Ripper in From Hell; and the convergence of classic literary figures-turned-super sleuths in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen – which, in part, may have indirectly influenced the misfit miscreants of Gerard Way and Gabriel Bá’s Dark Horse Comic, The Umbrella Academy.

By way of affirming whatever virtues these comic-book heroes share or might claim to have shared, in cold, hard truth there is little that can be deemed “super” about any of them. All are flawed, in one way or another, if not downright incapacitated, and as intellectually disturbed or mentally unfit as the villains they pursue.

One extraordinary example occurs in a non-stop sequence from Episode 5, entitled “24/7.” In what appears to be one long continuous take, buoyed by an absolutely astounding performance by David Thewlis (Professor Lupin of Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban), the camera follows the psychopathic John Dee, the illegitimate son of the horrible Roderick Burgess (Charles Dance) from Episode 1, as he injects his verbal venom into one broken soul after another; flirting with their innermost feelings, thoughts, and emotions, and the hidden depths of misery behind them all.

Bit by bit, layer by layer, the “truth” is peeled back and bandied about as if it were the constant drip, drip, drip of a leaky faucet. Perhaps, in this instance, a better analogy would be to a broken toilet, where the handle of said toilet prevents the “business” of disposing of one’s personal waste from being flushed down the pipes; what analysts will tell you is the detritus of our innermost wants and desires.

A masterful sequence to be certain (Spoiler Alert ahead!), one that, while we find difficult to watch, has been stretched almost to the breaking point of resistance; or maybe it did break and we, the viewers, are only made aware of it at the conclusion: a pile of dead corpses and mangled bodies – lost, broken souls, unable to “handle the truth,” to quote a line from A Few Good Men, of who these unfortunates were and what they symbolized.

In other episodes, one of our favorite recurring villains, the slickly sinister Corinthian (what a name!) leaves his indelible “mark,” in a manner of speaking, as he purposely wanders about the real world, searching for mischief and committing acts of unspeakable violence against his unsuspecting victims.

The smooth as butter Corinthian (Boyd Holbrook) has a better idea at the Cereal Convention

It’s up to Morpheus, as stated at the outset, to capture him and the other escaped denizens of the dream world; to bring them back to where they naturally belong (much against their will). He must also search for three stolen accoutrements, i.e., the sigils of his power: his pouch of dream sand, his helm (which resembles a World War I gas mask with whalebone extension), and his dreamstone ruby.

His nemesis, the Corinthian, is an offshoot. Certainly not one of the Endless, that cluster of seven metaphysical beings in anthropomorphic disguise representing different states of being: Destiny, Death, Desire, Despair, Delirium, Destruction, and Dream (aka Morpheus – in Greek mythology, the god of sleep), or “Dream of the Endless” as he’s referred to by Roderick Burgess (our Spidey sense tells us there’s a double meaning in that description). There’s also the enigmatic manifestation of the Fates (Nina Wadia, Souad Faress, Dinita Gohil) who speak in misleading riddles regarding events in the past, present, and future.

Played by Kentucky-born actor Boyd Holbrook with an insinuating air of being above it all, and with faux Southern charm, the slimy Corinthian deftly maneuvers his way about — in the real world and beyond — in perversely laidback languor. He dresses in superbly tailored men’s wear, if that’s any consolation. Why, this fellow reeks of “class,” but it’s all spit polish and surface noise.

And, no, the Corinthian does not sport leather outfits, but he does have little, tiny teeth where his eyes should be (shudders!). “The better to eat you with, my dears?” Talk about a wolf in grandma’s clothing, this bad guy’s a nightmare come alive, but not before Christmas, thank you. He’s more in league with A Nightmare on Elm Street’s Freddy Krueger, an avaricious, incorrigible fiend. So be it.

A smoothie in all but name only, in Episode 9, “Collectors,” the Corinthian is the guest of honor at a Cereal Convention. Yes, you read that right. No, not the Kellogg’s of Battle Creek, Michigan brand – far from it! This rogues’ gathering of the faithful (More Spoilers Ahead!) happens to be a front for vicious serial killers who hide behind a façade of respectability. But the horror of their get-together climaxes in (are you ready for it?) an unanticipated ritual slaughter of a too-curious gate crasher – hah, more fool him! Leave it to The Dream of the Endless to restore order onto a disordered universe.

As punishment, Morpheus condemns the serial killers to acknowledge their horrific crimes: either by turning themselves in to the authorities or by taking their own lives. This sequence gives new meaning to the term “Dance with Death.”  

Battle Royale – Lucifer (Gwendoline Christie) meets Morpheus (Tom Sturridge) in Hell

“And Flights of Angels Sing Thee to Thy Rest”

Another absolutely delightful entry in the series, one that took many viewers by surprise, lies within Episode 4, “A Hope in Hell,” where a remarkable clash of the titans – more a battle of wits and words than of warriors – takes place; a cascade of dueling verbiage between the mighty Lucifer Morningstar (Gwendoline Christie, of Game of Thrones fame) and the quick-witted Morpheus.

These two combatants hurl their “bons mots” (tongue planted firmly in cheek) at each other with ferocious yet understated bite and determination, poetically speaking. The series’ writers and developers worked miracles in this department, so unlike those myriad Marvel and/or Avengers onscreen bouts – endless, protracted, mindless destruction, “full of sound and fury, signifying…” Well, you know the rest. Or you should know!

As mentioned before, Shakespeare’s poetic presence is felt everywhere and nowhere at once. Some knowledge aforethought of the Bard of Stratford-upon-Avon’s verses would be a prerequisite for viewing this series. That would greatly enhance one’s enjoyment overall, but without seeming to feel like a homework assignment for English Literature 101.

It might also assist with scrutinizing his lordship Morpheus’ motives with respect to his handling (or mishandling) of humankind, or the dearth of common decency he appears to harbor in relating to these mortals which, by the way, bespeaks of his inability at understanding their motives.

Sturridge, to his credit, gets the post-punk demeanor down pat. His ample coif, his high-riser slacks, his black boots, matching dark overcoat, and pasty-faced skin tone complement the Sandman’s otherworldly aspects. By virtue of his lofty position as the King of Dreams, Morpheus is a true creature of the night. And the night, pray tell, is where we live out our dreams. Daydreams are for slackers, drifters. They take you nowhere fast. But night dreams… “Ay, there’s the rub!”  

It’s still the look, the sound (did we not mention the excellent music score by composer David Buckley?), the many contributions from a plethora of solid British and American supporting players Joely Richardson, Derek Jacobi, Jenna Coleman, Stephen Fry, Kyo Ra (including voiceover work by Patton Oswalt, Mark Hamill, Sandra Oh, James McAvoy, et al.), and that eerie Morpheus stare that stands out from the rest.

Ah, but that voice! That voice…! Keep up the good work, Mr. Sturridge! To quote from the duplicitous Senator Palpatine, before the climax of Star Wars, Episode I: The Phantom Menace, “We will watch your career with great interest.”  

Copyright © 2022 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘When the Legend Becomes Fact’ — Hollywood and the Historical Film (Part Six, Conclusion): The Science-Fiction and Horror Connection

The original ‘Jurassic Park’ logo aligned with the original ‘Alien’: Monsters of a feather fight together

Is It ‘Real’ or Is It ‘Reel’?

Science fiction and horror happen to be two of my favorite movie genres, among the many varieties that are out there. Although most people — film critics primarily — tend to separate these two categories, there has always existed an interrelation and a correlation between these vast subjects.

But a problem exists in that one’s ability to use science fiction and horror in the classroom, in particular for a course based on history, American or otherwise, can be hampered by the intrinsic nature of both genres.

Personally speaking, I prefer not to separate them. In most technological respects, the science fiction film (shortened to sci-fi) occupies a category all by itself. Be that as it may, because most sci-fi and horror flicks deal with monsters or aliens of one form or another — either real or imagined — every so often the two genres are lumped together and treated interchangeably as a single unit. More specifically, there’s also the historicity aspect of sci-fi, that is an ever-developing set of parameters that has come down to us through past events.

It’s hard to say whether this end result is good or bad, or even viable as a means of cinematic representation. Basically, we will leave that up to the individual viewer to interpret. Or better yet, to the presenter.

Take, for example, the movies Jurassic Park (1993) and the Alien series. True, there be monsters here! But if we were to base our assumptions on director Sir Ridley Scott’s prequel forays into the Alien’s origins (Prometheus, 2012; Alien: Covenant, 2017), one can readily spot the scientific connections inherent in Alien pictures with those of the Jurassic Park-themed sequels of today (vis-à-vis “Dino DNA” and such). In view of this apparent affiliation, our inclination is to leave well enough alone and keep science fiction as it is, together with horror.

Mr. DNA, illustrating the process of “Dino DNA” being injected into frogs to create living dinosaurs

In the interest of specificity, true science fiction, as opposed to horror or fantasy films, can instruct as well as entertain. An official designation, straight out of The Film Studies Dictionary, defines how “science fiction works by extrapolation, hypothesizing possibilities based on the known laws of nature and science, whether in the near — tomorrow — or distant future or on other worlds” (p. 205).

Horror, on the other hand, typically entertains. Our Film Studies Dictionary correctly calls it a “film focusing on the supernatural, the mysterious or on graphic violence, aiming to frighten or horrify its audience” (p. 124). That’s an interesting term, “horrify,” where the subject under discussion is horror itself. One never thinks of horror as entertaining to any degree but believe you me it is!

Keep in mind, too, that horror’s main purpose is to scare the bejeezus out of viewers. Now THAT’S entertaining! It should also but often does not make audiences think long and hard about what is happening on screen and before our eyes. Ken Russell’s Altered States, from 1980, is a prime example of the thinking person’s horror flick doubling as sci-fi (and vice versa). In many instances, pondering over specific details as to whether a film fits comfortably or not into one category or another — or whether it’s this side of H.P. Lovecraft or Stephen King — can lead to confusion and markedly less clarity over time.

There are other examples of subgenres within each group and type. To cite but a few, the following sci-fi subgenres contain (but are not limited to) aliens and alien invasion pictures, or so-called UFO sightings; space travel epics (that is, visits to or from other planets); galaxy wars; the mad or evil scientist; the good-bad robot dichotomy; man vs. machine; computer sentience and the resultant evil associated with it; the messiah complex or “the savior among us” syndrome, as in Nicholas Roeg’s The Man Who Fell to Earth (1976), and so forth.

Indeed, there are so many subgenres, themes, variations, plots, and counterplots to distract and inform curious viewers that it can become problematic in successfully categorizing each film or subject by a specific genre. Best to leave things as open-ended and as they are.

Even films that are not strictly horror-based, such as David Fincher’s crime drama/police procedural Se7en (1995), contain many horrific elements affixed to them; others boast of strictly film noir tendencies. Certainly, the 1950s sci-fi classics bore close relationships to, and outgrowths of, the film noir aspects that prevailed throughout the post-World War II period.

Part of the excellent title credit sequence from director David Fincher’s thriller ‘Se7en’ (1995)

This type of subgenre evolved from, and was likely due to, the advent of McCarthyism and the ensuing House Un-American Activities Committee (or H.U.A.A.C.) hearings, along with the concurrent Red Scare menace. “Red Scare” or “Red menace,” in this context, meant concern over alleged Communist infiltration of the U.S. government and/or the military, reinterpreted in numerous film productions of the period as fear of a Martian invasion of Earth. Major examples include The Thing from Another World (1951), The Man from Planet X (1951), Red Planet Mars (1952), The War of the Worlds (1953), and, more subtly, Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), and The Manchurian Candidate (1962).

An outgrowth of this theme were those Atomic Age pictures, the so-called “Bug-Eyed Monster” movies of an era where the emphasis went from fear of nuclear annihilation to experiments gone horribly wrong, thinly if not overtly hinted at in The Beast from 20,000 Fathoms (1953), It Came from Outer Space (1953), Gojira, aka Godzilla (1954/1956), Them! (1954), It Came from Beneath the Sea (1955), Tarantula! (1955), The Deadly Mantis (1957), and The Giant Behemoth (1959).   

The one and the only monster-on-the-loose epic: ‘Godzilla’ (1956), originally titled ‘Gojira’

To be fair, the original Gojira from Japan’s Toho Studios was the first of what went on to become known as Kaiju Eiga, or the Japanese monster movie. All were byproducts of the history-making bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki which ended World War II. Subsequent follow-up pictures featured the likes of Rodan (1956), a giant pterodactyl, and Mothra (1961), an equally fantastic giant moth (played mostly for laughs). The Godzilla franchise continued to blanket the market; they were subsequently packaged and sold as kiddy matinee pictures.  

Fantasy films are but one more in the long line of offshoots. According to most reliable sources, a fantasy film “posits some violation of the real world in its narrative, whether imaginary creatures, the alteration of natural laws, alternate worlds, or the existence of superheroes” (The Film Studies Dictionary, p. 91). Among the innumerable varieties in this category are those Marvel and DC Comics spinoffs, to include the many Thors and Lokis and Batman retreads, as well as the majority of movies (The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and The Chronicles of Narnia) over-reliant on the ubiquitous J.R.R. Tolkien and C.S. Lewis series of books.

In general, good science fiction, as opposed to the bad kind (though not always), tries to ask and, hopefully, answer the hard questions: “Will we be better off in the future? What does the future hold for us humans that will make our lives (or the world itself) a better place? Will our Earth be a more meaningful, more habitable planet? Or will the world be in worse condition than it is now?” 

In effect, science fiction is tantamount to predicting the future, phrased here as the unknowable. And you know how difficult, how dangerous, and how inaccurate one can be about predicting what hasn’t yet occurred! In most cases, it can be a hit or miss affair. Many people thought the world would come to an end back in the late 1990s. Some even asked themselves, “Hey, what happened? Why did those predictions not come to pass?” How’s that again? A better response to that query should have been: “Why would we want them to be true in the first place?” Be thankful for small favors!

Sure enough, the sun rose as it always does; and the world continued on its merry course as it has always done — for better or for worse. Putting it plainly, it was business as usual for most people on terra firma. Why should it be different for anyone else?

This dissatisfaction with the way things are, amid prospects or expectations for how things can or should be (but really can’t be), often reveal themselves as fodder for another science fiction-type subgenre, i.e., the increasingly popular dystopian future drama. As an extension of our shared experiences, an ancillary aspect can manifest itself in speculative fiction, which some writers prefer to employ in describing their overall work in this area.

What the future may hold for humans as a species and whether or not we give in to our basest instincts can be sampled and observed in such cinematic depictions as Robert Wise’s The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) and its underestimated 2008 remake, Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968), Jack Arnold and Joseph Newman’s This Island Earth (1955), Frank McLeod Wilcox’s Forbidden Planet (1956), Ridely Scott’s Blade Runner (1982), Michael Radford’s 1984 (1984), Terry Gilliam’s Brazil (1985), and Gene Roddenberry’s Star Trek TV-series (1966-1969).     

In the area of speculative fiction, the likes of Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men (2005), from English writer P.D. James’ 1992 publication, or the equally chilling Hulu TV series The Handmaid’s Tale (from 2017 to current), based on Canadian author Margaret Atwood’s 1985 book, have blurred the lines of what one normally identifies as pure, unadulterated science fiction. As the decades roll by, we are trending ever closer to the world depicted in both these titles.

The dystopian, futuristic thriller ‘Children of Men’ (2005), directed by Alfonso Cuaron

As you can see, science fiction and, yes, horror, fantasy, dystopian and speculative fiction films share living space in many peoples’ households. They will always be welcome, for the reason they have a tendency to guide and provide curious minds with some basic life lessons. Whether we, as a species, can learn from these lessons remains to be seen.

And while they may not be, strictly speaking, “historical” in nature, they remain viable and enjoyable as pure entertainment. Our hope, then, is that science itself and the findings inherent in the promise of a better future in the years ahead can satiate our curiosity about the world around us. More importantly, the message we can derive from watching these features would be their ability to foster renewed interest in and about the future as well as, in the wise words of Professor Henry Jones Sr., provide us with some “illumination.”

And THAT’S a fact!

 Copyright © 2022 by Josmar F. Lopes    

‘I Will Face My Fear’ — The Mind-Killing Little Deaths of ‘Dune’ (Part Six): Commenting on the Commentary

Logo for Sci-Fi Channel’s ‘Dune’ miniseries from 2000, written and directed by John Harrison

Recap and Summary

As we have become aware, Paul Atreides goes on a spiritual journey. It starts with his role as the son of a duke. From there, rumors of the Kwisatz Haderach, or the one the Bene Gesserit have been waiting for, take hold of his subconscious.

In the near future Paul will assume the mantle of Muad’Dib, named after the tiny kangaroo rat — symbolic of a creature who roams the plains of Arrakis and manages to both come and go without notice. Paul will also attempt to embody the long-awaited Mahdi, a messiah or “the One who will lead Us to Paradise.” His goal, whether he knows it or not, is to associate his actions to those of a religious leader.

All of this has been preordained, of course, mostly through Lady Jessica’s interpositions to her son, as a way of ensuring their survival among the primitive tribespeople we know as the Fremen. Little does anyone know (at least, not at this point) that it was the Bene Gesserit order that initially planted the rumors of an off-worlder, the one who will liberate the planet and the known universe from the clutches of Imperial greed.

That’s a lot of info to take in at once, especially for someone so young as Paul. Fortunately, viewers are given ample opportunity to digest the profusion of revelations they will soon be fed. As for our hero, he must step up to the plate, in a manner of speaking, slipping back and forth into several roles at once, as the person who can unite the disparate forces into a cohesive force that foments outright rebellion.

He learns, for instance, to use the Fremen’s hit-and-run tactics to his advantage. “Desert power” is the term of art employed, which involves Paul’s exploitation of the power of his own personality to lord it over those of the emperor and his minions. In the process, he must vanquish House Harkonnen by removing them from the equation. The more difficult task, however, would be to win over the Spacing Guild. More on that aspect later.

Meanwhile, there is plenty of malice in the palace. Treachery is afoot, in the form of maidservant Shadout Mapes’ murder and Duke Leto’s overthrow and assassination. The Harkonnen have taken over the stronghold. All seems lost! The duke’s betrayer, Dr. Yueh, has joined his wife in what the Baron poetically refers to as “removal from her mortal coil.” Yikes, that means death!

Dr. Yueh (Robert Russell) meets his maker in Sci-Fi Channel’s miniseries ‘Dune’ (2000)

One major character who gets short shrift in the teleplay is the brainy Mentat Thufir Hawat (Jan Vlasák), the chief of security (yeah, right!) and so-called “human supercomputer” whose advanced mental powers come to naught. In Frank Herbert’s book, he’s used and abused by the wicked Baron, until finally gaining the upper hand. Thufir is given some prominence in the David Lynch version of the story, if that’s any consolation, while also appearing in Denis Villeneuve’s 2021 feature.

It’s just as well, since too many secondary personages would confuse the narrative further than it already is for those lesser fans of Herbert’s work.

In a sequence not in the original US version (but in the European one), we learn that Baron Harkonnen has banished Jessica and Paul to the desert, basically to be engulfed by the forces of nature. Certainly not to his knowledge nor by his own hand, heaven forbid! The point being that if he exposes himself to a Reverent Mother Truthsayer, he could claim total ignorance of their whereabouts and, it can be presumed, their eventual death.

Oh, what a tangled web we weave… You know the rest.

Here, we witness the Baron rubbing his right temple with his hand, a gesture that will be repeated with great import later on. “Never trust a traitor,” our portly villain spouts, “even one you create.” With that, Dr. Yueh is dispatched to meet his maker. The Baron himself narrowly escapes death (remember the poisoned tooth?) — for now!

Paul and Jessica find themselves alone in the desert. Will they survive the heat and desolation? To their rescue comes Duncan Idaho, at last! He provides for their escape via a “borrowed” ornithopter. He does not bring them a sack of Idaho potatoes (hah, hah!), but something better, that is, a way out of oblivion: Still suits, those lifesaving full-body overalls.

Lady Jessica (Saskia Reeves) and Paul (Alec Newman) meet the mysterious Fremen of Arrakis

Duncan whisks Paul and Jessica off to a Fremen cave, where the younger Atreides is handed the deceased duke’s ring, the symbol of dad’s high office. It’s now all up to Paul to take on the mantle his dearly departed paterfamilias has left behind. Wasting no time, he and Jessica flee the approaching Sardaukar.

Other ornithopters attempt to follow them into a raging dust storm, certain death in the open desert. But the Sardaukar do not pursue — a wise move, indeed. For nothing survives one of those storms, as it is commonly known. Miraculously, Paul and Jessica make it through intact, but at the loss of their aerial conveyance.

That Bloody Red Bard!

The Shakespearean angle is pronounced throughout the series, with the Bard’s most famous plays, Hamlet and Macbeth, becoming evident by their very absence. One can also throw in King Lear for good measure. For example, Paul is Prince Hamlet. Duke Leto (as we have observed earlier) is Hamlet’s father, or if you prefer a more benevolent Duncan. The Baron Harkonnen, a bloated, twisted parody of both King Lear mixed with Macbeth. His ruthless nephews, Rabban the Beast and Feyd Rautha the Fair, are caricatures of Goneril and Regan (or Malcolm and Macduff), but with their natures reversed.

What do we make of the final confrontation (still to come) between a supposedly outmatched Paul — now, revealed as Maud’Dib — and the preening, overbearing Feyd? They are, by default, Hamlet and Laertes, only in this context Hamlet/Paul prevails over the dashing Laertes/Feyd, who bites the Arrakeen dust in like manner, and in the same position, as Paul had dispatched his Fremen challenger Jamis (Spoiler alert, spoiler alert!).    

What of Shakespeare’s women, i.e., Hamlet’s “saintly” mother, Gertrude, and his off-again, on-again romance with girlfriend Ophelia? How about Claudius the adulterous king? Or Hamlet’s trusted confidant and friend, Horatio?

We see the Lady Jessica as Gertrude, who later becomes a Reverend Mother herself. Our old buddy, the Emperor Shaddam IV, is obviously Claudius; however, he’s no adulterer but more of a less compassionate monarch. And the sleepwalking Ophelia? To be honest, she can be split between the war maiden Chani (a veritable Wonder Woman, as previously observed), Paul’s official consort and concubine, and the haughty Princess Irulan, his spouse in name only. But we do get ahead of ourselves, don’t we?

Finally, war master Gurney Halleck can be viewed as Horatio, as can Duncan Idaho for that matter. Duncan will experience renewed vigor — call it a new lease on movie life — in the Sci-Fi Channel’s sequel Children of Dune. He’s played by another actor, though, which is about as far as we will go.

All of these parallels are worthy of note, especially when contrasted with the ludicrous David Lynch version from the mid-1980s. Lynch’s film is a freak show by comparison, neither true to its source nor high up on the classic sci-fi meter. As far as we can tell, Villeneuve’s 2021 Dune production, the first of two parts (the second of which will be released in October 2023), echoes many of writer-director John Harrison’s notions and visions for the Sci-Fi Channel’s edition. And why not, since Harrison appears to be listed as an Executive Producer on Villeneuve’s project.    

Size Matters (or Not)

“A sense of scope and distance and openness.” Harrison’s bold phrase starts off Disc Two of Dune. Yes, the look of the series has expanded to immense proportions, due mainly to its having been filmed in Prague, Czech Republic and on spectacular sound stages many meters high and many meters wide.

Paul and Jessica are in the high desert, alone but in their still suits. As we already know, Paul has been given his father’s ring, so in essence he is the new duke — Duke Paul Atreides, as it were. He’s also testing his newfound Bene Gesserit powers and abilities, in that he knows that his mother is pregnant with his baby sister, Alia. Whoa, how did he figure that one out? Hmm, that’s for viewers to discern!

Harrison reminisces about how the casting for the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV came about, in that actor Giancarlo Giannini and award-winning cinematographer Vittorio Storaro were “very good friends.” Which likely sealed the deal in Signor Giannini’s favor by being assigned the crucial part — ah, those lovable Italians!

There’s a heavy Oriental-Japanese influence in the Baron Harkonnen’s kimono-like outfits. Initially, Harrison wanted famed Tokyo-born art director/costume and graphic designer Eiko Ishioka to design the wardrobe. Unfortunately, she wasn’t available despite her interest. The honors went to Czech designer Theodor Pištěk, who came up with some lavish concepts that rightly fit the starkness of the Harkonnen’s décor. In addition, the samurai “look” of the Sardaukar soldiers added to the general feeling of medieval Japan under the shogunate.       

Meanwhile, Paul experiences visions of masses of hooded figures gathered as one, endlessly mouthing the chant “Muad’Dib, Muad’Dib.” Visions of a mysterious girl (Chani, of course) with glowing blue eyes, continue to cloud his mind, along with those of his dead father Leto charging him to make good use of desert power (here we go again!) — all of these occupy his thoughts and invade his private meditations.    

The mysterious girl, Chani (Barbora Kodetova), with piercing blue eyes appears in Paul’s dreams

Harrison and his team resume their discussion about charging the emotional content of a scene through lighting cues and subtext — from brightness to darkness — and how certain color schemes would affect Paul’s evolving nature: from petulant teenager to a leader of men; along with the religious fervor and one-track mindedness of a born savior, or a messiah if you will. These are all reflective of the staging, backlighting, computer graphics, etc. They all come together in believable, artful, and spectacular sets and soundstages.

Personally, I love the sheer theatricality of it all. For me, it smacks of science-fiction epic theater, of a stage play come to life. Perhaps, even an opera! Yes, a space opera!!!

Back on Arrakis, Paul and Jessica manage to outrun the gigantic sandworm. They narrowly miss being swallowed up when they hear a thumper sounding in the near distance. The sandworm dutifully follows the sound, thanks to the prudence of our Fremen allies. In the cave where they find refuge, Paul and Jessica encounter Stilgar and his sietch men. It’s here that the company is given a live demonstration of the mystical “Weirding Way” (courtesy of Lady Jessica) as she glides behind the unsuspecting Stilgar and handily subdues him, thus giving Paul time to find cover behind some rocks.

Thinking all is well, Paul is outed by the cagey Chani. Hah! There’s no sneaking past this girl, that’s for certain. Chani is the mysterious figure haunting Paul’s dreams, either in daytime or nighttime visions. Some gorgeous cycloramas are showcased as backdrops, in addition to glow globes that provide efficient lighting inside the caves. “Everything comes from natural sources,” Harrison claims.  

Instinctively, Jessica is aware they need to take advantage of Fremen mythology. We already know that much of this mythology was planted long ago by Bene Gesserit missionaries. Playing along with or, more commonly, subverting another race’s culture by using it for one’s own purpose smacks of our modern-day notion of cultural appropriation. In this instance, it’s more of a misappropriation.

To his shock and dismay, Paul gets called out by the hotheaded warrior Jamis (Christopher Lee Brown), who Paul bested in their initial encounter in the cave. Jamis must defend his “honor” in a duel to the death via hand-to-hand combat. Just as in Herbert’s tale, this is the pivotal moment where the young Atreides heir must show his mettle before his soon-to-be fellow Fremen. In this production, their fight foreshadows the final battle between Paul and Feyd, a trained killer, with the outcome not always in doubt but a real nail biter, nevertheless.

It’s a battle to the death between young Paul (left) and the Fremen follower Jamis (Christopher Lee Brown)

Yes, Paul kills Jamis with a crysknife, sculpted from a sandworm’s tooth and/or cartilage. He stabs Jamis through the chest, a horrible way to die. Yes, Paul will go on to kill many more victims, both the innocent and the guilty, in the jihad that is to come. For now, though, Paul has made his bones as the tribesmen mourn their loss. And to the victor go the spoils of war: they offer Paul the dead Jamis’ water, his life essence. But there’s no time to rest. Not while there’s a planet to be rescued. And the bloodthirsty Harkonnen to dispose of.

When news of Paul’s supposed “demise” hits the planet Kaikan, Princess Irulan is not amused. And she tells her father so. What’s a parent to do? You can’t please everybody, even a spoiled princess. But do not be fooled by her demeanor: Irulan is wiser and more perceptive at the game of politics than she is given credit for.

Still, the challenge of leadership must be upheld. It’s brutal, it’s barbaric, and there’s “No yielding, boy,” none at all. Paul must learn to kill and keep on killing. But by doing so, he gains the needed experience he had so far lacked under Gurney’s guidance. Where before there was never anyone who out-and-out died (that we know of), there will now be mass slaughter. Killing begets more killing. But where does it end, and at what point?

Such is war — even a holy war.

“The saga of Dune is far from over….”

(To be continued…) 

Copyright © 2022 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘I Will Face My Fear’ — The Mind-Killing Little Deaths of ‘Dune’ (Part Five): Something to Say

Comments All Around

The evil Baron Harkonnen (Ian McNeice) in the Sci-Fi Channel’s ‘Dune’ miniseries from 2000

Writer-director John Harrison, visual effects supervisor Ernest Farino, editor Harry Miller, and production team assistants Greg Nicotero and Tim McHugh participate in the audio commentary that accompanies the Special Edition Director’s Cut of Artisan’s three-disc DVD edition of Dune. The following represents an annotated transcription of their thoughts, opinions and viewpoints on the subject of Frank Herbert’s cinematic novelization.

Originally, the first scene of the Sci-Fi Channel’s three-night Dune series took place on the Harkonnen home planet of Giedi Prime, with the bad guy, the overly rotund Baron (Ian McNeice), pontificating at length about the plot, and the subsequent relationships between himself and the various characters. However, the consensus among these craftsmen became that audiences would rather see the “hero” (young Paul Atreides) right off the bat, the one who would emerge as the saga’s chief protagonist, ergo the one to root for.

This conceit might possibly have been rethought for the upcoming Denis Villeneuve version (soon to appear in theaters and online streaming). That remains to be seen. Usually, the bad guys tend to be the most interesting characters. Whether this is true or not is a matter of opinion. Certainly the “baddies” are notoriously the best acted and/or the sexiest members of the cast — at the least, that is the perception. If this holds true, then viewers are in for an exciting ride.

As previously indicated, sound stages in Prague, Czech Republic, were set up for the Sci-Fi Channel’s series and utilized in a quasi-operatic “stage style,” offset with trans-lights and green screens. Too, the lighting style was most effective as background. Accents, that is foreign accents, represented a jumble of Irish brogue and American English with regional Czech and/or Eastern European influences, along with cultivated British-speak and a touch of Scottish burr. Believe it or not, these were basically unplanned. To viewers’ good fortune, this United Nations-polyglot assemblage of makeshift “ambassadors” made for enriched performances.

The essence of a scene was preserved, the rule of thumb being, “Are we telling the story efficiently and quickly?” Sets were built to scale (remarkable in widescreen mode), with sufficient scope and size to impress home viewers, but not to overwhelm the actors. Wooden floors, beautifully crafted and constructed, stood out prominently, although some sequences were “adapted,” in Harrison words, with an eye toward “keeping the spirit of a scene.”

For instance, the Atreides bunch are different from the Harkonnens, in looks and bearing. Also, the soundscape was created to give the impression the capital city of Arrakeen was alive and present (even though sequences were shot on a soundstage). That clash of accents and the lack of intelligibility hampered the production crew at the start of filming, but they quickly overcame the hurdles (Miloš Forman’s Amadeus was also shot in Prague with a predominantly Czech crew and extras).

Hot reds, cool blues, warm browns — this color palette proved useful to the emotional content of the storytelling, as suggested earlier, plus the added advantage of elaborate costumes in support of this theme. These were employed in tandem with the exaggerated (the term “hyperbolized” was again voiced) lighting effects, which embodied the theatricality aspects the creators found to their liking. Subtle changes within scenes, temperature gradations and such, were, as noted, done in “concert with the script and the requirements, emotionally and plot-wise, of the story itself.”

Problems with noise and booms on the soundtrack necessitated redubs of dialogue to stress understanding and audibility, the result of lighting designer Vittorio Storaro’s use of sound boards — a clear example of the technical aspects of filmmaking clashing with the needs of the production.

FX – Special and Otherwise

One question that continued to crop up: How did the FX crew provide the glowing blue eyes of the Fremen, and of young Paul as Maud’ Dib? They determined that to paint each of the eyes digitally was not only impossible but unworkable — there were too many of them to begin with. Their solution? Contact lenses treated to reflect black light, thus making the spice’s effect believable as well as practical.

Other matters, for instance time-changing aspects, geared specifically to the novel, and those infamous interior monologues — the thing that bogged down the David Lynch production — were carefully considered. Instead, a straight-ahead, basically linear narrative was utilized to preserve clarity for the viewer. Writer Harrison opted for “suggestive motives” for the characters’ behavior or action. Where internalization was called for, a less subtle solution was applied.

Another FX challenge was the ornithopter or “thopter” for short, those insect-like flying contraptions with wings that flutter, in itself an aerodynamically implausible design and tricky to realize. As a compromise, the production crew went about modifying a delta-wing design that was split in the back to give the “sense” of flying wings without actually flapping in fact (as real-world insects would). This solution has been worked out, more or less successfully, in the 2021 Dune feature, which reverted to Frank Herbert’s original intensions for this airborne transport.

On a side note, the character of Liet Kynes, played by English actress Sharon Duncan-Brewster, the Dune planet’s so-called environmental “planetologist,” has undergone a gender as well as a color change to a Black female in director Villeneuve’s Dune production. In the context of this latest entry, these alterations make perfect sense: Zendaya, the young actress hired for the role Chani, is also dark-skinned. And as fans of the novel know, the warrior maiden Chani is revealed to be Kynes’ daughter. So, in terms of story, this gender-substitution actually helps the plot along rather than detracts from it.

Genealogically speaking, desert dwellers do tend to be darker skinned than their lighter-skinned counterparts. This would mean that, in general, North African and Middle Eastern residents have darker complexions so as to reflect the sun’s rays. In a similar light, Scandinavians, because of their colder climate, have blondish hair and much lighter skins, which tend to absorb sunlight.

Area 51, the FX specialists involved in the production, created a CGI-desert cyclorama that resembled the Prague stage set in most respects. The thopter, in the initial sandworm sequence at the start, really looked like a flying insect, all of them CGI effects that, according to the techies, took “weeks and weeks” of planning and work to get right.

Oftentimes, the FX shots were blended many weeks and months after the actors themselves have been shot. Composites were needed to be made that complemented what the actors were either referring to or looking at: i.e., those giant sandworms, in one instance. The right emotional quality must be matched and timed to perfection. Let it be known that the worm attacks, and several others later on, remain one of the most impressive in the Sci-Fi Channel’s 2000 version, a real accomplishment for early television CGI work. 

The Shadow of His Smile        

The shadow that crosses and divides Paul’s facial features as he and his father ride past a group of Fremen villagers indicates a split in Paul’s nature. At first, he is simply the son of Duke Leto Atreides. Later, Paul becomes the future savior of his people, thus the lighter and darker facets of his character are brought out and stressed, done literally with lighting. Both the danger and the serene aspects that reside within the younger Atreides, and that inevitably clash within him, have yet to take shape. That occurrence will shortly consume him, as his part in the nascent saga — at best, a very crucial part — emerges and develops.

Camera movement, sharp right angles for the Harkonnen, tilted, raked and distorted, along with that red and black color scheme, all factor in the visuals. There is a dark contrast between this brutish bunch and the earth-bound inhabitants of Arrakeen. This leads to Paul’s on-the-spot learning about Arrakis and the Fremen’s mythology. Harrison comments that several sequences in the book were combined and/or excerpted into others, principally (as stated earlier) for clarity. “The book is dense,” Harrison goes on to mention, and thick with symbolism, heavy with meaning. “The spice is everywhere.” And we should feel ourselves being enveloped by it.

Hunter-seekers, those tiny dart-like weapons, are everywhere as well. If one of them gets into your bloodstream it can disrupt the nervous system. One particular hunter-seeker meets a violent end in a water pitcher. This bold attempt to take Paul’s life is greeted with the appropriate action: an enraged Duke Leto issues an order to find the person responsible. “I want him alive. Alive!” the Duke demands. Unfortunately, his war master Gurney Halleck (P.H. Moriarty) disposes of the traitor all-too-handily. This sets up a conflict in which the audience is led to believe that Gurney could have turned on the Duke and his clan.

At the Atreides gathering that evening, a fancy ball is in progress. According to actor William Hurt, who embodied the elder Duke, he envisioned Leto as a “doomed character. And Leto knows it.” Ergo, Hurt played him that way. His focus and purpose was to prepare his son Paul to take over the reins of power and leadership. This inevitability, the fact that Paul’s father is on an irreversible course, makes Duke Leto out to be a mythic character, a “hero” in the classic sense — Achilles, Siegfried, Darth Vader, et al. Leto guides his son along a predestined path, to follow in his footsteps (to coin a cliched phrase) as the next in line for dukedom.

“Trust no one,” Leto admonishes. This limits Paul’s chances for intimacy with, well, basically everyone, even the captivating Princess Irulan. Who can he trust? Who can he confide in? It’s lonely at the top, isn’t it? And if the Harkonnen can kill within the palace walls, who is left to stop them?

‘To Be or Not to Be’: That’s a Question, Not an Answer

At the start of the saga, there were 244 FX shots. The special effects team ended up with over 600 shots! Ecology, as the main theme, took precedence. Interior monologues were eliminated, as previously asserted. Harrison continued to stress that he had to seek ways to externalize those monologues through action and dialogue. “Nothing slows a movie down like listening to a character’s thoughts,” he mused. For example: “Is there a traitor among our own?” This can be both an external idea and an internal one. Which way is better? There is no “right” answer. But one thing is certain: repetition breeds contempt for the process.

Gurney Halleck, the Duke and Paul’s protector, manages to convince young Atreides of his sincere love for his father. “Whiny, bratty and petulant” Paul, as described by Irulan and enacted by Alec Newman, learns to become a man. The commentary here indicates that Harrison was criticized for treating the character as a spoiled child at the start. Later, of course, Paul becomes a godlike messiah. Similarly, Luke Skywalker also began as an impetuous, adventure-seeking adolescent until, through circumstances out of his control, he acquired self-knowledge and realized his potential as a future Jedi master.

The hero’s journey, as Joseph Campbell phrased it, has come full circle.

Later that night, Paul has a vision of his father’s death. And Paul breaks down, weeping bitterly. At this juncture, Duncan Idaho (James Watson), one of Duke Leto’s most trusted advisers, introduces him to a potential ally: the distrusting, steely-eyed Stilgar. Paul’s transformation — his spiritual journey, as it were — is played out over three parts, or “acts.” He proves himself a worthy student of politics. And “Graeme Revell’s music carries the spirit of the story. It becomes a story element in itself” (as previously discussed in Part Four: https://josmarlopes.wordpress.com/2021/06/20/i-will-face-my-fear-the-mind-killing-little-deaths-of-dune-part-four/).

The  shot of the empty chair, an effective use of the lighting board (with lights going out on the chair itself) symbolizes the coming demise of Leto’s power and influence. Yet, the Duke continues to make sporadic appearances throughout the series, sometimes in Paul’s dreams, at other times in surreptitious circumstances.

He’s like the Ghost of Hamlet’s deceased father, murdered by his uncle Claudius, the current occupant of the throne and an adulterer to boot. In this context, Paul is Prince Hamlet, youthful, immature, unsure of what to do, unable to act. “To be or not to be?” To act or not to act? What to do? How to do it? And when? Indecisions, indecisions, always indecisions!

This all changes with his coming of age, as we shall see.

“The saga of Dune is far from over….”

(To be continued…) 

Copyright © 2021 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘I Will Face My Fear’ — The Mind-Killing Little Deaths of ‘Dune’ (Part Four)

Poster art for the Sci-Fi Channels’ 2000 miniseries based on Frank Herbert’s ‘Dune’

The Look, the Sound, the Tone

In the commentary section of Artisan’s 3-Disc DVD Special Edition Director’s Cut of Dune, writer-director John Harrison and his crew discuss the various aspects of pre- and post-production. Executive produced by Richard P. Rubinstein and Mitchell Galin, produced by David Kappes, and edited by Harry B. Miller III, the driving force behind this Special Edition was Harrison’s love for author Frank Herbert’s original vision and pervasive worldview.

“But because of different broadcast requirements required around the world,” Harrison wrote in his Director’s Statement, “the definitive version of what we created has never been released until now” (circa the year 2002, that is). In his longer-by-30-minutes letterboxed cut, “scenes are restored and minor structural adjustments have been made which, in my estimation, make it the complete rendering of the story.”

What a refreshing point of view! If only that sound bit of advice had trickled down to the likes of David Lynch and the De Laurentiis production team for their own expanded, mind-numbingly static, three-hour edition. Truth to tell, that elephantine reinvigoration of Dune was fated to bite the proverbial dust from which it came, extended scenes or not.

“Like many of my generation, I read and was strongly influenced by Herbert’s epic novel when I was young. [Here, here!] A serious, often difficult meditation on political, social, and religious ideas, Dune is not simply a book of fantasy and adventure. It’s a book of philosophy. Still, I always believed this story could be accessible to a wide audience. It may be classified [as] sci-fi, but I prefer to think of it as a romantic epic in the classic tradition; a timeless myth-fable, after all.”

There’s an inherent structural sense to Dune, that of a classic Greek tragedy (or, if you prefer, coming-of-age story), in between the lines of social commentary and/or interpretation, of that we can vouch for. And of the Hero of a Thousand Faces, i.e. Joseph Campbell’s path-breaking research into mythology, which heavily influenced a fledgling producer-writer-director named George Lucas for his Star Wars saga.

Harrison continued: “I also believe the themes of Dune are more relevant today than they were when Herbert first wrote the book. The world in which we now live is far closer to the universe he created than the bipolar cold-war world of the fifties and sixties. And I consider it my extreme good fortune and enormous responsibility to have had the chance to adapt the book. Along the way, I gained a deeper and richer appreciation of the world of Dune than I ever had before.”

Lady Jessica (Saskia Reeves) with her son, Paul (Alec Newman), in the 2000 miniseries ‘ Dune’

One couldn’t agree more. Indeed, our world has tipped ever-closer to the chaotic, for-profit business enterprises tied to governmental entities that pervade the Dune ethos than at any time in our history. “But while preparing to direct it, I also realized this Dune needed its own visual signature, its own singular identity. There has been a lot of discussion and speculation about the hyperbolized theatrical, almost operatic style of this version. It was a risky, unusual choice for a sci-fi epic. But without the artistry and the intrepid support of [the entire cast and crew]…, without the wealth of talent in all the roles, large and small, this Dune would have been simply ordinary.”

Far from being “simply ordinary,” as director Harrison phrased it, this version, initially prepared for European TV in a grandly stylized adaptation, fit Herbert’s themes to a comfortable T. In concluding his statement, Harrison expressed his thanks to all those “whose work is all over this production… For their efforts, their friendship and help, I’m extremely grateful, so that we could remain true to the spirit of Herbert’s monumental work at the same time we were fashioning an accessible and entertaining adventure. One that has a lot to tell us about our world, our society, and ourselves.”

The above statement was written and published in 2002, more than two decades after the original production debuted on the eve of the New Millennium. And, as noted above, our world has been tumbling into the chaotic free-for-all we are currently finding ourselves in. A world very much like that depicted in Herbert’s universe: where Spicing Guilds and religious zealots compete with ruthless authoritarian figures and bold individuals for dominance and profits.

As envisioned in Harrison’s concept, there is a boldly stylized look to go with the series. For example, on Kaitan, the Padishah Emperor’s home planet, the take is art nouveau, a touch of sophistication and classical refinement befitting of royalty, with lots of purple hues and swatches of blue. An elegance and refinement, by the way, that is in direct contrast to the plots and evil designs that lay beneath the surface textures. “Plans within plans,” you will recall.

On Giedi Prime, the Harkonnen home world, reds predominate as well as solid blacks. Raked camera angles, a more severe look, along with cutting-edge pieces of architecture and décor — all designed to provide the viewer with a sense of unease, an off-balance feeling, of something not quite right, a world askew.   

That red-tinged, raked stage look you get when watching the Sci-Fi Channel’s 2000 miniseries ‘Dune’

These are contrasted with the warmth of browns, tans, and earth tones on the planet Arrakis. In the capital city of Arakeen itself, this “elegance” theme is extended, offset against the harshness and dust of the ever-present desert, which has stood untouched for centuries, an ancient place with a history and a past. But does it have future? That remains to be seen.

As we transition to the Fremen, their sietches incorporate that “lived-in” look, of people who dwell in caves and rock-like dwellings. There is bas relief along their walls, and familiar images of the Jordan Desert. We get a sense, then, of who these people are and of how much they depend on each other for their survival. Again, sand and earth tones dictate the surroundings. They symbolize the Earth (our Earth, perhaps?) and the destruction that has been perpetrated on this world; the greed and the folly, the taking away of naturally occurring riches (that is, the Earth’s abundance), and replacing them with … well, basically nothing. This theme of depleting a planet’s natural resources is one that Herbert strove to ingrain into his work.

Shifting to choreography, the fight scenes are staged in a more stylized fashion than is usually the norm. Tai Chi, a Chinese martial art, but today practiced as a more-or-less graceful form of exercise where movements are performed in a slow, restricted, and flowing manner, are highlighted throughout. Although less exciting or stimulating than what Western audiences have been used to, they serve the purpose of introducing the viewer to an altogether different aesthetic.         

“Blue, I’m blue…” The Royal Palace setting for planet Kaitan, in the 2000 miniseries ‘Dune’

It is here, too, that audiences can begin to appreciate Harrison’s vision for Herbert’s work. As stated in the director’s recorded commentary, the story is about everyday concerns. Harrison has also tried to bring an historical feel to the proceedings. Human politics and the all-too-human search for something better, those are the basic precepts. They involve complexity and the undercurrent of storytelling, the search for meaning in a universe torn apart by strife; a quest for something more than plain old science-fiction, an action-adventure piece that is also a morality tale.

We can look at Dune in two ways: one, as allegory, where the concern is with the exterior; and two, as myth, where the concern is with the individual, or the interior. In Herbert’s conception, exterior forces clash with those of the interior. This clash or conflict leads to chaos or lack of comprehension, along with resistance to change (termed “inertia”) and the resultant imposition of order. A rigorous, physically and mentally abusive order, to say the least, one that prefers the mistreatment of the governed (or those do not bend to their will) as imposed by those who govern (the exterior purveyors of conflict). The breakdown of the social order, in this scenario, will be the inevitable outcome.

And what is the source of that conflict? We know of one (among many): the spice, which must “flow” at all costs. The other, and most crucial where man’s survival is concerned, happens to be water. In Dune, water is not appreciated by all, with the Fremen people being the sole exceptions. Its life-giving, life-affirming properties are misunderstood and, because water is so scarce, one must pay for the privilege of imbibing it. This “water motif,” such as it is, contrasts symbiotically with what we see on Arrakis, what Harrison indicates are those numerous “aquarium shots” of large, inlaid panels where H₂O is prominently exhibited as if it were a museum piece.      

One of many “aquarium shots” from the Sci-Fi Channel’s 2000 miniseries ‘Dune’

Interestingly, the water motif, and in contrast to this overall approach, is exemplified in the series’ music score. While the drama is rendered in flamboyantly theatrical fashion, New Zealand-born composer Graeme Revell propels the action along in varying styles. In Revell’s opinion, he did not want to emphasize any particular musical “theme” as such.

For instance, the House Atreides theme goes hand-in-hand with Paul’s journey. The Emperor’s theme takes a kind of warped, bourgeois approach, one out of sync with its surroundings (as the Emperor is out of sync with his people). And for the mysterious Navigator and the ideologically minded Reverend Mother, Revell employed some electronic music, with scoring for female chorus in the background.

A heavy concentration on ethnic music, of Middle Eastern motifs and sounds (the instrumentation is especially noteworthy, with flute and other wind instruments predominating), serve as timeless evocations of God and the deeper thoughts that have engulfed the Fremen and, by implication, the once and future Paul Atreides, henceforth to be known as Muad’Dib.  

“The saga of Dune is far from over….”

(To be continued)

Copyright © 2021 by Josmar F. Lopes

‘I Will Face My Fear’ — The Mind-Killing Little Deaths of ‘Dune’ (Part Three)

The studious Princess Irulan (Julie Cox) confers with Count Fenring (Miroslav Taborsky) in the Sci-Fi Channel’s 2000 miniseries ‘Dune’

Wonder Women

Powerful female figures are the themes of the day in the Dune stories. Indeed, the women are the grand plotters and instigators of the winding storyline. To his and the viewer’s good fortune, writer-director Harrison was especially blessed with having several fine actresses at his disposal for the Sci-Fi Channel’s 2000 presentation.

First among worthy participants is London-born artist Saskia Reeves, whose elegantly enacted Lady Jessica flawlessly captures all the nobility and astuteness of her key character, along with that slight but perceptible air of detachment even Shakespeare would not have hesitated to bestow upon his beloved heroines. (As we know, the Bard of Stratford-Upon-Avon was particularly fond of lacing his female protagonists with wit and wisdom.)

Reeves makes for a loving partner to the short-lived Duke Leto Atreides. Their scenes together turn out to be especially poignant the closer to impending disaster the winnowing plot starts to embroil them in. Later, she’s recruited to replace the elderly Fremen Reverend Mother. And later still, Jessica gives birth to her only daughter, Alia, who is Paul’s sister and addressed, by Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Gaius Helen (the admirably understated Zuzana Geislerová), as the Abomination. You’ll see what we mean when the time comes for the big reveal.

Lady Jessica (Saskia Reeves) studies the coat of arms that hangs in the Arraken Palace in the Sci-Fi Channel’s ‘Dune’

Speaking of which, Alia, played by Laura Burton, is quite the little mischief maker, isn’t she? If her vicious nature wasn’t the result of a liberal sprinkling of Naga Viper pepper inside Jessica’s womb, then I don’t know what is. Such a monstrous child would send shivers down anybody’s spine, were it not for the fact that Alia is a fierce defender of big brother Paul. That the infantile Ms. Burton steers the tiny tot in the proper direction (and succeeds in not making a meal out of her role) is a relief to all concerned.    

We’ve already discussed the charming Julie Cox as Princess Irulan, whose part is pleasantly expanded in Children of Dune. My, my, what a supremely gifted politician and strategist our little princess has turned out to be. And Ms. Cox is a constant joy to watch. She lights up the television display whenever she’s on screen — and in any number of fancy getups.

Another excellent cast member is Barbora Kodetová as fearless warrior Chani, the Fremen daughter of Imperial Planetologist Dr. Liet Kynes (a particularly inscrutable Karel Dobrý) and later Paul Muad’Dib’s official concubine. A native of Prague, Ms. Kodetová brought a naturalness to her assignment, along with a fierce determination and drive. The guiding force of her persona, and her steadfast belief in Paul as the savior of her people and planet, propel the story along through the twists and turns of the intertwining plot.

As a result, Chani remains credible throughout, her motherly instincts to protect her family uppermost in her thoughts and actions. In many ways, Chani is a rival to both Lady Jessica and the Princess Irulan (especially to mother-in-law Jessica), despite never directly competing with either of them. No, Chani’s more subtle than that. She doesn’t avoid conflict entirely, mind you, but manages to escape harsh criticism even when events turn against her.    

The Fremen warrior Chani (Barbora Kodetova), her eyes glowing blue, marvels at her consort, Paul Atreides, in ‘Dune’

Chani, too, is redeemed in the end, but we won’t find that out until the Children of Dune series kicks in.

Gloom, Then ‘Dune’

Nothing can redeem the unremitting ugliness and ultimately senseless spectacle of Lynch’s mid-1980’s adaptation of the saga. Who knows what evil lurked in the hearts of men, or possessed the artist-director’s waking thoughts in the midst of this unmitigated disaster. Many blamed executive producer, Dino De Laurentiis, and his producer daughter Raffaella for chopping the picture down to (ahem) “manageable” levels — movie-speak for making a quicker buck.

All the stories you’ve heard about this adaptation of Dune are (and aren’t) based on fact. At the time, this long-awaited 1984 release got a much-needed-yet-perplexing big-screen reworking from Lynch, who admitted later that he hadn’t really read the novel (how’d that work out for you?). Why, even fans of Herbert’s dense work were dismayed at the resultant mishmash of Middle Eastern philosophy, Zen Buddhism, corporate greed, political machinations, religious fanaticism, and seventies pro-ecological concerns — that is, if one could make out any of these themes in the gumbo soup mix.  

Regardless, the viewer is left wanting at every turn. The film’s basic problem, among a veritable multiplicity of inconsistencies, is the presence of too many parallel plots and too few explanations in a two-hour-and-seventeen-minute time slot. If anything, this Dune was doomed from the outset. In the first place, it has little narrative clarity with, as hitherto mentioned, much of the dialogue spoken in endless, tiresome voiceovers. We’re given scraps of information in the mouths of underdeveloped characters, many of whom either enter or exit at a frenetic pace, spouting gobs of pseudo-scientific gibberish in between dollops of unintelligible twaddle.         

Paul Atreides (Kyle MacLachlan) prepares to do battle in Lynch’s ‘Dune’ (1984)

So many wrong turns are taken, most noticeably in the makeup and design departments, that it boggles the mind as to how certain scenes managed to avoid winding up on the cutting-room floor. Is that really Kenneth McMillan as a warty, boil-covered, and spittle-spouting Baron Harkonnen? (By the way, the name is pronounced HAR-konnen, with stress on the first syllable.) He’s evil incarnate, all right, and he uses his voice in unexpectedly wicked ways. (How did he learn about the Weirding Way?) But don’t you think he’s a little TOO obvious to be truly effective as the villain? Who, in their right mind, would fall for such a venomous beast?

Oh, and what about rocker Sting as the Baron’s nefarious nephew Feyd Rautha, emerging nearly naked from his steam bath and wearing a metal jockstrap? How much did they have to pay him to do THAT? A six-hour photo session at the Cannes Film Festival would have sufficed and gotten more bang for the buck. In essence, Sting’s presence is strictly for show: It amounts to a virtual walk-on (screaming “I will kill him!” at the top of his lungs), yet he’s top-billed all the same, a clear case of caveat emptor. Worst of all, Sting substitutes smirking for acting — never a good choice in the best of times.

Feyd Rautha (the notorious Sting) in his silver-plated codpiece (!) by way of Lynch’s ‘Dune’

Not to be too critical about it, there are “some” redeeming features inherent in this mess. One of the best is the young Kyle MacLachlan in his screen debut as Paul. Kyle was 25 at the time of filming, even though the character, as Herbert conceived him, is supposed to be all of 15. Outside of that faux pas, Kyle convinced most skeptical critics and viewers that Paul was indeed a messianic figure-to-be. He radiates magnetism, which is essential if the character is to avoid pomposity.

In the FX department, those massive sandworms are indeed impressive, as is the score (composed and performed by the American band Toto), with the so-called “Prophecy Theme” credited to Brian Eno of ex-Roxy Music fame. Unfortunately, the music hardly ever varies, playing consistently in the background, droning on and sputtering about at assorted frequencies with little contrast or nuance. A non-stop tape loop would have been enough.

With McMillan’s disgusting portrayal of Baron Harkonnen (a fierce presence throughout and spot-on casting) and that of MacLachlan, the rest of the international cast, including an uncomfortable Jürgen Prochnow (Duke Leto Atreides), lovely Francesca Annis (Lady Jessica), bushy-browed Freddie Jones (Thufir Hawat), bald-pated Sian Phillips (the Reverend Mother), Richard Jordan (Duncan Idaho), and Max von Sydow (Liet Kynes), gets short shrift. They try mightily to overcome the pervasive dreariness of the surroundings, to little avail. In fact, Jordan’s Idaho, an important character, comes and goes with little afterthought.

Also left adrift in space are veterans José Ferrer (Emperor Shaddam IV) and Dean Stockwell (Dr. Yueh), newcomer Sean Young (Chani), nervous Brad Dourif (Pieter De Vries), tiny Linda Hunt (Shadout Mapes), a wasted Virginia Madsen (Princess Irulan), and a pre-Next Generation Patrick Stewart as weapons master Gurney Halleck.

The special effects are nothing to brag about, really, and surprisingly sub-standard (cheesy would be a better designation) considering the exorbitant funds that were supposedly expended. Indeed, the strangest effect of all comes from the peculiar apparition known as the Navigator, which resembles a free-floating talking epiglottis (I thought it looked more like a giant vagina, but that’s for my analyst to decide). Is that a New York City subway car it’s riding? For goodness sake, let’s have MORE of this kind of risible dreck, shall we?

Emperor Shaddam IV (Jose Ferrer) meets with the Navigator: A one-way subway ride for both, in Lynch’s ‘Dune’

Lynch’s film does retain a certain cult following, if you can believe that. However, it’s hideous to look at, lugubrious in pacing, and fairly incomprehensible story-wise to all but those intimately familiar with the book. By the way, the film should have come with a warning label in that it took untold liberties with its source. The DVD/Blu-ray edition (the one in the metal box) includes an additional hour of footage used in the special TV-showing. It’s credited to the pseudonymous Allan Smithee. As for Lynch, he has disowned this version.

“The saga of Dune is far from over….”

(To be continued)

Copyright © 2020 by Josmar F. Lopes