Unless you count the mythopoetic but ultimately shallow Star Wars movies, I came to science fiction through one portal and one only: David Lynch’s Dune. Sure, discovering Tolkien at age six had me firmly locked into fantasy. And staying up late with my dad to watch reruns of Star Trek or Doctor Who had paved the way. In all likelihood I’d have delved into SF sooner or later. But I came sooner, and it was via the catastrophic but strangely effective (for me) Dune.
The prospect of adapting Frank Herbert’s seminal novel had been bandied about for a number of years. The pop phenomenon of Star Wars gave the studios incentive to explore SF more seriously, and Universal believed enough in Dune to shell out 45 million dollars—a third again the size of Return of the Jedi’s budget. When the movie’s take petered out at just over 27 million, there was blame enough to go around. In an attempt to recoup some of their losses via a TV version, the bigwigs swept up some scenes from the cutting room floor, pasted them back in and added a longer introduction, narrated to a slideshow of still paintings. Writer/director David Lynch (who actually turned down Return of the Jedi for Dune) disowned the 190 minute version, comparing his ‘betrayers’ to both Judas Iscariot and John Wilkes Booth. In return, his name was taken off it. As for urban myths about a multi-hour director’s cut, keep on dreaming.
Why did the movie fail? The source material is as rich as anything a camera has ever laid eyes on. The lure of it has since occasioned an effort by the Sci Fi channel to produce a miniseries debatably better than Lynch’s. The tale’s very richness may be the key. Nowhere is this more evident than in the preponderance of exposition throughout Lynch’s movie. It begins with Princess Irulan (Virginia Madsen) expounding the setting, a feudal empire spanning the galaxy, and the spark of conflict, the spice—a natural resource essential and irreplaceable for transportation. This is followed by the first scene of the film, an invention of Lynch’s necessary to convey yet more exposition. The powerful Spacing Guild, which monopolizes transportation, pays a visit to the Emperor Shaddam IV (Jose Ferrer). It has discovered his plot to destroy the House of the increasingly popular Duke Leto Atreides (Jurgen Prochnow) by assigning him to the planet Dune, where the precious spice originates. There, the Atreides will be destroyed by their bitter rivals House Harkonnen, led by the gross Baron Vladimir (Kenneth McMillan), who will secretly employ imperial troops. The Guild is disinterested, as long as the spice continues to flow. However, they insist that Duke Leto’s son Paul (Kyle MacLachlan in his first role) also be killed.
The stage set for political double-crossing, the action (at last!) begins with the Emperor’s consort, the Bene Gesserit Reverend Mother Mohiam (Sian Phillips), determining to investigate Paul before he falls prey to the scheme. The Bene Gesserit have their own agenda, arranging the selective breeding of humans to produce a supreme being, and the suspicion is that Paul might be it. Not long after Paul passes her first tests, House Atreides leaves for Dune, the desert planet. Before they can win the allegiance of the fierce Fremen natives, the Harkonnens and imperial troops strike. Paul and his mother, the Lady Jessica (Francesca Annis) escape and receive refuge in the desert with the Fremen leader Stilgar (Everett McGill). Paul is soon accepted as the Fremen’s promised messiah, and jihad begins, Paul seeking vengeance, the Fremen independence.
The plot is simply too big for one film (even with important scenes and characters like the banquet and Count Fenring being cut). And Lynch tries to include too much of it. His quest for faithfulness even extends to mimicking Herbert’s style. Characters’ thoughts are often audible, imitating Herbert’s extravagant use of interior monologue. And if one film isn’t big enough to contain the action of this book, it hardly has a chance of even touching on the meanings. Themes varying from fossil fuel dependence to ecological manipulation to genetic manipulation to cultural evolution to concubinage to mythology to religious fanaticism to time-space theory to mind-altering drugs are all crammed into this framework of political intrigue. Is it any wonder one who hasn’t read the novel feels like they’ve asked for a drink and Lynch has opened the fire hydrant? This movie isn’t slow and boring because nothing’s going on. It’s slow and boring because you’re the only one in the room who isn’t speaking the same language. Many scenes come off limping melodramatically because the audience hasn’t been effectively prepared to experience them.
Despite the irredeemableness of these flaws, the movie has strong points. Much of the acting is decent, considering the limitations of the writing. McLachlan’s Paul and Annis’s Jessica are good. McMillan’s Vladimir Harkonnen is appropriately cartoonish, as is Sting’s (yes, that Sting) Feyd-Rautha. Patrick Stewart’s small role of Gurney Halleck is in keeping with that actor’s talent. McGill’s Stilgar and especially Prochnow’s Leto are the best performances, grim and reserved but passionate. The only major disappointment is Sean Young as a depthless Chani.
Beyond the acting, the film’s most impressive aspect is visual. And I’m not talking cinematography and locations, though those are mostly nice. I’m talking sets, costumes, make-up. I even like the script used for the title and opening credits. This film has style in a real sense. The Bene Gesserit and Guild respectively have very goth and industrial looks. Lacy, gauzy long black dresses and black leather suits with metal attachments, both crowned with shorn heads. The imperial opulence is reminiscent of old European royalty, complete with martial uniforms recalling the eighteenth century and low-cut but billowy dresses for the ladies. The Atreides, in contrast, are more utilitarian. The men’s uniforms are more early twentieth-century and Jessica’s severe dress is tight, with a high neckline. Atreides colors are green with red, Harkonnen cold and blue. A young(er) Sting stepping out of a steam bath wearing only a blue steel speedo is mentionable for the female audience.
The costuming is not the only contribution to the fetish atmosphere. Hints of the Baron’s perversity abound as he bathes in blood, tortures slaves, and trembles with lust for his nephew Feyd. Jessica and her son Paul use the ‘voice’ to encourage their captors to rape her while she’s bound. Blue and black leather is everywhere, as are knife fights, shaved heads, giant worms, and spit. I’m surprised Lynch balked at portraying the drug-induced orgy Herbert implies in the novel (thank heaven for the restriction of MPAA ratings).
The representations of computer displays are excellent, by far the best of the era. Conversely, the space vistas are pathetic throwbacks. The visualization of the stillsuits is perfect (save the lack of hoods) and will always be the standard. The worms are done well for the most part, though toward the end they’re given too much camera time and faults start to appear. The special effects overall are a mixed bag. The ‘voice’ power of the Bene Gesserit can be annoying, though I don’t know how better to represent it on film. The climactic battle is generally disappointing after the miracles of Industrial Light and Magic. Musically, the film was lackluster. The best pieces are mostly unassuming orchestrals that suggest the desert, the worst include a song by Toto.
A word must be spared for Lynch’s greatest change to the novel, the invention of the Weirding Modules. Herbert’s conception of the Weirding Way was of a mystical mental training including martial arts. Lynch sometimes seems to tap into this, but largely replaces it with a gadget: weapons that turn vocalizations into ammunition. The idea is interesting enough, and of all the things I’ve read from Herbert he never complains about it (he spends his time complaining that Lucas stole ideas from the Dune universe for the Star Wars universe). But it’s ultimately a gimmick, out of place in a setting where technology is largely downplayed.
The vivid style of the costumes and imagery, the perverse Harkonnens, the messianic motifs, and even some of the better lines, such as Leto’s speech ("Without change something sleeps inside us, and seldom awakens"), left an indelible imprint on me that remains to this day. And yet I cannot help but recognize the film as a failure. It plods, it’s dense, obtuse, inaccessible. Guilty pleasure or painful chafing I’m not sure, but I have a soft spot for this film. I might even say I like it. But I don’t watch it. When I do I find myself bored, underwhelmed. Quite simply, the movie doesn’t work. And yet, on some level, it must. Because as a child I internalized it. I suspect it’s the power of the novel shining through. Lynch understood his source material. His failed attempt at expressing it in film had just enough hints at its greatness to affect me.
- Panguitch
(As a boy I had a Beast Rabban action figure. He stood about six inches tall and came with a big revolving gun and the stock Harkonnen helmet. A switch in his back made his arms move. I have no clue where he is now, but I suspect he’s stupidly bullying whatever other toys he comes across, never realizing his even fatter uncle plots to replace him with a svelte Sting/Feyd doll—whose clothes will undoubtedly fall off at the flick of a switch.)
My review of John Harrison's 2000 Dune miniseries. My review of Frank Herbert's original novel.
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