In a universe of addicts, Paul Atreides becomes Messiah, living a self-fulfilling prophecy of doom, a flesh and blood godhead seeking righteous vengeance and control of the ubiquitous spice melange. This is a film that travels without moving. Director David Lynch has diluted the pure essence of Frank Herbert’s Magnum Opus, watered down the narrative power of this intense infernal conflict and created a mirage that shimmers with vaporous substance. This flawed epic is not without its merits: Lynch’s unique imagery is prevalent in nearly every frame with grand set designs, surreal and prescient flash-forwards revealing characters and events, a disease-ridden Vladimir Harkonnen (looking similar to Joseph Merrick) and the Mugwump inspired Guild Navigator floating in his melange prison. DP Freddie Francis’ use of color and composition captures the intricate set deigns in vivid detail, splashing the image with sickening, puss weeping pustules.
Lynch begins the film with Princess Irulan’s exposition, a dire forewarning that this complex plot will become a sandstorm of dialogue. The film’s structure collapses under its own convoluted and self-important weight, never able to focus on one character or create empathetic contact. The characters spout inane speeches with utmost zeal while taking little action, which grinds this narrative machinery to a screeching halt. It’s like a satire of a science fiction film without humor, where the tropes are played with the utmost hyperbole. It also seems like a documentary, thick with exposition and detail from voice over and internal monologues. There is no tension or suspense, only a cold and dispassionate chain of events. Kyle MacLachlan is the young heir offering an impassive and emotionless performance, with his 80’s hairdo never out of place. The film touches upon specific plot points without really understanding them (or explaining them) and completely severs the anti-religious element: a cruel cinematic sacrifice for a two-hour run time.
Though visually magnificent at times, the film becomes plot without story. The cast is wonderfully strange and eclectic, from Sting to Linda Hunt, Jurgen Prochnow to Max Von Sydow and Brad Dourif. The problem is that the story is too big to develop characters or relationships, so everyone has to paint their part with broad brushstrokes. And yet, this fever dream is filtered through David Lynch’s psyche and is always interesting to look at, to observe and marvel at the bizarre eloquence like a Hieronymus Bosch painting come to life. There’s even a certain charm to the Toto guitar score, subdued guitars like static electricity in a dust storm. Overall, DUNE may be too watered down to fully immerse the viewer in this desert world, but it’s crazy as fuck.
Final Grade: (B-)
