Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part Two is a triumphant—and tragic—look at the cost of power.
Paul Atreides, the central figure of the Dune series, is a very special boy. This is something the audience is told over and over, both in Frank Herbert’s first, totemic sci-fi novel and the Denis Villeneuve film adaptations that bifurcate its intricate narrative into two sand-swept epics. The first installment of Dune was all about Paul’s potential, surrounding him with vague prophecies of his future as an almighty conqueror while making him a refugee on the hostile planet Arrakis. Dune: Part Two sees that potential realized, transforming Paul from a stranger in a strange land into its messianic ruler. This journey is appropriately triumphant—and, just as important, tragic and terrifying.
That’s what Villeneuve has consistently understood about Herbert’s books, which prior adaptations of Dune struggled to surface. Dune does follow a typical hero’s quest, with Paul surviving against all odds to become a great warrior and exact revenge for the death of his father. But through it all, Paul is conscious of the loss of humanity that comes with such victories, and the grievous human calculations demanded by the politics of war and resistance. Villeneuve’s film is a grand success, working on an even broader canvas than the first Dune—but it’s tinged with deep mournfulness, a quality that sets it apart from its blockbuster contemporaries.
Dune: Part Two picks up right where the previous film left off, with Paul (played by Timothée Chalamet) and his mystic mother, Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), joining a group of guerrilla warriors called the Fremen in the arid landscape of Arrakis. His family and allies have otherwise been annihilated by a rival aristocratic house called the Harkonnens, a hairless, pitiless cadre of fascists. So Paul assimilates into the Fremen world, learning to survive in the desert, ride the gigantic sandworms that populate it, and eventually gain enough local cred to woo Chani (Zendaya), a Fremen woman tasked with mentoring him.
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The first Dune was intent on laying out the complex royal intrigue of House Atreides’ arrival on Arrakis, but much of Dune: Part Two is about the nuances of Fremen life. Villeneuve is a director who cherishes the little details; he imbues his movies with an environmental fullness that rewards repeat viewings, and the joys of this film mostly come through Paul’s gradual understanding of a world so unlike his own. Javier Bardem brings some gruff humor to the role of Stilgar, the Fremen leader who takes Paul in, but it’s Zendaya who gets the plum role here, with Chani’s status greatly expanded beyond her function in the novel (where she is largely a secondary character).
Chani and Paul’s romance is the emotional core of Dune: Part Two, but it’s also Villeneuve’s route for smuggling in skepticism about Paul’s growing power—something Herbert’s book only hinted at before expanding on it in future volumes. As the viewer is repeatedly informed, Paul is the alleged “Kwisatz Haderach,” a long-prophesied savior blessed with staggering psychic abilities. As Paul’s authority expands, however, Chani foresees doom at the end of his vengeful path, and wisely realizes that messiahs are often just another form of dictator. Zendaya has always overflowed with natural charisma, and this is the best performance I’ve seen her give on-screen. Chani balances her genuine affection for Paul with her terror of what he’s becoming, essentially functioning as the film’s beating heart as its supposed hero becomes more and more of an alien overlord.
Chalamet is equally prepared for that challenge—although perfectly winning in the first Dune, he leans here into Paul’s remoteness, and unleashes waves of arresting magnetism where necessary. Dune: Part Two is about the burden of leadership, and it demonstrates that by having Paul feel relatable as the film begins and completely inscrutable by the end, better at commanding a crowd of thousands than talking to his closest allies. Where later, inspired-by works such as Star Wars smoothed Herbert’s novels into something more predictably heroic, Dune is filled with menace, even when the “good guys” start winning.
Still, it’s hard not to root for Paul given the state of the bad guys. Stellan Skarsgård continues to have grumbly fun as the imposing Baron Harkonnen, with Dave Bautista barking madly as his despotic nephew Glossu “Beast” Rabban. The worthiest new addition is Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, a knife-wielding princeling who fancies himself to be Paul’s archenemy. Villeneuve shoots the Harkonnen-home-planet sequences in intensely contrasted black and white, lending a brutal starkness that makes Arrakis’s deserts seem almost welcoming. Butler brings a lot of psychotic joy to the proceedings, never letting Villeneuve’s seriousness overwhelm a bit of B-movie villainy.
There are plenty of other eye-catching additions to the cast—Christopher Walken as the taciturn emperor, Florence Pugh as his chain-mail-wearing daughter. But the biggest star of Dune: Part Two may be its immersive environment: the giant ships landing and taking off, the colossal sandworms who rampage without a care in the world for imperial politics. Anytime the viewer might get tripped up by the proper nouns, Villeneuve is there to strike them with the power of Herbert’s universe. If there’s a film that can justify—and satisfy—such absurd storytelling scale, it’s this one.
Dune: Part Two Is Bigger, Better, and Sandier
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28.02.2024
Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part Two is a triumphant—and tragic—look at the cost of power.
Paul Atreides, the central figure of the Dune series, is a very special boy. This is something the audience is told over and over, both in Frank Herbert’s first, totemic sci-fi novel and the Denis Villeneuve film adaptations that bifurcate its intricate narrative into two sand-swept epics. The first installment of Dune was all about Paul’s potential, surrounding him with vague prophecies of his future as an almighty conqueror while making him a refugee on the hostile planet Arrakis. Dune: Part Two sees that potential realized, transforming Paul from a stranger in a strange land into its messianic ruler. This journey is appropriately triumphant—and, just as important, tragic and terrifying.
That’s what Villeneuve has consistently understood about Herbert’s books, which prior adaptations of Dune struggled to surface. Dune does follow a typical hero’s quest, with Paul surviving against all odds to become a great warrior and exact revenge for the death of his father. But through it all, Paul is conscious of the loss of humanity that comes with such victories, and the grievous human calculations demanded by the politics of war and resistance. Villeneuve’s film is a grand success, working on an even broader canvas than the first Dune—but it’s tinged with........
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