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 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 a 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.
Speaking of which, Alia, played by Laura Burton, is quite the little monster, 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 gift 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. 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 intertwining plot twists and turns.
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 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.
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 plot lines 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.
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've 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.
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 this 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, groaning on and sputtering about at assorted frequencies with little contrast or nuance. A non-stop tape loop would have sufficed.
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), Francesca Annis (Lady Jessica), bushy-browed Freddie Jones (Thufir Hawat), 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. 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?
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 mid-nineties 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