The premise for the science-fiction novel Dune revolves around the manufacture and exploitation of melange. A kind of hallucinatory and highly addictive substance, this drug-like "spice" can only be found on the desert planet Arrakis (Iraq?). It is much coveted throughout the known universe for its miraculous "psychic" properties (i.e., mind expansion, healing, past and future visions, folding space, good vibes, what-have-you).
Spice is what makes the world of Dune go 'round. It's the most sought-after element of its kind. As the plot thickens and expands (in accompaniment to Baron Harkonnen's girth, as it were), we learn where the spice's origins lie - in the belly of those giant sandworms - and what other properties it holds for the user: some good, of course, but much that is bad (even deadly).
Former journalist and author Frank Herbert's novel and subsequent follow-up works delved deeper into this theme (that of drug dependence, for one), soon to be a common enough thread from the 1970s and beyond. But it also raised issues around the evolving 1960s environmental movement, as well as those of ecology, politics, philosophy, economics, militarism, religion, mysticism, and metaphysics.
Constructed primarily from various sources, including two earlier novellas, Dune World and The Prophet of Dune, that first appeared in Analog magazine between 1963 and 1965, Dune was the author's second novel (after The Dragon in the Sea in 1955). Although the story itself takes place in a far distant future (the year 10,140 AG in the 23 rd millennium), the main structure governing the ruling body known as the Landsraad (comprised of the Great Houses of Atreides, Harkonnen, Corrino, etc.) was that of medieval feudalism. (Note the similarities to George R.R. Martin's Game of Thrones series.)
Politics, religion, and monied corporate interests clash and intermingle to great effect, with the combined forces of the CHOAM Corporation and the Spacing Guild - its monopoly on space travel being of particular consequence and interest - in symbiotic opposition to the demands of the all-female dominated Bene Gesserit who wields religious power and influence.
In order for the Spacing Guild to profit from and succeed with their mining operation, swift and stable transportation has become essential. Thus the increased need for more and more spice, especially among the so-called Navigators, who were once very much human but have been transformed (through the ingesting of spice) into prescient beings capable of interstellar travel. The Navigators' ability to fold space has strengthened the Spacing Guild's hold on both interplanetary voyages and banking enterprises. These achievements have also consolidated the Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV's power base, which should make him a very happy man. Shouldn't they?
You would think these incredible strides would have brought peace and tranquility to a warring universe. Not a chance. And no matter what advances have been made, human nature has not been transformed by them. Jealousy, distrust, and avarice continue to reign supreme. Grabbing hold of and maintaining power at all costs is an all-consuming passion among the Great Houses. The Emperor is envious of Duke Leto Atreides' growing popularity. The Baron Harkonnen hates House Atreides for past slights. And the Bene Gesserit sisterhood is wary of the Emperor's motives, as are the Spacing Guild and their ilk. To put it bluntly, trust is at an all-time low.
By contrast, there's the Fremen. A desert people of human origin, the Fremen are fierce fighters, independent thinkers, and religious zealots of a nonconformist kind. They operate on their own turf, that of the blisteringly hot sand dunes of Arrakis, and under their own rules of engagement. For them, pride and fanaticism are a viable way of life - and of death. Compare their nature to that of the warlike Klingons of the Star Trek universe. Herbert modeled the Fremen after the Bedouin tribespeople of North Africa. Surely, the influence of Lawrence of Arabia (both the historical figure and the 1962 epic) are worth noting.
Mighty warriors, proud and defiant, and loyal to their leader and to one another (but only to a point) - these are the Fremen. In the novel, one sietch (or cave dwelling) of Fremen is led by their chieftain, the naib (or "sovereign ruler") Stilgar (Uwe Ochsenknecht), a major ally in the fight against tyranny. Whoever can harness the Fremen and their untested "desert power" will lord it over everyone.
Among these seemingly simple people there is a myth, a legend of sorts boasting of an invincible warrior, an off-worlder of all things. This legend has a name: the Kwisatz Haderach, or "the one who can be in many places at once." Could Paul be that person, the Mahdi, the "Rightly Guided One," whose return has been prophesied for eons?
Part of the fascination readers and fans continue to have with Herbert's coming-of-age story is learning how and why the young and impressionable Paul Atreides is able to overcome the adversity that surrounds him; to rise above the din and take his rightful place as the sought-after Kwisatz Haderach.
'Dune,' and DoomThe wait for the definitive screen adaptation of the saga, then, has indeed been a long and tedious one. Still, the Sci-Fi (aka Syfy) Channel's 2000 miniseries Dune and its sequel, Children of Dune, are, in our humble opinion, the closest thing so far to author Herbert's singular vision - and galaxies ahead of anything that has come before.
Though shot in a studio, with a predominantly Czech Republic film crew and supporting cast, this is clearly the best of the lot - so far as what's currently available, that is. Will Warner Brothers' highly touted big-screen version, slated for October 1, 2021 live-streaming via HBO Max and a later theatrical release, be the Kwisatz Haderach of cinematic treatments? Or will it die another little death?
That remains to be seen (literally).
An impressive cast would lend credence to any Dune project. While there are few truly "name" performers in the Sci-Fi Channel's 2000 ensemble, the hulking presence of lead actor William Hurt as Duke Leto Atreides and Italian film veteran Giancarlo Giannini as Emperor Shaddam IV are a start.
Hurt is low-key, as was his wont, his speech measured (some might say "mannered") and reserved, at times to the point of stiffness. Hurt embodies the thinking man's hero, a pensive soul of "noble" character and birth, and the upholder of all that's right with the world. Leto is righteous and right-minded, and that's a good thing.
One of my favorite Hurt performances is his smash screen debut as Edward Jessup, the Dr. Jekyll/Mr. Hyde pathologist in British director Ken Russell's Altered States (1980). Hurt is a research scientist who experiments with mind-altering drugs (no, not spice) and isolation tanks, which transform him into a primal man-ape - sort of the evolutionary process in reverse. He brings the same sort internalized intensity to Leto as he did with Jessup. Too, his American accent underlines the class differences between himself and his subjects.
Giannini's fiery temperament and established screen presence give a lift to the scheming Emperor Shaddam IV. That Mediterranean tendency to overreact, showed to director Lina Wertmuller in such classics as Love and Anarchy, Swept Away and Seven Beauties, is toned down somewhat. Nevertheless, Giannini is the genuine article and a first-class acquisition, one that added stature and legitimacy to Harrison's work.
Scottish-born actor Alec Newman (a Glasgow native) plays Paul Atreides. Only 26 at the time, Newman convinced viewers of his ability to metamorphize into young Paul's persona: from that of a petulant teenager to a serious-minded freedom fighter. Note how the makeup and hair design departments changed Newman's hairstyle to give the impression of early youth. Later, Paul, now a mature adult, has his hair brushed back. You can see his spine stiffening as he assumes his proper place. Alec employed a convincing American accent as well. And once this hurdle was met and overcome, the rest of the cast fell into place (more on that later).
As writer/director John Harrison envisioned, the overall methodology for the Dune miniseries was simple: It was to be played more like a repertory piece, a daring experiment that, after multiple viewings, I find to be endlessly fascinating and unique; a workable and less expensive solution that gives the story dramatic heft and a flavor all its own. One can easily apply the hackneyed term "operatic" in describing the look and sound of the piece, but that's too pat an answer.
To what do we attribute this starkly innovative approach? I like to think that the propitious hiring of Academy Award-winning cinematographer Vittorio Storaro, a certifiable genius, was the determining factor in giving Dune the push and feel of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre on Stratford-upon-Avon. Storaro's basic color scheme - sand and earth tones for Arrakis (the desert planet Dune), harsh reds and inky blacks for Giedi Prime (the Harkonnen home world), and a cool blue-white palette for Kaitan (the Emperor's realm) - serve the purpose of associating the principal players with their surroundings and environment. In some cases, their very personalities are hinted at, with occasional scenic and lighting modifications such as you would find in actual live theater.
This "theatrical aesthetic" is present throughout Harrison's version, with particular emphasis on the writing. We all worship and laud those wonderful Shakespearean soliloquys: "To be or not to be" and "O, what a rogue and peasant slave am I," from Hamlet's lips to the audience's ears. These are only two of the more familiar ones. There's also Macbeth's "Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow." And how about, "Friends, Romans, countrymen! Lend me your ears!" from Julius Caesar?
Harrison, surprisingly and to his credit, does away with soliloquys altogether. Instead, we're given the gist of Paul's "I must not fear" speech. But the rest are only hinted at or expressed in strictly visual terms, or through the mouths and eyes of the other actors.
Compare this technique with the endless, internal monologues demanded by producers Raffaella and Dino De Laurentiis for David Lynch's version, most of which are spoken in whispered voiceovers. Without the benefit of closed captioning, however, these mini-speeches would be unintelligible to human ears (I know. I've tried listening without them). The unremitting torpor and tediousness of this practice takes Lynch's interpretation of the story out of the running.
That same theatrical sensibility holds true for the elaborate costume designs, courtesy of Prague native Theodor Pistek ( Amadeus, Valmont), right down to the differing military uniforms for Leto's forces, the flowing Middle Eastern robes for the desert people (the Fremen), and the strictly utilitarian wardrobe for the Emperor's Sardaukar guards, not to mention the Emperor's blue-tinged robes.
The women are spectacularly garbed as well. For instance, some of the haughty Princess Irulan's flowing gowns (e.g., that lovely butterfly-winged party dress at the Emperor's banquet where she first meets Paul) are especially flattering. This character, who was used primarily as window dressing in the original novel and as the brainy chronicler of historical events (less a participant and more of an observer), has been thoroughly fleshed out here. In the capable hands of English actress Julie Cox (raised in Scotland and Indonesia), the princess' intelligence and rapier wit are established from the get-go.
The entire concept, then, has been executed with foresight and consistency. This is also reflected in the lighting design (as we previously indicated), which follows Storaro's color patterns most advantageously. There are dramatic shifts in tone and mood, as there would be if this were a straight play. It's all part of Harrison's bold conception of science fiction as epic theater, or one not limited by the proscenium but rather extending outward and beyond the focal point of what lies before us and into the minds' eye. Clearly, Harrison was aiming at his target audience's imagination. And in that, he was successful - that is, if one is willing to give his concept a chance.
Initially thought to be dull, bland and undernourished, nevertheless I thoroughly enjoyed the setup. Sometimes, the simplest of methods can be the most effective in terms of conveying character and plot. And there's a heck of a lot of plot to distill. Yes, it's set-bound, with gigantic backdrops that "fill in" for actual location scenery - a workable solution when you're on a super-tight budget (as this production was). And obviously, taking this cost-cutting measure to heart is what led to some staginess on the part of the performers.
In a few cases, the acting was rather broad, with some of it verging on the hammy. For me, though, the Shakespearean model worked best, as did the space opera aesthetic. Or shall we say Wagnerian ethos, the sense that fate had a hand in all that the characters do. This is science-fiction grandiosity at its epic finest. The violence is toned down proportionately, too, even by European standards. In the extended version, there are some brief nude scenes and a few bloody passages, but nothing to raise eyebrows.
And yes, even the music (subtle, woodwind and percussion based), composed by New Zealand native Graeme Revell, lent a mystical Eastern-air that was reminiscent in spots of Siegfried 's Forest Murmurs. Indeed, much of Revell's score is mixed at low levels and frequently heard in the background, a "third character" so to speak that comments on the action or gives hints of trouble to come.
Mostly, the subtle use of underscoring mirrors or tempers the (ahem) broadly enthusiastic acting - I'm thinking of portly Ian McNeice's corpulent Baron Harkonnen (marvelously unctuous yet subtle), or his easily combustible nephew Glossu Rabban (László I. Kish). Verily, I say onto thee, it's over the top. The slimy Baron's plotting of Duke Leto's demise, along with those of his family and followers, is in actuality quite ingenious. For example, his turning of the trusted Atreides' Suk physician, Dr. Wellington Yueh (Robert Russell) - the mark on his forehead indicative of a loyal family retainer - into a traitorous turncoat is remarkable for its duplicity.
Unfortunately, as with most traitors, Dr. Yueh's reward is a bitter taste of his own medicine. In death, the poisoned gas the good doctor has "procured" (via a false tooth fitted into Leto's mouth) brings a swift end to several of the nefarious plotters, the evil Baron the sole exception. Yueh is, in a way, redeemed by his actions.
"The saga of Dune is far from over...."
(To be continued)
Copyright © 2020 by Josmar F. Lopes
