“We have to start with the weaker ones. The ones who fear us.”

The first half of Frank Herbert’s genre-defining novel Dune as translated to us like some distant message from the future by Denis Villenueve was one of grandeur on a micro scale: hushed scheming in hallways, palatial politics, and squabbling amongst the nobility over the control of Arrakis - and its people who yearn for freedom. The Fremen, tragically, never had control of their own destiny. Poisoned by religious fanaticism and encouraged by the fundamentalists, even their savior - Lisan Al Gaib - isn’t one of their own. It’s another oppressor. Politics and religion combine to remove the chance for us to choose our destiny. 

The seeds planted the last time we visited this far flung desert planet burst through the ground like sandworms, demanding your full and undivided attention as Villenueve pulls off this magic trick of adapting the unadaptable. Chalamet gives his best performance in 7 years needling the thread of Paul Atreides, would-be hero turned murderous dictator. The rest of the cast is nothing to sniff at either - Ferguson in particular makes this material soar as Paul’s conniving mother Jessica. Zendaya emerges as the heart of the film, while Bardem is equally hilarious and terrifying as a true believer. And as spectacle…there’s almost nothing better. The black & white sequence on Giedi Prime as Austin Butler (terrifying) slaughters his enemies to a roaring crowd while Seydoux (a film stealer) watches on gave me the same kind of thrill someone watching Star Wars must’ve felt in 1977. Every shot feels genuinely monumental; nothing is left on the table here. It’s unabashedly weird and idiosyncratic in all the best ways, just like the greatest works of science-fiction. 

I can’t wait for Dune Messiah, when the terrified feeling of doom that curdled in my heart by the end of this film will be unleashed even further. 

“Lead them to paradise.”