Paul thus finds himself quickly going native, but only insofar as it brings him several steps closer to leading these people against House Harkonnen’s vile Baron (Stellan Skarsgård), and even the Imperium’s Emperor (Christopher Walken), who secretly condoned the murder of Paul’s father. But each move toward revenge Paul makes, with Jessica whispering in his ear to embrace the messianic complex and the holy war it will surely unleash, the closer Paul comes to becoming anything but a hero.
The complexity of Paul’s journey from vengeful son to bloodstained warmonger is Dune: Part Two’s strongest narrative element, and one that Villeneuve and Chalamet handle with care. After decades of Chosen One narratives, including in the most famous cinematic space opera which owes substantially to Dune, we return to the original idea: an inversion and warning about such tidy images promulgated by leaders and prophets. Chalamet was good in the first film at playing a wronged son; he’s better here at portraying a man struggling with a more monstrous foe—his own vanity.
Yet the success of Villeneuve’s Dune duology emanates from no single story beat or theme, but rather the collective tapestry they weave. While the general gist of the story is simple, both films retain a novelistic structure and texture, making room for fascinating vignettes and detours like the scholarly pursuits of Princess Irulan (Florence Pugh), the astute daughter of Walken’s emperor and a Bene Gesserit in training who has her own suspicions. There is also her weirding sister Lady Margot Fenring (Léa Seydoux), who is sent to the Harkonnens’ home world to inspect the next generation of that family. And, indeed, the most magnetic new addition to the mythos is the Baron’s hitherto unknown nephew and heir apparent, a reptilian Austin Butler as Feyd-Rautha.
Introduced as a cosmic riff on Gladiator’s Commodus, Feyd celebrates his birthday by slaughtering handicapped and drugged prisoners of war in a monochrome arena. He also literally feeds underlings to his vampiric paramours. It’s a big black hat that the former Elvis actor wears like a debauched rockstar who’s gone feral. In a film filled with showy performances, this is the star turn.
But the real star, again, is not any single piece but the impressive whole Villeneuve weaves. In fact, despite the film’s nearly three-hour length, there is not enough time to fully explore every curious nook and cranny. We personally could have spent a lot more time with Lady Jessica’s increasingly ambiguous machinations and her relationship with a still unborn daughter. However, when it’s the overarching vision which compels, this becomes more virtue than sin.
Like the first volume of Villeneuve’s Dune, Part Two sharply chooses to imagine a future with a deep wealth of history. Despite existing in a tomorrow where interstellar travel is possible, this cinematic telling embraces the fact that Herbert’s universe is one married to the old ways, be it through feudal fiefdoms or how folks are still fighting, dying, and drilling for special resources to make their vehicles go vroom. There is a weight and tactility to the film that emphasizes stone and wood as much as sleek metal and glistening chromatic surfaces. The emperor’s spaceship tellingly looks like a cross between a Pokéball and something Natalie Portman would’ve used in the Star Wars prequels. But on Arrakis, the Fremen’s customs and sacred temples have the scent of antiquity about them. It’s a veritable playground for production designer Patrice Vermette and costume designer Jacqueline West, the latter of whom extrapolates medieval couture from a story of princesses and dukes, and sand-swept madness in tales of religion and the desert.
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