Dune is a mess. It’s a grandiose, Hollywood-backed epic with auteur David Lynch at the helm, so the stage should have been set for science fiction greatness.
But therein lies the problem. Lynch had come off making the surrealist, art-house portraits Eraserhead and The Elephant Man, and ostensibly had his mind set on something greater. Frank Herbert’s 1965 science fiction epic, with its myriad themes and subtexts, could have been the perfect platform for Lynch to paint his interpretation. Unfortunately, the film’s producers had a different idea, namely, making the film as commercially viable as possible. It’s the tried-and-true tale of art versus profit, and Dune may as well be a case study in the phenomena.
And the film itself? It’s an ugly Eighties science fiction production. Think plasticky spaceships, monsters, costumes and hairstyles. There’s seemingly some money behind it somewhere, but if anything that makes its visuals even more disappointing.
The plot is nonsensical, convoluted and fragmented. The main crux relates to a life-giving resource, essentially a drug, that can only be harvested on a desert planet, and the rest is a fight for power. The only real reason the antagonists can be seen to be “bad” is that their leader is horrendously ugly.
As a narrative piece, it just doesn’t work. Those who have read the source material will have a better idea of what is happening, but for those going in blind, this makes more sense as something of a fever dream. In fact, the best parts of Dune are where the protagonist, played by a plucky Kyle MacLachlan, is in the twilight zone between sleeping and waking, and Lynch is allowed free rein via his visual art.
1984, David Lynch
4.0
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