Dune: Part 2

Lead Them to Paradise

or

You Can't Have a Messiah Without a Mess at the Beginning.

 

"God created Arrakis to train the faithful"

from "The Wisdom of Muad'Dib" by the Princess Irulan

When last we left Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet), he and his Mother Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson) were the last survivors of an attack on their new home on Arrakis by the House Harkonnen, in order to win back the all-important spice-mining business, around which the very Universe itself depends. 

The first film ended with Paul's pivotal killing of the Fremen Jamis—his first real doubter of the Arrakis indigenous tribe—in order to become part of their number and learn their ways, and Dune: Part 2 begins almost immediately after that act.

It is clear—even without a viewing of his continuation—that writer-director Denis Villeneuve dearly loves Frank Herbert's story, and, as a result, it's more faithful than the previous versions (the story is so dense, with plots, sub-plots, and arcana that is was dubbed "unfilmable"), certainly in regards to the ways of Arrakis' inhabitants, the Fremen and their relationships with water and the predatory sand-worms—the "Shai-Hulud"—while also delving a bit more into the ways of the manipulative Bene Gesserit sisterhood, of which Jessica is a part.*

So, along with the blistering action sequences, the vast desert vistas, and the Leni Riefenstahl-styled troop formations, we get a bit more of the sociology of the Fremen, their belief systems, their legends...and that, though they may be monolithic, they are not as homogeneous in their ways as in prior depictions. These Fremen actually have personalities, as opposed to the stoic stalwarts they've been portrayed as before. 

That's good. And it gives them a chance to shine (seeing as how they dominate this second act), and provide rich characters for Javier Bardem and Zendaya to play around with, rather than as merely devoted followers to be led. Bardem's Stilgar is shown to be a bit of a romantic zealot, but with enough years to still be suspicious of the legends coming true, while Zendaya's Chani distrusts the prophecies, knowing full well that giving in to a messianic leader is just another form of slavery.

Those are good concepts, part of a couple of the dualities that Dune: Part 2 leans in on—dualities which Herbert chose not to spell out, but merely allowed to percolate as sub-text. And it shows that Villeneuve is confident enough in his work that he complicates it even more than the original author did.

So, there was quite a death-toll among the A-listers in the first Dune, so, right off the studio logos, we start being introduced to the new cast-members, starting with Florence Pugh as Princess Irulan, daughter of the Emperor Shaddam IV (Christopher Walken, and it's nice that composer Han Zimmer didn't give him any background music with cow-bells), as the Princess notices the Emperor's ruminating silence over the death of Duke Leto Atreides in the previous film; she is the chronicler of the tale, and it's a good thing because there's quite a lot of catching up to do.

We also get to meet Feyd-Rautha (Austin Butler, proving he's not a one-trick-pony depending on his looks) the Baron Harkonnen's younger, more psychotic son, who is Paul's final test, and, as well, a character no one's bothered with before, Lady Margot Fenring (Léa Seydoux) who's deep in the depth's of the Bene Gesserit conspiracy.

"I'd wish you the (best of luck), but it seems you've won your battle."

Then, there's one character, who's always problematic—Paul's sister Alia (yeah, I'm not going to tell you), the last child of Duke Leto Atreides. Villeneuve eliminates the two year gap that Herbert inserted into the book, so we don't get to see a walking talking two year old, instead we see the child in Jessica's womb, talking to both mother and brother through her thoughts. Okay, weird, but not as weird as it could have been.

A lot of set up here, much like you could say Dune was merely the set-up for Part 2 (which is accurate, but there was so much of worth in the first one that it wouldn't be a fair assessment). It is nearly three hours of non-stop posturing, gritty action and a soundtrack you can feel in your ribs, with all sides circling around each other for a big pay-off that is, justifiably, a little melancholic. Think of The Godfather meeting "Game of Thrones". It certainly does the book justice, and although "Dune" devotees may quibble with a couple of changes—no two year gap, so no Alia and no Guild and the changes to Chani (which I'll get to in a second)--one can't deny that this is as close to movie-form as we're going to get. It's amazing. It's fantastic. It's a must-see. Simple as that for being as complex as that.

And I want to see where they go with the next one ("Next one?" Yeah...author Herbert wrote a few books!). They've done a very logical, character-driven change to the character of Chani...to the betterment, I'd say, as I've always had an uneasiness about her character, previously. It will add a complication, and a personal element to the road ahead (if they follow Herbert's road-map) and if Villeneuve is willing to already muddy the...er.. sand and stir things a bit, I'm all for it.

It's one of those movies that I can recommend without hesitation, and those are few and far between. And I'd love to be able to eavesdrop some of the post-viewing discussions. 

 

For me, being a fan of the book (and a couple of the others), it's nice to be able to look at these two films back-to-back and say that we finally have a "Dune" adaptation, we don't have to make excuses for.

He was warrior and mystic, ogre and saint, the fox and the innocent, chivalrous, ruthless, less than a god, more than a man was. There is no measuring Muad'Dib's motives by ordinary standards. In the moment of his triumph, he saw the death prepared for him, yet he accepted the treachery. Can you say he did this out of a sense of justice? Whose justice, then? Remember, we speak now of the Muad'Dib who ordered battle drums made from his enemies' skins, the Muad'Dib who denied the conventions of his ducal past with a wave of the hand, saying merely: "I am the Kwisatz Haderach. That is reason enough."

--from "Arrakis Awakening" by the Princess Irulan

 

* In fact, the only thing Villeneuve ignores is the Spice Guild, particularly its Navigators, spice-mutated humans who have attained the power to "bend space" and thus travel between worlds, a necessary component in a story about commerce, and the resources needed to maintain them for power. 

Oppenheimer

Ch-Cha-Chain (Reactions) of Fools

or

Fallout: If the Radioactive Doesn't Get Ya, The Political Will 

 

I took a course in college called "The History of the Atomic Bomb," so I already knew about J. Robert Oppenheimer and the Manhattan Project, and Lester Groves, and Edward Teller, and Enrico Fermi, and Niels Bohr, and Richard Feynman. Our best and brightest...as well as Germany's best and brightest, having escaped the Nazis.

I've listened to the plays, seen previous adaptations, know the story backwards and forwards. I got a C+ on my final paper around the subject of "Should we have dropped the bomb on Japan?" (I don't remember which side I took, but I believe it was favoring the Demonstration scenario).

 

But, I've been interested in seeing Oppenheimer, because I wanted to see what director Christopher Nolan would do with it. J. Robert Oppenheimer led a life that could have filled a few movies, but Nolan has compressed it into one three hour film, with the highs and the lows, and of the parallel tracks and rippling occurrences that underscored and undercut his career, and made the man who oversaw the construction of an atomic bomb from theory to reality become a pariah to the very country he handed it to on a desperately sizzling platter.

And Nolan in the past has been a wizard of sorts playing with the possibilities of story-telling and film-making, and juggling and parsing scenarios so as to create  adrenaline-generating third acts that brings everything together for a thematic jolt. One could say he creates these puzzles in the editing room, if the conceits of the films weren't so inextricably linked to the construction.

But, here, Nolan keeps it rather simple: two stories running parallel to each other, both involving hearings on their subject matters. They're sub-titled 1: "Fission" (in which atoms are split): in color, involving an older Oppenheimer in 1954 being grilled by a back-room secreted committee over whether he would retain his top security clearance; 2: "Fusion" (in which atoms are combined): in black and white, involving the very public hearing of Lewis Strauss to become Secretary of Commerce in Eisenhower's cabinet in 1959.

Two seemingly unrelated stories, but tied together so deeply that to split the two would be like splitting atoms, as they both deal with brilliance, arrogance, ego, and their limitations. There couldn't be one story without the other. And just as you can't have a nuclear explosion without fallout, both men—Oppenheimer and Strauss—would learn of consequences, that will haunt them to the end of their days.

Nolan starts the movie with a peaceful image—rain falling in water—but, as serene as it is, it's the natural image to describe the film. Just as rain falling will ripple out in concentric circles, actions will have reactions and those will spread without much control, a chain reaction that will only dissipate until it runs out of energy. And Oppenheimer is a film interrupted with small moments—a spark, a ripple, the sound of stamping feet, a line of poetry—that will echo throughout the film as mysterious fragments until we see them in context and realize their importance to the whole, like little figments of conscience that haunt until they are reasoned into clarity.

We see the the path of Oppenheimer (brilliantly played by Cillian Murphy) to Los Alamos—a terrain he loves ("If I could combine physics with New Mexico, my life will be perfect"), through European studies—he gives lectures in Dutch—meeting the great minds of physics—Heisenberg, Bohr—then re-enters the U.S. to teach at Berkeley, hoping to initiate a field of study in quantum physics, which starts with one student, then many. Concerned with unionizing the colleges for faculty and techs, he flirts with the Communist Party, but, does more with one of their members, Jean Tatlock (Florence Pugh), who will challenge him, mystify him, and ultimately be used against him.

He marries Kitty Puening (Emily Blunt), has a child, and although he's playing with things nuclear, he can't seem to manage a nuclear family. He's approached by General Leslie Groves (Matt Damon) to lead the Manhattan Project to develop a nuclear bomb before the Nazis, and although Groves knows Oppenheimer's leftist leanings, he still wants "Oppie" to lead the project—"I wonder if you could tell me how the Army would treat a humble physicist" "I would if I ever met one"—and as part of the project, Oppenheimer figures out the best rail-access for delivering fissionable material from three corners of the country and winds up with New Mexico, isolated, empty of population and surveillance, to build something that is only a theory...before the Nazi's do. "We have one advantage," Oppenheimer tells Groves. "Antisemitism." Germany has driven out its top nuclear physicists.

Well, you know the story. We've all lived in a world with constant nuclear brinksmanship, and the few souls who remember a time before "The Bomb" are dying off. We're used to it now (which seems inconceivable to me) and we're at a time of such complacency that you still hear mentions on the news of "nuclear options" and "tactical nukes." But, Oppenheimer takes us back to a time when the Atom Bomb was not only apocalyptic, but also inconceivable. At the time of its creation, there were a lot of "unknowables" about the Bomb. All they knew was that it would be big and cause a lot of destruction in a wide area—a city destroyer. But, at the time of the Trinity test, nobody knew if the chain reaction in the air would stop or if it would keep feeding on itself, incinerating the area, and possibly more. And, they didn't know anything about fallout.

The fallout—of all kinds—is the new thing here. With the responsibility of building a weapon with so much destructive power—with the complete agency of the government to do it—comes with it the emergence of those who see that power and covet it. And this is where the Strauss story comes in. Played quite amazingly by Robert Downey Jr., Lewis Strauss is a political operative and functionary, whose ego cannot merely appreciate the accomplishments of Oppenheimer and his team, so he must control it, harness it, and by doing so, subvert it to his own ends. As Oppenheimer did to nuclear fission, Strauss does to Oppenheimer and does so with a cold-blooded zeal. And given Oppenheimer's past propensity to fill any intellectual void with affairs and radical politics, Strauss is given the very weapons needed to undermine any attempts to prevent the scientist's efforts to keep the destructive genie contained, slowing nuclear proliferation and ever-increasing mega-tonnage. "Amateurs chase the sun and get burned," Strauss says at one point "Power stays in the shadows."

Oppenheimer is a solid three hours long, packed pillar to post with detail and small roles by very good actors—Nolan newbies like Rami Malek, Casey Affleck, Alden Ehrenreich, Josh Hartnett, James Remar, Jason Clarke, and vets of past films like Kenneth Branagh, David Dastmalchian, Matthew Modine, Tom Conti, Gary Oldman—and one may begin to think that the Strauss story gets a bit superfluous and should even be cut, but it is essential to the story and theme of how one man can make a difference, for good, evil or both. And of how power corrupts—even the pursuit of power corrupts—and though one may blaze with brilliance like a nuclear flash, it is not self-perpetuating...and fades...even if it consumed by itself.

Yeah, I took a course in college. But, you learn something new every day...if you're doing it right.

 

Nolan wrote the screenplay, based on the 2005 biography "American Prometheus: The Triumph and Tragedy of J. Robert Oppenheimer" and starts with these apt words: "Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to man. For this he was chained to a rock and tortured for eternity."

The haunted gaze of the elder Oppenheimer

—a look both accusing and guilty

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish

Puss in Boots: The Last Wish (Joel Crawford, Januel Mercado, 2023) In a recent podcast I was participating in, one of the other folks mentioned that she'd seen Puss in Boots: The Last Wish. "Trust me," she said "You'll want to see this." I remember being a bit skeptical, but made a note that I should see it at an early opportunity.

I didn't—although even at this late date (it having been released to streaming and on DVD, Blu-Ray and 4K) it is still possible. And I regretted it, after I watched it. It is good. It's hilarious in places, even.

But, I didn't know—until I started pulling screen-shots for this post—that what Dreamworks Animation, and directors Joel Crawford, Mercado and crew were doing with this film was something quite extraordinary. I doubt most people will notice it (or even care) and instead concentrate on the laughs and entertainment value, which is indeed considerable. But, what I noticed is a bit revolutionary while simultaneously not. I'll explain after a plot summary.

Puss (voiced, again, delightfully, by Antonio Banderas) is in the city of Del Mar being feted by the townspeople, when the song and dance and ego are interrupted by the presence of a large giant who starts menacing the town. Utilizing one of the musicians' bass strings, the "Stabby Tabby" launches himself at the creature and proceeds to do battle with it in a proximity that the thing just can't handle. Ultimately, Puss escapes death a dozen times and dispatches the horrid beast...only to be crushed by a large brass bell that the cat (who might have resented being belled in the past) used to subdue it.

(Well, that was a short movie, kids!)

 

But, no, Puss wakes up in a doctor's office, a little shaken but defying the cartoon-logic that he's a flat as a pancake or has a bell-shaped divot in his body. Although he has trouble remembering, the doc asks how many of his traditional nine lives Puss has gone through. A quick montage of Puss dying in stupid and Darwin Award qualifying ways...eight times. It seems Puss is living his last life now, and the doctor advises he give up...well, everything he's doing...and go retire with an old cat lady and attempt to die of old age.

He decides against that until he sits in a kitty-bar—lapping milk, of course—when a tall, dark stranger appears sitting next to him. It's a bounty hunter, Lobo (Wagner Moura) and as wolves go, he's a "Big Bad" right down to the hairs on his chinny-chin-chin, dressed much like The Grim Reaper—right down to the scythe accessories he sports. He's a bounty hunter, but a particularly chatty one, full of complimentary talk about reputations and that sort of thing, but it's merely trash-talk as he's come for a fight and—being a representative of Death—knows he has to win eventually.

It's a lovely little conceit, but then the "Puss" and "Shrek" series have always been the most fun skewering fairy-tales and casting their tropes in different lights. The Big Bad Wolf, mainstay as he is in fairy-tales, of course, could be seen as some sort of opportunistic stalker, if you want to put it in an anthropomorphic, modern context, and here he's such a presence that he makes a fine foil for the Cat's foil, and intimidating enough that Puss does, indeed, retire to a cat-lady's house, where the sight of a litter-box makes him gag. "So...this is where dignity goes to die."

The plot involves Puss, a chihuahua-in-cat's-clothing named Garrito (Harvey Guillén)—who was stowing away at the cat-lady's— as well as Puss former fiancee, Kitty Softpaws (Salma Hayek), who are hired by soldiers-of-fortune Goldilocks (Florence Pugh) and The Three Bears Crime Family (Ray Winstone, Olivia Colman, and Samson Kayo, all delightful!) to steal the legendary Wishing Star for that talisman-collecting Baker-turned-Crime Boss "Big" Jack Horner (Imagine John Mulaney saying "Well, You know what they say—Can't bake a pie without losing a dozen men!" Yeah. He's hilarious.), even with the constant threat of Lobo/Death ("Why the hell did I play with my food?") lurking nearby.

It is, quite frequently, laugh-out-loud funny (especially if you co-habit with a cat*), not only because the material is inspired but the voice-actors are hilarious doing it. Pugh, Colman, Winstone, and Kayo all play their parts like they've just come over from "Eastenders" and their quick-bickering banter is fast and a little furious—they're all about "family." If your family is "The Sopranos."

Now, what's special about this here Puss in Boots flick is the art. Dreamworks Animation has always been a little bit behind the curve when it comes to their CGI animated features—remember the play-dohish Shrek?—pushing towards verisimilitude and life-like imagery, long after Pixar gave it up starting with Geri's Game in 1997. Now, after the envelope-pushing example of Spider-Man: Into the Spider-verse (which made an example of "playing it rough") they're giving it up.

Blow up any of the images on this page, and you'll see less attention to detail, and more to "the feel" of the thing. Just as realism and romanticism gave way to neo-realism and impressionism, the new crop of animators have discovered that you can do more with less. Here, the images are smeared, like paintings...or the way the old matte artists used to crate camera-realistic landscapes from just "blobs" of paint. Disney went through a "rough" phase of animation in the 1950's, but that was usually due to budgetary reasons. But, this is deliberate. And it is beautiful.

One wondered why Puss in Boots: The Last Wish was on the short-list of animated feature Oscars this year, but all questions are pushed aside after seeing the work. The best way to end this post is to post a few more images with the advice that one should skip the home-viewing and side this on the big, big screen.

* Mine (who is nameless), who loves a good Nature program about lions on the Serengeti, scornfully ignored this one, turned her back and went to sleep with a dismissive  scowl on her own puss.

The Wonder (2022)

Preying For a Miracle

or

"The Stories We Tell Ourselves"
 

"Hello. This is the beginning. The beginning of a film called "The Wonder." The people you are about to meet—the characters—believe in their stories with complete devotion. We are nothing without stories. And so we invite you to believe in this one. It is 1862. We've left England bound for Ireland. The Great Famine still casts a long shadow, and the Irish hold England responsible for that devastation, There, sits a nurse. An English nurse. Traveling all on her own. And it's with her, we begin."

 

Most movies don't start out this way, telling you that what you're seeing is a movie. One would assume that any semi-intelligent person would figure that out. In The Wonder, director Sebastián Leilio even takes the film down to its studs, showing you the set, lights and stage-framers (even a fan or two) while telling you to go with it before going through "the fourth wall." It's a story. And this is make-believe, despite the deliberateness of the verisimilitude.

It's nothing new (just rare). Laurence Olivier won an Oscar Best Picture by starting his Henry V as a stage play and then moving it out to become a "movie-movie" on location. How many TV anthology shows had a host walking onto the set to address the audience?

But, this discomfort of "looking behind the curtain" does not last long; with the second shot, we're back to movie-normalcy, following the journey of Nurse Elizabeth Wright (Florence Pugh) to her location of employment in rural Ireland just past the Potato Famine. She has been hired by a village council of the town who are looking for a medical observer of their local miracle: an 11 year old girl, Anna O'Donnell (Kíla Lord Cassidy) has not eaten for four months (but still appears healthy) subsisting on just water and, as she says, "manna from Heaven."

The girl receives visitors from nearby villagers who seek her out as a religious icon. The council, all men (of course), seek answers: the medical doctor, McBrearty (Toby Jones) is out of options; the parish priest (Ciarán Hinds) needs validation, councilman John Flynn (Brían F. O'Byrne) is fervently religious, and believes the child is a saint. Nurse "Lib" herself, having served as a nurse in the Crimean War, and having lost a child and a husband, has no illusions and no agenda and her dispassionate analysis will serve as a "control" to the watch of Sister Michael (Josie Walker), lest there be any religious bias. The council is wary of scandal as local boy Will Byrne (Tom Burke), whose pursuit of a journalism career allowed him to escape the fate of his family during the Famine, is reporting on the story.

Nurse "Lib" is cold and dispassionate, per the requirements of the job of witness, but she can't help empathizing with the girl, while being wary of the council's various agendas. "Lib" has issues, too. To fight off the sorrow of losing her child, she consoles herself with laudanum until it dulls her into a sleeping stupor. It's another reason, she is drawn to her charge, and as the child starts getting weaker, Elizabeth starts to get more pro-active, defying the religious beliefs of her parents and the preoccupations of the council.

That's just one of many conflicts occurring in The Wonder: Ireland vs. England, rural vs. urban, medicine vs. dogma, fact vs. superstition, things as they are vs. things as perceived, faith vs. zeal, and conscience vs. duty. But, to the nurse, it is just one conflict: life vs. death, and no other arguments can dissuade her that that is the priority, even if it makes her a pariah in the town. And Florence Pugh (once again) surprises with just how good she is at communicating the thoughts required in the heads of her characters. She makes it look so genuine, unpracticed, unrehearsed, and simple, but no less passionate. She is one actress who one should not take for granted that she will energize whatever project she undertakes, or startle with how ingenious she is. She reminds me of Vanessa Redgrave, how precise, yet unconventional and right she makes her characters.

Special mention must be made of the work of cinematographer Ari Wegner (she shot The Power of the Dog, and seems to specialize in finding the beauty in the perverse and making horizons pop off the screen), who takes Leilio's tableaux and bends light around them like Rembrandt or Vermeer, edging light around faces just enough to expose the unsure flick of an eye or the subtle setting of an expression, no matter how few foot-candles are in the room. There are moments that you just want to put a frame around, so intricate is the lighting in places.

One sympathizes with the movie and its protagonist's goal—to find the Truth in a chaotic blur of fictions and motivational feints, like a mystery story. But, then, one can relate, as one looks for unassailable facts in a world where faith is enough no matter the dangers of opinion, interpretations, deflections and outright deliberate mendacity.