By: Keaton Marcus

Denis Villeneuve, a favorite director of mine, seems reminiscent of Stanley Kubrick. His ability to craft half a dozen masterpieces in several genres proves such a versatility that moviegoers rarely witness these days. Paul Thomas Anderson, Alfonso Cuaron, and Richard Linklater are names that come to mind when pondering the masters at filmmaking craft. The one aspect to their success that tethers them together happens to be multi-skilled, challenging directing. Each one of them leaves audiences in awe in unique respects, but these directors have all found their footing in many types of movies. In this case, Villeneuve has touched on tragic, twisty familial stories such as Prisoners and Incendies (both very different from each other) while making a surreal, mindfucking allegory to adultery with Enemy. Take Sicario, a movie that prides itself in blurring the lines of morality in the backdrop of drug cartels, and compare it to his recent string of science fiction opuses like Arrival, Blade Runner 2049, and the subject of this essay, Dune: Part One. His scope varies just as much as the genres in his filmography, ranging from small-scale movies to massive, sprawling epics filled with dazzling and expensive visual effects. This man is the rare type of filmmaker who doesn't stick to one lane, varying his portfolio to manifold passages. Each installment to his filmography is gorgeously brought to screen, pondering many themes and dropping many jaws. One of the most important people in the industry today, and one who still has a long road ahead of him.

There is this biblical grandiosity to Dune that I hugely welcomed in the theaters. Going into it, as a huge fan of Villeneuve, I knew what to expect in terms of storytelling and visuals. Slow, methodical world-building and an emphasis on careful set-up, laying down the platforms of different characters and planets before getting into any real action sequences. Villeneuve's slow-burn style of moviemaking that is prevalent throughout his career may turn fans of more fast-paced, entertaining spectacle directors such as JJ Abrams, off. He never rushes, deliberately pacing his movies without catering too much to the mainstream, commercialized setting Hollywood is at the moment. When watching a Villeneuve film, one can see the meticulous perfectionism and planning that goes behind it, especially visible in the stunning imagery. Even in the slower, calmer moments of Dune, Villeneuve and cinematographer Greg Fraiser pride themselves in creating sufficient eye candy to make all the talking worthwhile. Massive, wide shots of epic settings and long, smooth takes fill the frame. Expertly composed and full of contrast and beautifully subdued color pallettes, this was the ultimate audiovisual treat to witness on the big screen. The sandworms and Ornithropters are huge technical achievements by themselves, fully immersing viewers in the experience.

Immersion is a key facet in creating a successful action blockbuster, especially one with fantastical elements infused within it. In terms of both sound design, musical score, and cinematography, all must be impeccable to create even a fraction of this orgasmic absorption that Dune did. To fully immerse someone in a movie is in essence, transcending everything a film represents. Instead of watching something, you are in that something and that is exactly what I felt during this absolute masterpiece. In the waves of quantity-over-quality, for-profit blockbusters Hollywood is mass-producing these days, this is a rare experience to cherish. 200 million budgets often feel wasted as excuses for lazy filmmaking, but every cent feels worthwhile here, used to produce effects that look authentic. Michael Bay's Transformers movies or the neverending streak of Roland Emmerich's popcorn disaster flicks are primary examples of so much money going to such pathetic trash. Even multi-billion dollar superhero franchises like the MCU or the DCEU generally take for granted the amount of financial support received. In contrast, Villeneuve and his talented, visionary team are so grateful for each opportunity to create cinematic magic they get. Between the masterful mesh of practical effects and computer-generated imagery, Hans Zimmer's percussive and stifling soundtrack, and the perfect collaboration between Fraser and Villeneuve, this adaptation of the seemingly unfilmable is something special.

Common criticisms of both Blade Runner 2049 and Dune are the lack of emotional connection audiences feel with the film's respective protagonists, and the stories themselves. Besides the fact that this statement blissfully ignores anything but the most surface-level, tear-jerking sensibilities that these two films "lack", it's a decently valid statement. I can understand not being fully entranced by the two cold, almost inhuman men that Officer K and Paul Atreides seem to be, but honestly, that's one of the aspects that I most appreciate about those movies, Dune in particular. Timothee Chalamet, one of the finest actors working today, was flawless in casting for the role. Atreides, both in the novel and film adaptation, is not exactly an emotionally versatile character. He broods in silence for the majority of the running time, enveloped by political and familial turmoil. This, I believe, lets audiences fully experience the worlds around the characters instead of the characters themselves, which is just what I dig in a sci-fi movie like this one. Paul is simply an intellectual chess piece lost in a desolate, sand-laden planet, and although many find that to be detrimental to a film, I embrace it as a strength. This aspect of the movie reminded me of Christopher Nolan's Tenet, where spectacle and concept are valued over any real substance to its heroes. In a film that's both intentionally and fully focused on stylistic features and creating a grand theatrical experience, where is the need for a "charismatic" lead performance? Chalamet's intentional lack of emotion is a planned, thought-out idea perfectly executed, and beneficial to what Dune truly aspires to achieve.

On a final note, I did want to address one facet of controversy that has been circling in cinematic discourse about the film. So, in essence, what is a "white savior story?" To me, at least, it's when a privileged, perhaps even wealthy caucasian character is portrayed as the only path to success to another main character of color. It reinforces this undoubtedly racist ideology that only a white person can save you from any pressing issues you're facing in life. Good examples of this include The Blind Side or The Help. Throwing critiques that Paul's arc in this film is one of these stories seems incredibly superficial and ignorant to what Villeneuve and Frank Herbert intended. The main pressure point is that the House of Atreides, led by white men and women, journey to Arakis for the sole purpose of helping the natives of that land, known as the Fremen. But this "commentary" completely misses the point in the sense that the Fremen are never portrayed as inferior or savage compared to the House of Atreides. In a way, the Fremen are described as superior, a race that has fiercely defended themselves against the evil Harkonnen and prospered on a seemingly impenetrable planet. The relationship between the House of Atreides and the Fremen is a complete alliance, balanced perfectly. Please, before forming big opinions, watch the film and ponder what you're about to say in full before, you know, saying it.