How ya Dune?

This might contain spoilers, I’m not sure, by this time it’s hard to tell.

I saw Dune this afternoon. Correction: I saw Dune this afternoon and this evening. This movie is long. Not quite Killers of the Flower Moon long, but it could really use a bathroom break. I wish I could say I knew what was going on, but this kind of science fiction always flummoxes me. I have enough trouble with real history. Throw in a passel of governments, religions with reverend mothers, miscellaneous planets and armies, and I’m lost. I’m still trying to sort out the Hapsburgs and the Windsors. And don’t get me started on the many Carlos and Isabellas of the Spanish monarchy.

I read Dune in college, but have very little recollection of anything except sand, spices, and worms. Big worms. And you had to boo the baron because he was fat and liked boys, therefore, icky and evil. To tell the truth, I never could follow what was happening in the last six Star Wars movies. Once I found out Luke was Darth Vader’s son, I lost interest.

Water is so precious in Dune they even squeeze it out of dead soldiers, and put it in leatherette pouches, you know, for later. They spend the first hour or so playing games in the sand, teaching the newbie how to survive, as one would expect, even windsurfing on worms.

The callow, handsome Timothée Chalomet and the gorgeous Zendaya spend a lot of time looking longingly at each other in between bouts with big tank-like things that dig up the sand. Timothée has a much better hairdresser than Zendaya on this; one can only imagine it’s in his contract. And despite the arid conditions, both seem to keep soft and supple skin, even though most of their water goes right up their noses and there doesn’t seem to be a tube of moisturizer in sight.

Rebecca Ferguson is there too, as Timothée’s ridiculously young mother who talks to the fetus she’s carrying, which would make the folks in Alabama happy. Now there’s a lot of talk about prophecies and such, and maybe Rebecca is like the Virgin Mary, but with an earthier, wind-swept look. She drinks this magic water, which looks like the blue Gatorade, and presumably dies. But, for some reason, she’s gifted and can overcome any of this poison stuff. So, she survives the Gatorade of life (are you following this?) waking up like she was pranked, like some lady in waiting drew on her face with a Sharpie.

I have to pause here because, at one point, Timothée says something like, “You’ve been fighting these bad guys for several years? We’ve been fighting them for centuries.” How long are these years here? Is it the same as Earth years? And why do they have weird words for everything, but years and centuries are the same? Are centuries as long as this movie?

Gravity is a thing, too. You’d think on such a big sandy planet, people might be weighed down, but it works pretty much like earth. Except for the Baron. He’s on a different planet, one that’s not sandy, but kind of like a brutalist art deco. The Baron is so obese he needs to be floated around by some ugly Macy’s Thanksgiving Day reject balloon.

The Baron and his planet of evil dark-clad people are stealing all this spice from the sandy planet. I’m not sure if the spice is like cumin, cardamon, or one of those weird spices you need but only use once when you’re following a New York Times recipe, and it sits in the back of your shelf for years gathering cobwebs. And you know how they say you should replace your spices every year, and I’m like, “hey, I only use cumin like once a year or so, and you’re telling me to throw it out? At twenty bucks a bottle at Penseys? And okay, I get the parallel with spice, and the whole spice thing…I gotta ask: why all the fuss about spices? I mean, I live in the nutmeg state, and I’ve yet to see a nutmeg tree or bush, or even someone hawking on the side of the road. And this is civilization? I can see treking across the universe to get a really good cheesecake, or maybe some rugelah. Hell if I’m going to risk everything for a jarful of spice I have to throw away next year anyway! Sorry…the spice gives people visions of sorts. They are all getting visions, especially if they need to jump ahead in the story.

Oh, and I think the spice gives them blue eyes. Which, come to think of it, if I could look a little like Frank Sinatra, I’d be okay with that. But do I have to spend an eternity, plus sequels thinking about it? They probably explained this in the first Dune, but again, all I remember of that one is sand and Oscar Isaac. Oh, and Charlotte Rampling comes along, wearing a boxy hat and veil, maybe to shield her from the embarrassment of appearing in this franchise. She seems to knows what’s going to happen next, probably because she read the screenplay.

Oh, and the Baron? He’s played by Daddy Skarsgård. Since he doesn’t have a six-pack like his sons, they put him in a fat suit. He’s really mean, and takes baths in a big oil pit, looking kind of like Trump after a hamburger bender. He has a nasty nephew, played by the Butler kid who played Elvis, but instead of a pompadour he shaves his head and eyebrows. Try to see if you can act without your hair, Timothée! (Sting played this role in the first movie version, and you kind of got embarrassed because he’s supposed to be hunky and all, but instead, it looks like someone greased up a whippet.)

Josh Brolin shows up playing a 12-string guitar and singing a Leonard Cohen song. I guess he showed up in the first movie. Right off the bat, we think he’s a bad guy (and not just because of his singing), working with soldiers who are shooting and blowing things up, but then he sees Timothée and they’re old friends.

Have you ever noticed how in movies, the bad guys can have enormous machines and stuff but are constantly outmaneuvered by the good guys who have little “pew-pew-pew” guns and swords? The good guys do don open-weave scarves that would go great with a nice skirt and a cushy belt, just blowing free in the wind. They don’t seem to have a change of underwear, but somehow, they keep a huge munitions stash.

Eventually, the movie spends more time on different planets — even one that comes in black and white. The movie starts to skip ahead in the last hour, kind of like they started flipping through the book looking for the good scenes like I probably did in freshman literature. Timothée embraces the fact that he might be their Jesus, although Zendaya wants nothing to do with it. Maybe, after all those desert over-nighters she figures he’s not worth the effort?

Florence Pugh and Christopher Walken appear from time to time. They’re on another planet where they apparently have not only water but dry cleaners. Florence wears a series of headdresses. You’re lucky if you recognize her later when she gets done up in some beaded head chains.

Not sure why or how, but we skip ahead and meet Rebecca Ferguson’s baby who’s grown up and says she loves Chalomet, but in a sisterly way. Before you know it, the bad guys, including Elvis, the fat Skarsgård , Walken, and Pugh (and maybe Charlotte Rampling; by this time, I’ve lost track), all show up. They arrive on the sandy planet in a pretty cool ship that looks like a disco ball. Eventually it glows with fire, and I kept hoping they’d break out into Disco Inferno and dance.

Javier Bardem, who’s been trudging through the sand this whole time talking in a weirdly shifting accent, rejoices that Timothée is the savior. There’s some sort of confrontation with a bunch of people gathered in circles in a temple that really needs a good dusting. Javier wins. I think.

Anyway, Timothe, who turns out is the grandson of the fat Skarsgård , therefore Elvis’s cousin, decides he’ll marry Francine if Christopher Walken kisses his foot. Or ring. There was a foot kissed somewhere in there. By the time this was happening, I was regretting the extra-large Coke I’d ordered and totally needed, along with the large popcorn (they were out of the commemorative hairy-anus sandworm boxes, and I’m really bummed about that).

Then the big war breaks out. And even though everyone has guns and grenades and stuff, they all end up marching toward each other in rows like they’re caught up in a remake of Barry Lyndon. Have we learned nothing from combat since then?

I’m sure I’m skipping a lot of stuff, and if you want to know what actually happens, the girl and boy next to me were going “uh huh” and “Oh ho!” a lot, so there are people out there who can help you.

I’m just glad I got out before daybreak. I’m sure we’re going to find out real soon there will be another three or four of these. What with all the Avatar and Dune sequels, we’ll be inundated with sand, wind, and water for a while.