Denis Villeneuve's Dune is a magnificent adaptation of Frank Herbert's classic sci-fi novel. It's faithful to the source material, hauntingly beautiful, perfectly cast, and the slow, meticulous pace gives the story room to breathe. Adapting Dune has long been a dream project for Villeneuve, and you can feel that in every frame. He's not the first person to tackle the novel, however. David Lynch famously took a stab at it in 1984, and the result was a box office flop that the director still finds difficult to talk about to this day. "It was a heartache for me," he told The Hollywood Reporter. "It's not the film I wanted to make."
But here's the thing: David Lynch's Dune is brilliant. It's structurally messy and tries to squeeze far too much story into a single film. Villeneuve was wise to split his version in two. But Lynch's movie is emotionally charged, incredibly atmospheric, and filled with vivid, deeply surreal imagery. Villeneuve and his production designers did a fantastic job imagining a feudal society in the far future. The austere sets and minimalist costume design are wonderful to look at. The Bene Gesserit arriving on Caladan is one of the most striking things I've ever seen on film. But Lynch's take on this universe feels stranger.
His Dune is dark, grimy, and industrial. Compared to Villeneuve's stark minimalism, perfectly pressed uniforms, delicately flowing robes, and clean lines, details like the Baron Harkonnen's pox-ridden face and the trail of slime left by the spice-mutated Guild Navigator make Lynch's vision of Herbert's story feel more tactile, grimy, and grotesque. I love the look of both films. I bought almost immediately after seeing the new movie. But there's something about the Lynch universe that just feels more uncanny and alien. It's a distant future that feels much further removed from our own.
The Villeneuve film also assumes slightly too much knowledge of the books. Early on we see Thufir Hawat's eyes roll back in his head as he processes a difficult equation. This is because he's a mentat—a human computer—but the film dedicates no time to explaining this or some other fascinating parts of the Dune mythology. Lynch's film on the other hand is better at providing extra context for things. Princess Irulan's monologue at the beginning, although overlong, does a better job of setting the scene and conveying the importance of Arrakis and the Atreides' stewardship of it. I admire the restraint of Villeneuve's film, but it can be too opaque for its own good at times.
This doesn't mean I think Villeneuve's film would be better if it were loaded with exposition. When it comes to the books, the Dune series has suffered from things being overexplained or having their mystery stripped away by spin-off novels. But a few lines here and there in the film, just to explain things in more detail, would actually benefit the story. Knowing what the diamond-shaped mark on Dr. Yueh's forehead is, to give one of many examples, adds a whole new dimension to his actions later in the film. Lynch's movie doesn't explain everything, but it uses inner monologues to make things a bit 💛clearer.
Herbert's books are rich with granular detail, which is a big part of why Dune is such an incredible novel. The world is so convincingly realised, it's almost like reading a historical textbook. Film is a completely different medium, of course. Herbert had 200,000 words to play with: Villeneuve had 3 hours. But I think his adaptation could have perhaps shortened some of the battle scenes to focus more on the finer details that make Dune's world so intriguing and memorable. To his credit, he does at least dedicate ample time to explaining the history, customs, and ecology of the planet Arrakis itself.
On a broader level, one thing that Lynch handles more effectively than Villeneuve is the gom jabbar scene. Lynch benefits from having Siân Phillips playing the Reverend Mother Mohiam, who brings a cold, piercing menace to the role. Charlotte Rampling is very good in the new movie, but Phillips made that character her own. The pain inflicted by the box also comes across more strongly in Lynch's film, with gruesome cutaways to Paul's burning, melting hand and Mohiam explaining in detail the pain he's feeling, step by excruciating step. Kyle MacLachlan's reading of the Litany Against Fear is more powerful too.
While Villeneuve's Dune has been a box office hit and widely critically acclaimed, Lynch's film will likely always be remembered as something of a failed experiment—despite developing a large and passionate cult following over the years. (In which I include myself.) I love both movies for different reasons, but there are some things Lynch simply did better. I'm just glad the 1984 Dune movie exists, regardless of how it was received and its troubled legacy. It's a wild, weird, wonderful thing—and now as I re-read the first novel, it's still the bizarre imagery from that film I see in my mind's eye. Paul Atreides will always look like a goofy, big-haired Kyle MacLachlan to me. Sorry, Timothée.
