Category: books
“Dune” review
On its release in 2021, I sent a review of Denis Villeneuve’s film of Frank Herbert’s “Dune” to my film group. With some edits, here it is:
Okay, first off, I watched this on my desktop screen. I fully get the director’s dismissal of watching this film in such a way this as being like riding a speedboat in the bath, but there it is: I’m currently not prepared to spend up to three hours in a cinema right now. Also, most of my formative film experiences have been on television: BBC2 film seasons, The Film Club and Moviedrome come to mind, as do Bond movies on a bank holiday and Disney films at Christmas. The films I watched and continue to watch in this way worked on me, no matter what the delivery system was. Indeed, when I did get to see a fair amount of them at the cinema, I appreciated the experience of watching them even more. One day, I’ll see Dune on the big screen and I’ll be very happy to do so. But for now, this screening worked just fine.
And what a film it is! I have never read Dune and I don’t know if I’ll ever get around to it, but I was greatly impressed by this adaptation. The novel’s possible adaptations, by Alejandro Jodorowsky and Ridley Scott, have been as fascinating than the ones that made it: David Lynch’s bored me on screen, but was a fascinating curio on video (especially with Alan Splet’s sound design) but John Harrison’s TV series didn’t attract me even with Vittorio Storraro photographing it.
Learning that story-cruncher Eric Roth was involved in this version’s screenplay was a big attraction to me. His theme of power and how it can be used tied the narrative together beautifully. And the narrative moved like a locomotive, with peaks and troughs heightening the drama (Kyne’s death scene was astonishing.) The highlighted language and cultural differences were a fascinating touch.
The scale of the film (especially in some interiors), how they were photographed and the visual effects that tied everything together were astonishing. Visual effects supervisor Paul Lambert won an Oscar for Blade Runner 2049 and he’s surely due another nomination here. More than The Force Awakens, the worlds depicted here genuinely felt like they were in a galaxy far, far away and yet they seemed completely real.
The beauty in the visuals was matched by the beauty of the cast (gracious! I could just stare at all of them for ages! [Even at Baron Harkonen in his restorative bath].) The costumes were exquisite (Lady Jessica’s gowns were very special, and I loved the detail and personalising of the still suits). But good looks aren’t everything: the casting and performance of each part came with such care that I couldn’t help but be riveted by them. Only once or twice I felt a dissonance between performance and narrative, but that may well be because of my watching and reading about different versions of Dune that have gone before.
Timothee Chalomet’s youth was terrifically tied in with Paul’s story: his dreams of Chani had the sense of puberty or development. (By the way, it must be quite odd to have wondrous dreams about a woman gracefully walking through the desert, only to meet her, have her pull a weapon on you, then hand you another weapon for you to die honourably with.) Rebecca Ferguson externalised her divided loyalties sympathetically. Jason Momoa could probably drink or fight everyone under the table. It was refreshing to see dark skinned actors like Sharon Duncan-Brewster in a science fiction film adaptation (still controversial to many fans) but I’m also aware of some observers feeling that in a story that is partly influenced by Lawrence of Arabia, Bedouin tribes and Middle-Eastern oil states, a lack of Middle-Eastern performers is a missed opportunity. Nonetheless, I am really into this film. Denis Villeneuve has definitely got his groove back after the longeurs of Blade Runner 2049 and, as Chani says, this story is only beginning. I can’t wait for what comes next.
Is anyone as excited as I am for the next part?
Safe
In 2019, The Guardian published a fascinating and moving essay by the novelist and screenwriter Courttia Newland. After I Tweeted the author, I went to look for the origin of the essay. It was an anthology called “Safe: on Black British Men reclaiming space” (“Safe: 20 Ways to be a Black Man in Britain Today”, in paperback) edited by Derek Owusu. I bought a signed copy.

“Safe” contained essays by many Black British men’s voices: journalists, poets, playwrights and actors; from the African continent, the Caribbean and the UK. The essays covered many topics including work, school, sexuality, families and fatherhood, as well as style and dancing: all aspects of Black British men’s lives.
There were many different and I didn’t agree with all of them, but that was not necessary as it was just fascinating to come across so many different views of life from the Black diaspora. As I read, I kept thinking of the book’s title: this book was a safe place for personal expression.
As I said, my copy was signed. Owusu had written a few words on the title page: “We’re just like you.” As I started reading, I though that this referred to a universality of experience between all peoples, but I was wrong. As I finished the last essay and read the authors’ biographies, I realised that the dedication referred to difference. “We’re just like you,” meant that each writer was just like every other person: an individual.
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