But I found it slightly disappointing and for a good 30 minutes in the middle I was bored beyond belief; I won’t spoil why.
I regret not seeing it in the cinema, though, as it’s better than most films of this … variety. To a large extent reliant on spectacle (for that’s what it is), I suppose these aesthetic qualities demand a big-screen experience rather than a god-knows-what-inch £55 second-hand Chromebook.
It gets a lot right – the stunning visuals, the world-building, the casting, sandworms that aren’t ‘Pure LOL’, and the spirit of the book. And most importantly, it isn’t the David Lynch version.
The first trailer was released the other day for the latest adaptation of the Frank Herbert classic (1965). As promising as it looks, one is wary. Has there ever been ripe source material so consistently ruined by the moving image? Aside from a few pedestrian made-for-TV films, we have the rotten behemoth, the stupor-inspiring megaflop that is Dune (1984).
Even as a child I hated it and could articulate why it was so terrible. It was like a lesson in how to make a movie boring. The screenplay is all over the place, extended scenes existing for no apparent reason, characters possessing zero capacity for thought, all washed down with ropey special effects, hammy acting, and just a general … stylistic weirdness completely out of sync with the bare bones of the story.
David Lynch, with all his auteur talents, is not a director one associates with epic spectacle and character development mirroring the vistas. He cannot help himself here, insisting on going full-Lynch. God knows why he was handpicked for this, or why he accepted the mission. And what was Sting doing there?
It was pathetic. I fucking hated this stinker, then and now. Everything about it is vile. It’s like Nick Cotton every time he returned to Albert Square.
Wanderings and ... wonderings. 