The everyday hero is a foreign concept in a universe where obscure machinations corrode a society that blindly follows in the hopes of stability and lasting glory.
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Denis Villeneuve’s second entry into the world of Dune has been praised for its spectacle, fidelity to the source material, and overall ambition. What feels remarkable about the sequel is how it uses Frank Herbert’s vision to drive the universe and, more importantly, the cinematic genre of sci-fi toward a new chapter of pragmatist dystopia. Amid the familiar terrain of the space opera, Dune: Part Two acts as a herald that defies conventions, steering away from the binary morality of classics like Star Wars. At the core of it all, the ascension of Paul Atreides challenges the hero’s journey and achieves a vision that parallels a fictional universe yet to be represented in mainstream sci-fi – Warhammer 40k.
This essay looks at how Villeneuve guides his cast and crew through a nuanced exploration of moral imbalance and societal decay, shattering the fable-like romance of classic space operas. In the process, the director uncovers themes which are also at the core of Warhammer 40K, examining a world driven by religious ritual and zeal, while giving center stage to the political conspiracies of powerful elites that undermine the individual at every step.
Although previous fictional iterations have delved into worlds steeped in violent pragmatism, the moral bareness of the second Dune and its significant cultural dialogue with Warhammer opens the door to an uncharted territory that speaks volumes about the state and scope of today’s science fiction cinema.
Reshaping the Space Opera Paradigm
Frank Herbert’s Dune and Villeneuve’s adaptation land in the realm of space operas. In the distant future narrative, noble prince Paul Atreides is thrust into a complex political power struggle for the desert planet of Arrakis – the sole source of spice melange, which facilitates space travel. Left with a broken spirit and little to no resources, he allies with the native Fremen, a people known for their ingenuity and adeptness in warfare.
And yet Paul stands out from the long history of space opera characters, a genre that has been described as “focused on a sympathetic, heroic central character and plot action, and usually set in the relatively distant future, and in space or on other worlds, characteristically optimistic in tone” (Hartwell & Cramer, 17). Paul’s optimism is abruptly shattered as his father and their noble house fall victim to the machinations of the Harkonnens, their sworn enemies. Villeneuve’s visual expertise comes into play to signal a universe of uncertain future, transforming Herbert’s evocative phantasms into riveting images of blazing war and bloodshed. In terms of sympathy, Paul, as played by Timothée Chalamet, manages to channel a monstrous tyrant, exhibiting a level of cunning and ruthlessness similar to his enemies. As he becomes the fiery leader of the Fremen, his bond with his companions remains a shadow of what it once was. Obtaining prescience, which allows him to see into many possible futures of Arrakis, he makes his allies pawns in his grand design.
When comparing Chalamet’s Paul with Luke Skywalker, the classic space opera character, it is clear that only the latter succeeds in resisting the temptation of the dark side. In fact, Herbert discards the dichotomy of good and evil altogether, a trope that Villeneuve portrays masterfully. Clearly inspired by Dune, George Lucas created a version of the archetypal galactic war that was “unrelentingly nostalgic, morally unsophisticated, and wholly reassuring” (Wright, 92). His saga stands as a cultural phenomenon born from the late ’70s social zeitgeist, which eventually eclipsed Herbert’s text and its subversiveness.
In Dune: Part Two, the original themes of political struggle, religious zealotry and deceitful destiny reclaim the spotlight. Their nuance is explored within a film adaptation closely connected to the book’s rich visual legacy, which includes successors such as Star Wars, Star Trek, and James Cameron’s Avatar. Guided by the original text, Villeneuve shifts the space opera paradigm back to Herbert’s exploration of moral ambiguity. The farm boy from Tatooine is reimagined once more – as the noble son who is keenly aware of the political turmoil between the galaxy’s prominent houses. His longing for adventure and subsequent battle with the oppressive Empire is now a fervent quest for revenge and ultimate power. Crossing the threshold into a realm of unrelenting destiny, Paul embarks on a path that is aligned with a sci-fi subgenre focused on the amoral machinations and violent outcomes of a society driven by tyranny and political tension.
The Convergence of Dune and Warhammer
As I left the cinema after seeing Dune: Part Two, I was struck by the blend of unique yet somehow familiar elements within the realm of sci-fi – more specifically, a pervasive uneasiness, stemming from elements such as maximalism, absurd brutality, and religious fervor. Paired with the nuanced story of a despotic figure in ascension, Villeneuve’s vision, it became clear to me, intersects with that of Warhammer 40k, a tabletop game and media franchise.
Warhammer 40k is a niche science-fiction universe that has clearly borrowed from Herbert’s themes. At the core of its sprawling intergalactic narrative stands a godlike figure known simply as the Emperor. In the far future, he rallies the rabid clans of a devastated Earth around him and establishes order through cruelty and bloodshed. Afterward, his massive crusade brings all the planets that oppose him to obedience. His rule is ultimately unraveled after a civil war starts between his sons – artificially created superhumans that serve as his generals. The internal struggle subsequently plunges his Imperium into despair and technological regression to the point of returning to a quasi-medieval structure, similar to Dune’s rigorous hierarchy.
To add to the absurdity of the dark space opera and overall satire, the Emperor is a deeply secular figure who becomes the sole deity of humanity in the far future. Mortally wounded by his treacherous son Horus, who ignited the civil war, his broken body is enshrined within the golden throne – a colossal place of worship for a galaxy of billions upon billions who would give their life for him. The sheer bleakness of this fictional universe has inspired the emergence of grimdark as a subgenre, a sensibility that Villeneuve captures in a Dune series that has been shaped by somber narratives cultivated over the novel’s 50-plus-year legacy.
The grimdark genre presents a vision of the world as corrupt and ultimately hopeless. Whether it’s employed for criticizing certain aspects of society or outright satirizing is up to the author, filmmaker, or artist. Shurin (2015) has identified that “grimdark fantasy has three key components: tone, realism, and agency.” Its almost tautological name indicates that the overall tone of such fiction deals with the darkest aspects of human existence. Realism on its own is a somewhat unworkable term when dealing with fiction of this magnitude and esthetic scope. A much more interesting term is pragmatism. It feels more appropriate, especially for Dune, to focus on “the dark realism behind all those kingdom politics” (Valentine, 2015). As is the case with Warhammer 40k, major decisions lack the input of the little guy. The everyday hero is a foreign concept in a universe where obscure machinations corrode a society that blindly follows in the hopes of stability and lasting glory.
In discussing agency, the final element, it’s crucial to acknowledge its scarcity. Once he ascends to godhood, even the central character possesses little agency. Both Warhammer’s Emperor and Dune’s Paul share the ability for precognition and are well aware of a possible future in which they become gods. Yet they embrace their purpose, taking up the throne as utilitarian tyrants and maintaining galactic unity under one banner, albeit one marked by relentless bloodshed. Their similar narratives ultimately descend “into a kind of nihilism that portrays right action – in terms of personal morality – as either impossible or futile” (Bourke, 2015).
Herbert’s Dune and Villeneuve’s vision gravitate toward the grimdark genre. Regarding Warhammer, I have broken down three key aspects from its bleak fiction that Dune: Part Two adeptly channels, with the potential to usher in a new era of sci-fi blockbusters.
Power as a Religious Experience
Warhammer excels at highlighting religious fanaticism, similar to how Paul’s narrative shines a light on the impact of faith during times of war. Stilgar’s role as a strong believer in Muad’Dib accelerates Paul’s ascension and alters the nature of their war. Javier Bardem’s exaggerated acting style reveals a blindness that allows a quest for justice and revenge to turn into an all-out extermination of enemies opposing Fremen beliefs. As zealotry verges on the precipice of farce, the native warriors of Arrakis become an instrument of Paul’s will – similar to how the Emperor’s Space Marines unleash endless crusades within the Warhammer universe.
In a time of technological decline, Space Marines and common imperial soldiers pray to the Emperor and their machinery to grant them glory in battle. It is a universe in which religious ceremony is directly correlated with gaining, keeping, and bestowing power. Similarly, Jessica and Paul enhance their abilities by ritually drinking the Water of Life. Moreover, Stilgar and his group of fanatics are empowered once Paul embraces the prophecy. This intertextual dialogue between the Warhammer universe and Villeneuve’s film rejects the typical technophile sci-fi trope. As technology decays, traditions and rituals endure, empowering those who embrace faith and the promise of predestined glory.
The Great Game
In the Warhammer universe, four entities known as Chaos Gods exert their influence over human life. While depicted as the main enemy of The Imperium, they also embody distinctly human traits. First among them is Khorne, the god of war and hatred, followed by Tzeentch, representing intrigue and ambition. Nurgle symbolizes death and decay, while Slaanesh, the youngest one, is driven solely by lust and depravity. They are in a constant struggle, even as they form alliances. Called The Great Game, this cosmic contest adds another layer of cynicism and excess within the already bleak universe.
This translates well to Villeneuve’s vision, the director employing a polished visual style reflecting the Chaos Gods’ defining feelings. Baron Harkonnen embodies the bloated aspect of Nurgle, while the intricate schemes of the Bene Gesserit mirror the manipulative nature of Tzeentch. Another example is Feyd-Rautha, whose debauchery and gratuitous violence would make Slaanesh proud. The contradicting emotions that fuel the turbulence of The Great Game define the power struggle of Dune’s factions, which reduces individuals – outside aristocratic houses and hidden circles – to an expendable status.
Body as a Vessel for Duty
Warhammer and Dune share a philosophy where individuals lack control over their bodies; they’re an extension of their mission and their leaders. In the case of the Space Marines, personal lives are minimal, if not absent. Their time and effort are dedicated to fulfilling the Emperor’s crusade. Their bodies undergo massive physical and technological augmentations, embracing literal mutations as blessings that strengthen them in their holy war. That’s not to mention the billions of ordinary men and women who bear the brunt of The Imperium’s battles, where human life is reduced to cannon fodder for a hopeless intergalactic struggle.
Dune takes a similar approach to how bodies are used in the grand scheme of things. Lady Fenring of the Bene Gesserit is an example of submitting the body to a higher purpose, seducing Feyd-Rautha to secure her order’s plans. On the other side of Arrakis, Fremen take nothing for granted regarding their bodies, which act as repositories of life-giving moisture.
The visually striking scene in Dune in which the Fremen use a so-called deathstill to extract the water from the fallen body of Jamis mirrors an essential ceremony in the Space Marine lore. Collecting a fallen Marine’s gene-seed, a special organ that wholly enhances their strength, is both an honor and a necessity. It allows for the survival of their order, the ongoing recruitment of new members, and the continuation of the Emperor’s crusade.
The two rituals intersect in what scholar Istvan Csicsery-Ronay Jr. names the grotesque, which is a “projection of fascinated repulsion/attraction out into objects that consciousness cannot accommodate” (Csicsery-Ronay Jr, 71). The uneasy sight of the Fremen man’s desiccated body, the extreme violence of the Harkonnens, and the eeriness of their mutated slaves reinforce the film’s view of the body as useful only to the extent that it serves its larger governing faction.
Science Fiction’s Grimdark Future
Villeneuve takes Frank Herbert’s Dune and elevates it through an ornate visual style that embraces the novel’s fatalistic undertones and conjures grimdark themes in the process. Although the violence, ultra-pragmatic views, and political maneuvering have been explored in the past by the likes of Starship Troopers and Game of Thrones (a grimdark fiction in its own right), Dune: Part Two attains a significant milestone for space operas and science-fiction cinema, independent of the trilogy’s future outcome.
While less farcical than Warhammer 40k, Dune: Part Two provides an absorbing glimpse into the bleakness of the lesser-known sci-fi universe. It subdues morals, religion, and flesh, making way for endless war and cold manipulation. As the narrative continuously rejects optimistic tropes, it follows in the footsteps of 40k, showing prophets becoming tyrants who are ironically powerless in stopping their ascension to godhood. Paired with the maximalist vision of battles that shake an entire planet to its core, Villeneuve’s interpretation of Herbert’s writing lays the groundwork for a potential sci-fi tradition inspired by Warhammer 40k – a universe with a large cult following that is making its way to the mainstream through an Amazon Prime series in development, produced by actor Henry Cavill.
As AI continues to permeate filmmaking and daily life, the convergence of the fictional and the real, long predicted by scholars and writers, becomes increasingly apparent. Reality has become stranger than the fiction of science, a genre that thrives on marveling at future possibilities while also giving expression to anxieties about our rapid progress. Well aware of this state of play, Dune offers a new perspective on what mainstream science fiction can be. The film shifts its focus from the common emphasis on technology to politics, religion, and power dynamics, attempting to hold up a mirror to contemporary society.
Less interested in the subversive ambitions of the original text, Villeneuve crafts an impactful narrative with different aspirations. Engaged in a timely dialogue with today’s tumultuous world, the second chapter of Dune’s modern adaptation presents a realpolitik view of science fiction, dismissing moralization and the promise of technology in favor of a grim vision focused on exploring brutal pragmatism.
Works Cited
Bourke, Liz. “The Dark Defiles by Richard Morgan.” Strange Horizons, 13 Apr. 2015, strangehorizons.com/non-fiction/reviews/the-dark-defiles-by-richard-morgan/.
Csicsery-Ronay, Istvan, Jr. “On the Grotesque in Science Fiction.” Science Fiction Studies 29, no. 1 (March 2002): 71-99.
Hartwell, David G., and Kathryn Cramer. The Space Opera Renaissance. Tom Doherty Associates, 2006.
Shurin, Jared. “The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison.” Pornokitsch, 28 Jan. 2015, www.pornokitsch.com/2015/01/new-releases-the-goblin-emperor-by-katherine-addison.html.
Valentine, Genevieve. “For a Taste of Grimdark, Visit the ‘Land Fit for Heroes.’” NPR, 25 Jan. 2015, www.npr.org/2015/01/25/378611261/for-a-taste-of-grimdark-visit-the-land-fit-for-heroes.
Wright, Peter. “Film and Television, 1960–1980.” The Routledge Companion to Science Fiction. Routledge, 2009.
