There is no way to describe Dune except that it is unique: it not only adapts the space opera authentically and truthfully but does so with a personal and loving touch.

A majestically vast universe populated with detailed religions, political factions, economic powers, and awe-inspiring planets; check. A Shakespearean plot centred on hope, betrayal, greed, and a young hero who has no choice but to rise to the call of leadership; check. A coalition of characters surviving on a treacherous planet in a treacherous galaxy ruled by a treacherous emperor; check.

Denis Villeneuve’s Dune ticks all the boxes as he brings Frank Herbert’s epic to life without leaving any of the important pieces behind, shattering anxious expectations as he takes his rightful place as the ruler of modern sci-fi.

Dune, as a property, can be very problematic – it only takes a quick look at Lynch’s 1984 attempt at cramming the entirety of the long novel into 137 minutes to see how glaring the problems are. Firstly there is the issue of content, a problem which Villeneuve solves with quick ease: don’t do the whole book. As misleading as the title may be, Dune encompasses roughly the first half of the book, staying mostly true to the source material as a few necessary cuts are made along the way.

The pacing is slow and dragging as stunning visuals dominate; enormous ships landing gently in the middle of a barren desert, the Atreides army saluting their Duke as the space freighters bellow their horns in support. This isn’t a rebuke, quite the contrary. Just like the book, you need to earn the right to sit at the table; it isn’t enough to follow the sprawling narrative, you need to digest it, let yourself be absorbed by the fantastical galaxy and patiently wait for the ‘excitement’.

Every quiet moment, every tension-filled second is exhilarating as the weight of each action is left there untouched, freezing time both on and off screen without the need for mindless activity to push it along.

Although Villeneuve has certainly simplified Herbert’s scope into a more manageable and frankly relatable plot, there are very few stones left unturned, the most notable of which being the importance of Paul as both mentat and the prophesized and planned Kwisatz Haderach. Yet even without the extra boost of self-importance, Paul Atreides’ (Timothée Chalamet) struggle as he rises to the expectations of his father, mother, and the ever-looming myths that surround him is breath-taking.

Chalamet captures the transition between the curious and questioning child to the cold and all-seeing leader with ease, aided by carefully timed effects. When Paul uses the ‘voice’ for the first time, his command is powerful and heavy, the words delayed as they crash through any and all doubt.

Caption: A man known by many names… Timothée Chalamet. Photo: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Many things are at work across the long and encompassing runtime, but it is the synchronisation between them that makes Dune close to perfect. Every casting decision and performance works in tandem with the rest, sacrificing a sole spotlight to create an orchestrated ballet as the film turns into a seamless ideological patchwork instead of a series of separate artworks (and even if I were to go into detail, there are simply too many dazzling characters and actors to speak about). The same is true for the evocative soundtrack, Hans Zimmer doesn’t hold back the extravagance as the medieval/futuristic visuals hold their ground, the pair working in unison.

Caption: Duke Leto, the charismatic and loving leader… Oscar Isaac. Photo: Warner Bros. Pictures.

Yet there is still a detail that bugs me. I am not a fan of films that don’t end, films that while there is a final scene there isn’t the tying up of plot lines but instead a promise for more a few years down the line. But Dune doesn’t make me feel like that. I don’t feel dissatisfied by Villeneuve’s choice of ending as the film focuses heavily on Paul instead of the inter-planetary politics, but I still have the nagging feeling that I am happy since I know what is going to happen not only in the next part, but in the next several books. I don’t feel cheated out of an ending because I knew everything before I even entered the cinema.

Does this diminish the quality of my experience, or is it just another frame of reference? Considering how anxious I felt sitting in my theatre seat, waiting to watch a film that has been in my head ever since I trudged through Herbert’s prose, I think that the lack of a ‘true’ ending is a worthy price to pay. Dune surpassed every single one of my high expectations, forever transforming my vision of the space opera, both on screen and in-between the pages. Let’s hope Part 2 can live up to this sprawling magnificence.