‘Desert Power’: Setting as character in ‘Dune’
Denis Villeneuve’s adaptation reveals that our surroundings shape us.
“The vision of time is broad, but when you pass through it, time becomes a narrow door.” - Frank Herbert, “Dune,” 1965 novel
“[Deserts] reflect your interiority, and the deeper you go in the desert, the deeper you go in yourself.” - Denis Villeneuve, director of “Dune,” 2021 film
Nobody exists in a vacuum.
Inasmuch as we shape our surroundings, we’re shaped by them: the people, the material objects, and the physical environments that we live within. Writing from a temperature-controlled room, it’s easy to forget that last part.
Immersed in the world of “Dune,” one can’t help but notice it.
In “Dune” — both the 1965 sci-fi novel by Frank Herbert and the first half of director Denis Villeneuve’s two-part cinematic adaptation — the physical environment is not merely a two-dimensional backdrop in front of which interpersonal dramas take place. It’s a vast soundscape whose dimensions shape peoples’ behavior and throughout which their every action echoes.
The film captures this with sweeping images of landscapes that dwarf the people within them and overhead shots that turn natural topography into impenetrable abstractions, collapsing our sense of space and time.
Our understanding of the film’s protagonists is inextricably influenced by their relationship to the setting of Arrakis, the desert planet the emperor has ordered them to steward.
For example, the precarity of Duke Leto’s (Oscar Isaac’s) political situation is amplified by the contrast between the ocean vistas of his home planet, Caladan, and the dry spice sands of Arrakis. On Caladan, Leto and his son stroll atop grassy cliffs overlooking the water, talking of wind and water power. On Arrakis, he and his family must be careful not to linger outdoors unprepared during the day, spending most of their time inside bunker-like buildings designed to protect them from the sun’s harsh rays.
Recognizing the hostility of this climate for human life, we know the Fremen — native people of Arrakis — possess special knowledge when we learn that they can form communities deep in the desert. And we understand that something is “off” about Paul (Timothée Chalamet) when he conspicuously does not struggle to adjust to their ways.
“You’ve worn a stillsuit before,” the Fremen ecologist Kynes (Sharon Duncan-Brewster) quizzically says to Paul, referring to the special water-recycling garment worn when venturing into the desert. “Your desert boots are fitted slip-fashion at the ankles. Who taught you how to do that?” Paul casually replies, “It seemed the right way.” This nonchalant comment adds gravity to the rumors that Paul is the chosen one the Fremen have waited for, the prophesied “Lisan al Gaib.”
As much as the desert exposes, it obscures. Paul and his mother, the Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), a member of the mysterious “Bene Gesserit,” hide there from the Harkonnens, who aim to kill them to secure Arrakis’ valuable resources for themselves. That’s partly because massive sandworms trawl its depths, impossible to spot at ground level until their black-hole mouths collapse the ground beneath one’s feet.
The Fremen, well, nobody knows exactly how many exist on Arrakis because of the desert’s sheer vastness. And as to whether Paul is some sort of messiah, spice-induced visions suggest a darker future, one brimming with death and destruction. In a rare burst of uncontrolled emotion after one such vision, he yells at his mother, “Your Bene Gesserit made me a freak!”
Villeneuve weaves this enigmatic central conflict into Dune’s imagery. The city of Arrakeen is monochromatic, at once blending in with the rolling sand dunes and distinguished from them by harsh geometric shapes. This communicates its citizens’ integration with the landscape and their need to protect themselves from it — mirroring Paul’s paradoxical relationship to his “fate.”
We’re also treated to shots of rippling, sparkling sands, carved by shadow and light into shapes both alien and alluring. In the book, readers flicker between characters’ thoughts and actions, riding the murky line between expectations and reality. In the film, images like these reflect a similar perceptual back-and-forth, marrying the physical with the psychological.
If “Dune” were a different sort of story, the endless expanse of the Arrakeen desert might represent a blank slate, a place where Paul must make something out of nothing. But here, even nothingness is alive with specific implications. The desert may indeed represent a new beginning for our protagonist, but surviving its harsh climate will necessitate traversing a narrow path.
Perhaps that’s why Paul is so frightened by his visions: At a symbolic crossroads, he’s effectively trapped. Between uncontrollable hallucinations, a destiny “prepared” for him by Bene Gesserit social engineering, and an unforgiving environment that necessitates survivalist ruthlessness, Paul’s real-world choices are few.
Even so, he sandwalks forward: “My path leads through the desert,” he says when joining up with the Fremen. At this moment, he takes ownership of his fate and, by extension, the environment in which he finds himself — though whether “ownership” means shaping it or willingly submitting to its plans for him is yet unclear.
Given Paul’s past experiences and orientation toward the future, the final scene of “Dune: Part One” appropriately marries desert and ocean imagery, showing a Fremen riding a sandworm that undulates effortlessly through sand dunes like a fish through water. “Desert power,” Paul murmurs in amazement.
Whether Paul can harness this power — and what he might use it for — is left for viewers to ponder as the credits roll. What’s more clear: Villeneuve captured it expertly in this stunning reimagining of “Dune,” terraforming textual terrain into a setting that lives and breathes.
Talia Barnes is a writer and visual artist interested in media, culture, and communication. She writes a Substack newsletter called Art Life Balance.
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