Denis Villeneuve’s 2021 trip to Arrakis was an undeniable success. He translated Frank Herbert’s epic Dune universe to the screen in a way that rescued it from lower-budget cable mini-series and didn’t alienate too many viewers, albeit while straightening out some of the weirder points—unworldly-Spice-mutated navigators remain off camera, and the word ‘melange’ isn’t mentioned—somewhat vindicating the Canadian director’s strong emphasis on themes.

While Dune set out a solid stall, that approach only deepens in Part Two, which has a marginally longer runtime to play with and a more confident, sweeping approach to responsibility, destiny and legacy as Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) rises to become a god. 

The sudden and devastating Harkonnen attack that closed the first part, authorised at the highest imperial levels, has left Arrakis in that great house’s hands and their enemies, House Attreides, shattered. With the Emperor (Christopher Walken) subdued and the Bene Gesserit forming plans within plans, Paul and Jessica Atreides (Rebecca Ferguson) take refuge with the northern Freman, helping to derail Harkonnen attempts to harvest Spice with their guerrilla attacks. 

But destiny isn’t easy. The young Atreides must overcome the suspicions and fundamentalism that split the Fremen between seeing him as either a messiah or a false prophet. As Paul quickly learns the desert ways (‘as was written,’ as Fremen like Stilgar believe), his closer affinity with the Spice gives him a clearer vision of the consequences of gaining enough power to avenge his father’s death and the destruction of his house. But events and even the planet seem intent on not leaving him any choice. 

Villeneuve’s Dune is often powerfully minimalist—sitting very much in the lineage of his Arrival (2016) and Blade Runner 2049 (2017)—but the appeal of his light-hanmded abstraction is clear in Part Two’s opening, from the gravity-defying Harkonen forces (and their Baron floating off-screen), the eclipse breaking across the desert planet and a glimpse at his embryonic sister.

With the fundamental beats of the origin story packed away in Part One, Villeneuve relishes sinking into long vignettes, each painting the characters who orbit Paul’s conflicted journey toward revenge, jihad, or both. This really is all about the young Duke becoming a man, or more than a man. But stretched into a long quest, it’s remarkable that Villeneuve’s long approach holds together so well. 

Dune Two shrugs off long character absences—it’s halfway through before we really catch up with the Emperor (if anything, underplayed) and, most importantly, Florence Pugh’s Princess Irulan, and the always plotting Reverend Mother (Charlotte Rampling). Along with Jessica and Zandaya’s Chani, they are proof that it’s a formidable female presence that drives the book. That’s also when we meet the great new threat, and dark shadow to Paul, Austin Butler’s Feyd-Rautha, the psychotically effective weapon of Baron Harkonnen (Stellan Skarsgård). His introduction, on the surface of Geidi Prime, in over-exposed monochrome, is a stylistic, sadistic feast—a glimmer of Gladiator.

Butler’s accent may shift, from a little West Country to Swedish, but he’s a smooth, hideous creation. His introduction and how it blends with the Bene Gesserit’s long game could elicit a yawn as superfluous world-building. But within the grading shifts—cinematographer Greig Fraser works constant wonders here—it’s all held together with a remarkably consistent tone. 

As Stilgar says before Paul’s similar and spectacular ‘coming of ability’ scene—riding the Shai-Hulud worm—‘Be simple, be direct. Nothing fancy.’ That’s something Vilenneuve takes very seriously, with each element brilliantly realised. 

Vilennueve is possibly at a visual peak here, stitching his minimalist yet epic work with delicate dreamscapes. Action set-pieces make the most of the huge scope, showcasing brilliant production design and exquisite sound. One scene features a black Harkonnen harvester towering over the sea of sand like an egg-filled bug before being attacked by Freman forces, adding an extra dimension to Paul and Chani’s relationship. 

That approach to action and spectacle is matched with some compact dialogue (“Tighten your grip, Rabban, or feel mine on your neck,” gloops the laconic Baron).

The director and co-writer even unlock some unexpected comedy from an unlikely place. After the first film, who would have thought Javier Bardem’s gruff Stilgar would elicit so many smiles? That, of course, has a dark side of its own, precipitating the uncontrollable intergalactic jihad that hangs over the ending. 

Herbert built a narrative that’s easily been regarded as unfilmable. Vilennueve has proved that wrong, but it’s no easy feat. Paul, after all, has to be, or have the potential to be the Bene Gesserit’s Kwisatz Haderach, the Fremen’s Lisan al-Gaib, and prove himself as Muad’Dib (Usul while reviving the Great House Atreides. Yes, all those roads lead to one point, but this is a desert.

It’s in Paul and Chani forging and breaking a romance against the scheming of Lady Jessica and her unborn, Spice-empowered child, Alia (seen in future visions, played by the uncredited Anya Taylor-Joy) that the weak part lies. Chani has to be the catalyst for Paul to realise he can’t escape his destiny, but ultimately rejects it twice (the leader and the lover). That’s undoubtedly the move of a series, a shifting sand sea of parts that could stretch for many instalments. If Part Two could have sealed a coherent, self-contained plot that kept its personal story as framed as its sweeping parts, it could have been something truly extraordinary.