OttoVonB
Joined Jan 2002
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Another day, another messianic blockbuster to « save cinema », a state of affairs which, given Dune's themes, is rich in irony. Denis Villeneuve's DUNE part 2 continues the story of Paul Atreides as he joins the nomadic Fremen to wage war against his arch-enemies the Harkonen, hailed by many as their messiah and aided in that by his supernaturally gifted mother.
In the age of hyperbole, Dune part 2 has been hailed as this age's far superior alternative to Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, whilst also being decried as a shameful betrayal of its source material by purists. Predictably, the truth is somewhere in between. Where Lord of the Rings comparisons prove apt, is in the fortuitous occurrence of a gifted, resourceful filmmaker clearly in love with the source novel(s), and a very evident desire not to compromise in his artistic vision, hence the daring gambit to split the first book into two non-simultaneously shot films. The success of part 1 paved the way for part 2, itself promising an eventual follow-up or coda to the whole story. Like Jackson before him, Villeneuve is grappling with thematically dense material, and as in all adaptations, choices must be made, most of them - as was the case with the Rings films - for the better. Conflict, that crucial ingredient for effective cinematic storytelling, is emphasized on all personal fronts: between Paul and his vengeful mother (played by a scenery-chewing Rebecca Ferguson), between Paul and Zendaya's Fremen Chani, and in Paul's reluctance to accept the path laid out before him. The dubious nature of the prophecy and the weight of the evil it will cause Paul to commit is much more foregrounded here than in the original Dune book, something author Frank Herbert clearly cared about, since he leaned heavily into it in his follow-up, Dune Messiah. Similarities with the Rings trilogy extend to a gifted and committed cast, as well as technical credits that are all at the very peak of what the industry can offer in this day and age, with particular kudos to cinematographer Greig Fraser and production designer Patrice Vermette.
In terms of sheer spectacle, part 2 ramps things up ant the showstopper moments are truly inspired. An opening face-off with Harkonen shock-troops is tense and otherworldly-feeling, Paul's first attempt at riding a sand-worm will have you on the edge of your seat coughing up sand, and the ending is a thing of terrible, daring beauty. These set-pieces owe their effectiveness in no small part to quieter moments Villeneuve nails, such as Lady Jessica's scheming, the surreal awakening of Paul's gestating sister Alya, and frankly anything involving Javier Bardem's fundamentalist Stilgar.
Where comparisons with the Rings trilogy fall apart is in areas where this film - and its predecessor - fall short. The films clearly function as two halves of a whole, part 1 lacking a satisfying close. For all the visual splendor on display - and it is consequential, IMAX or no - and the immersive sound design, Dune part 2 suffers from strange rhythmic hiccups at times. Some narrative threads are given room to breathe (particularly the most important one of Paul integrating the Fremen), while others feel rushed, chiefly the central romance, to make room for scenes that add little in the way of the emotional core of the film, such as pretty much anything involving the Imperial family (a wasted Florence Pugh and a badly miscast Christopher Walken) or Bene Gesserit machinations. These are moments where you feel the filmmakers' desire to let you drown in this rich universe, and the central story suffers as a result. One could also argue that, unlike in moments of part 1, part 2 never makes you feel the scorching heat of Arrakis' deserts, and the Harkonen aren't quite as perverse as you wish they'd be. The real low-point, for me, was Hans Zimmer's uninspired score, the positive reaction to which has me sincerely baffled. As an extension of the sound design, it is sometimes effective, but in its utter failure to generate more than one passably memorable theme, it is an absolute waste. Think of what John Williams conjured up for that galaxy far far away, or Howard Shore's colossal scores for Middle Earth... in such venerable company, Zimmer's effort falls way short.
Thank God then for what does work, and there is so much to praise. These two films have stoked my interest in the Dune mythos, something I was, until now whole unfamiliar with. They deliver a phenomenal level of spectacle, the likes of which we only get too rarely. They push the boundaries in many respects, be it in the aforementioned cinematography, or in the special effects, which are not only seamless but also convey weight, presence and scale the degrees seldom seen before. The films also showcase many of the great screen talents of the moment. Chalamet owns every facet of the character and finally makes you understand what all the fuss was about, and Austin Butler does a wonderful Stellan Skarsgard impression. Acting-wise, the plaudits mostly go to Rebecca Ferguson, absolutely chilling, and to the wonderful Javier Bardem, whose presence, commitment and charisma no meme can dampen.
Dune part 2 is not the greatest film of all time, but it is a very welcome reprieve from cold filmmaking by committee that most of the prevailing franchises had gotten us used to of late. Like the recent Oppenheimer, it delivers the kind of spectacle you can only expect when a gifted filmmaker is able to deploy massive resources to tell a story they care about and remember to keep audiences emotionally engaged. Hopefully these two films' successes bode well for such productions in years to come.
In the age of hyperbole, Dune part 2 has been hailed as this age's far superior alternative to Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, whilst also being decried as a shameful betrayal of its source material by purists. Predictably, the truth is somewhere in between. Where Lord of the Rings comparisons prove apt, is in the fortuitous occurrence of a gifted, resourceful filmmaker clearly in love with the source novel(s), and a very evident desire not to compromise in his artistic vision, hence the daring gambit to split the first book into two non-simultaneously shot films. The success of part 1 paved the way for part 2, itself promising an eventual follow-up or coda to the whole story. Like Jackson before him, Villeneuve is grappling with thematically dense material, and as in all adaptations, choices must be made, most of them - as was the case with the Rings films - for the better. Conflict, that crucial ingredient for effective cinematic storytelling, is emphasized on all personal fronts: between Paul and his vengeful mother (played by a scenery-chewing Rebecca Ferguson), between Paul and Zendaya's Fremen Chani, and in Paul's reluctance to accept the path laid out before him. The dubious nature of the prophecy and the weight of the evil it will cause Paul to commit is much more foregrounded here than in the original Dune book, something author Frank Herbert clearly cared about, since he leaned heavily into it in his follow-up, Dune Messiah. Similarities with the Rings trilogy extend to a gifted and committed cast, as well as technical credits that are all at the very peak of what the industry can offer in this day and age, with particular kudos to cinematographer Greig Fraser and production designer Patrice Vermette.
In terms of sheer spectacle, part 2 ramps things up ant the showstopper moments are truly inspired. An opening face-off with Harkonen shock-troops is tense and otherworldly-feeling, Paul's first attempt at riding a sand-worm will have you on the edge of your seat coughing up sand, and the ending is a thing of terrible, daring beauty. These set-pieces owe their effectiveness in no small part to quieter moments Villeneuve nails, such as Lady Jessica's scheming, the surreal awakening of Paul's gestating sister Alya, and frankly anything involving Javier Bardem's fundamentalist Stilgar.
Where comparisons with the Rings trilogy fall apart is in areas where this film - and its predecessor - fall short. The films clearly function as two halves of a whole, part 1 lacking a satisfying close. For all the visual splendor on display - and it is consequential, IMAX or no - and the immersive sound design, Dune part 2 suffers from strange rhythmic hiccups at times. Some narrative threads are given room to breathe (particularly the most important one of Paul integrating the Fremen), while others feel rushed, chiefly the central romance, to make room for scenes that add little in the way of the emotional core of the film, such as pretty much anything involving the Imperial family (a wasted Florence Pugh and a badly miscast Christopher Walken) or Bene Gesserit machinations. These are moments where you feel the filmmakers' desire to let you drown in this rich universe, and the central story suffers as a result. One could also argue that, unlike in moments of part 1, part 2 never makes you feel the scorching heat of Arrakis' deserts, and the Harkonen aren't quite as perverse as you wish they'd be. The real low-point, for me, was Hans Zimmer's uninspired score, the positive reaction to which has me sincerely baffled. As an extension of the sound design, it is sometimes effective, but in its utter failure to generate more than one passably memorable theme, it is an absolute waste. Think of what John Williams conjured up for that galaxy far far away, or Howard Shore's colossal scores for Middle Earth... in such venerable company, Zimmer's effort falls way short.
Thank God then for what does work, and there is so much to praise. These two films have stoked my interest in the Dune mythos, something I was, until now whole unfamiliar with. They deliver a phenomenal level of spectacle, the likes of which we only get too rarely. They push the boundaries in many respects, be it in the aforementioned cinematography, or in the special effects, which are not only seamless but also convey weight, presence and scale the degrees seldom seen before. The films also showcase many of the great screen talents of the moment. Chalamet owns every facet of the character and finally makes you understand what all the fuss was about, and Austin Butler does a wonderful Stellan Skarsgard impression. Acting-wise, the plaudits mostly go to Rebecca Ferguson, absolutely chilling, and to the wonderful Javier Bardem, whose presence, commitment and charisma no meme can dampen.
Dune part 2 is not the greatest film of all time, but it is a very welcome reprieve from cold filmmaking by committee that most of the prevailing franchises had gotten us used to of late. Like the recent Oppenheimer, it delivers the kind of spectacle you can only expect when a gifted filmmaker is able to deploy massive resources to tell a story they care about and remember to keep audiences emotionally engaged. Hopefully these two films' successes bode well for such productions in years to come.
Lancelot is back, and Camelot is tired. The famed knight of legend wants to put an end to his affair with Queen Guinevere whilst crushing any rumors of improper behavior on her part... and Richard Gere is nowhere in sight!
A look at the other reviews on this sight will have clued you in to the fact that this is as far from a Hollywood take as you can get on an old story of myth. Lancelot - and Bresson's filmmaking in general - can be described as minimal, clinical, cold, slow-burn... It is all those things, and yet it isn't. The very mannered, almost robotic performances, have a transe-like nature about them, and when a powerful emotion finally is allowed to burst forth, as with a sad look of hopelessness from Lancelot, or yearning from his Queen... It hits all the harder for it. Bresson strips back the elements we'd expect from such a story, but chooses instead to focus on gestures, repeated nearly to the point of a Buddhist mantra, until they either break the viewer or plunge them into a cathartic realm.
I still don't know whether I "liked" this film, whether I enjoyed it... but it was nearly impossible to look away, and the precision of the craft on display made the experience rather unique.
If this sounds like something you'd enjoy, consider deferring your gratification (or frustration) and check out the superior and more approachable Au Hasard Balthazar or A Man Escaped first, then come back here.
This was one hell of a strange ride!
A look at the other reviews on this sight will have clued you in to the fact that this is as far from a Hollywood take as you can get on an old story of myth. Lancelot - and Bresson's filmmaking in general - can be described as minimal, clinical, cold, slow-burn... It is all those things, and yet it isn't. The very mannered, almost robotic performances, have a transe-like nature about them, and when a powerful emotion finally is allowed to burst forth, as with a sad look of hopelessness from Lancelot, or yearning from his Queen... It hits all the harder for it. Bresson strips back the elements we'd expect from such a story, but chooses instead to focus on gestures, repeated nearly to the point of a Buddhist mantra, until they either break the viewer or plunge them into a cathartic realm.
I still don't know whether I "liked" this film, whether I enjoyed it... but it was nearly impossible to look away, and the precision of the craft on display made the experience rather unique.
If this sounds like something you'd enjoy, consider deferring your gratification (or frustration) and check out the superior and more approachable Au Hasard Balthazar or A Man Escaped first, then come back here.
This was one hell of a strange ride!
You could apply this same sentiment to director Michael Bay himself, the mastermind behind this seminal blockbuster, but then you'd also have to admit this film makes him something of a pioneer. Let's rewind a bit first.
An asteroid « the size of Texas » is on a collision course with Earth, so NASA scrambles its finest to bring a team of drillers to the deadly rock, where they will plant nukes in it and obliterate before it exterminates humanity. You could fly actual space shuttles through the plot-holes in this film - the unlikely sum of six screenwriters' toil - but one of the many things Armageddon pioneered is a relentless style and pace that leaves little time to pause for breath, let alone ponder such things. So the man of the hour is grizzled drilling vet Harry Stamper (Willis, at the peak of his popularity), whose idiosyncratic crew includes son-in-law-to-be A. J. (Affleck in his first mega budget outing) and daughter Grace (Tyler, who can gaze wantonly at a monitor like few actresses before or since).
Here we need to pause in wonder at who approved such an awe-inspiring cast. Willis doesn't evoke financial risk, and it is nice to see him invest a character with feeling - one of the very last times he would do so - but the credits are something of a miracle. Billy Bob Thornton as a NASA head honcho, Steve Buscemi as a sex-crazed drilling prodigy (yes, yes, I know...), Jason Isaacs, William Fichtner, Owen Wilson, Keith David... Remember this is a blockbuster from the late 90s. It's just awe-inspiring to watch such talented performers rip into such ludicrous material and twist it around their little fingers like pros, and the film would never have connected half as well with audiences without them. But here the subtle pleasures of life end and we need to examine the very raw meat of this film.
Before it was even fashionable to do so, Michael Bay films every scene not just like trailer material, but like a set piece. No moment is too small to get the BIG treatment. He also ramps up the color saturation to something approaching pop art: skins are golden, almost orange, and deep space a frosty teal. You can see where this is going? The only director to have taken this approach any further - almost as a joke it would seem - has been George Miller with Mad Max Fury Road (an infinitely superior film to be sure but similar in its intent to be a purely visceral crowd-pleaser). The music is big and anonymous in equal measure and the pop song needle drops as refined as the rest of the product. Aerosmith's centerpiece « Don't Want to Miss a Thing » made many a desperate listener claw at their eardrums for relief in late 1998, and there is something deliciously sick in hearing Steve Tyler sing over scenes where Ben Affleck is an inch from banging his real-life daughter, particularly in a Disney production. The epilogue is legendary for its bad taste and sappiness... But if you're honest with yourself, you'll probably really enjoy yourself watching this film.
Armageddon is big, its stupidity at times overpowering enough to qualify as inspiring. But it does have a personality of its own, and that is definitely something to be treasured.
An asteroid « the size of Texas » is on a collision course with Earth, so NASA scrambles its finest to bring a team of drillers to the deadly rock, where they will plant nukes in it and obliterate before it exterminates humanity. You could fly actual space shuttles through the plot-holes in this film - the unlikely sum of six screenwriters' toil - but one of the many things Armageddon pioneered is a relentless style and pace that leaves little time to pause for breath, let alone ponder such things. So the man of the hour is grizzled drilling vet Harry Stamper (Willis, at the peak of his popularity), whose idiosyncratic crew includes son-in-law-to-be A. J. (Affleck in his first mega budget outing) and daughter Grace (Tyler, who can gaze wantonly at a monitor like few actresses before or since).
Here we need to pause in wonder at who approved such an awe-inspiring cast. Willis doesn't evoke financial risk, and it is nice to see him invest a character with feeling - one of the very last times he would do so - but the credits are something of a miracle. Billy Bob Thornton as a NASA head honcho, Steve Buscemi as a sex-crazed drilling prodigy (yes, yes, I know...), Jason Isaacs, William Fichtner, Owen Wilson, Keith David... Remember this is a blockbuster from the late 90s. It's just awe-inspiring to watch such talented performers rip into such ludicrous material and twist it around their little fingers like pros, and the film would never have connected half as well with audiences without them. But here the subtle pleasures of life end and we need to examine the very raw meat of this film.
Before it was even fashionable to do so, Michael Bay films every scene not just like trailer material, but like a set piece. No moment is too small to get the BIG treatment. He also ramps up the color saturation to something approaching pop art: skins are golden, almost orange, and deep space a frosty teal. You can see where this is going? The only director to have taken this approach any further - almost as a joke it would seem - has been George Miller with Mad Max Fury Road (an infinitely superior film to be sure but similar in its intent to be a purely visceral crowd-pleaser). The music is big and anonymous in equal measure and the pop song needle drops as refined as the rest of the product. Aerosmith's centerpiece « Don't Want to Miss a Thing » made many a desperate listener claw at their eardrums for relief in late 1998, and there is something deliciously sick in hearing Steve Tyler sing over scenes where Ben Affleck is an inch from banging his real-life daughter, particularly in a Disney production. The epilogue is legendary for its bad taste and sappiness... But if you're honest with yourself, you'll probably really enjoy yourself watching this film.
Armageddon is big, its stupidity at times overpowering enough to qualify as inspiring. But it does have a personality of its own, and that is definitely something to be treasured.