With all due respect to Eric Idle and the Monty Python gang, the year 1984 came up with a definitive answer to the joke/riddle, “What’s brown and sounds like a bell?” “Duuuuuunnnnnnne” Calling Dune a piece of shit is cruel to shit, which actually serves a purpose among lower life forms. The Dune envisioned by David Lynch serves no purpose whatsoever. I’d go so far as to say without having read a single vowel of the man’s work that novelist Frank Herbert is overrated – for no quality source material could possibly inspire a film this poor.
As uncomfortable as sand in your crotch, Dune plagues the screen for well over two hours, making no genuine points, but showing instead how not to make an epic. Everything that makes me uncomfortable with David Lynch direction is on full display here: his desire to befuddle, his fascination with the grotesque, and his adoration of lightweight Kyle MacLachlan. With uncanny classic training, MacLachlan has the keen ability to have no reaction regardless of stimulus. To compensate for this and Lynch’s standard mound of “WTF?” Dune decided to let most of the post-credits exposition be delivered by inner-voice. And Dune needs A LOT of explaining, which leads to A LOT of McLachlan staring blankly while his inner voice makes up words I hope I never have to remember.
I’m gonna do you a favor here and give you the big picture. That way, you can be at least as knowledgeable as anyone who has seen it, which is to say not much. The deal here is very few of the scenes make sense from a motive or plot perspective and by the time we get to operation desert syringe where
non-natives with nose plugs take to treating giant sand worms as an Old West sheriff might treat his steed, all hope of understanding this thing is lost, but by telling you this now, I swear you won’t be any less lost than somebody who has invested ninety minutes already.
The plot here is a power struggle among royalty from, like, four different planets, including the cruel ginger world. And everybody wants spices, dude, from the desert planet Dune. Not only do the spices have the powers of long life and prescience, they’re also gluten free. While the spices did not grant Kyle McLaughlin a personality, they did grant him great visions of maybe having one someday off-camera. I’m sure behind the scenes Paul Atreides (McLaughlin) dreams about what it’s like to have other facial expressions. On screen, however, we got a good look at what Tron or Return of the Jedi might have been like if the director got bored.
In between several attempts by beings to poke others with sharp instruments, Dune sorta tells a tale about the Duke’s son Paul 
finding his way to Tatooine –or whatever they’re calling it this film—to survey spice bucking and worm mining, or vice versa. It doesn’t matter. If you’re still awake past the thirty minute mark, this film is only good for pointing out people you recognize from superior forms of entertainment, like Sting, Linda Hunt, Max von Sydow, Dean Stockwell, and Patrick Stewart (geez, did he never have hair?)
Point is there’s power and there’s confusion and there’s sand and there’s David Lynch and plenty of talking heads. Well, not so much talking as looking off to the side passively while their thoughts fill the screen. There isn’t a single thing I can recommend about Dune. I am reminded of the cliché “only a great director can make a film this bad.” By those standards, David Lynch is a legend.
♪Why there was Footloose, Top Secret!
Many films that we regret
Like Red Dawn, Supergirl
Phoebe spoiled our Noel
We loathed Rhinestone, City Heat
But both of those would prove a treat
Cuz nothing was quite the boor
As Dune in eighty-four♫
Rated PG-13, 137 Minutes
Director: David Lynch
Writer: David Lynch
Genre: Spacecrap
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: David Lynch’s biographer
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Anybody forced to watch
♪ Parody Inspired by “1985”
