Dune

In Luke 4:5-6, the devil tempts Jesus by showing “him all the kingdoms of the world in a moment in time” and tells him, “To you I will give all this authority and their glory, for it has been delivered to me, and I give it to whom I will.” Imagine, if you will, that the devil is not a fallen angel, but a secret religious order that controls imperial politics from the shadows, and Jesus is the young lord of a noble house far in the future, on the precipice of awakening to his messianic purpose. And imagine that instead of rejecting the temptation, the young lord accepts it, lured by the power and the possibility of reshaping the galaxy into a more just order.

Such is the theological prompt of Dune, Denis Villeneuve’s magnificent adaptation of Frank Herbert’s iconic science-fiction novel (or at least the first half of it). The novel (and film) is more enamored of Islam than Christianity, but its examination of the moral cost of messianism is rooted deep in the story. The film questions the moral cost of being a savior, both to the savior and to the saved, and asks whether the righteousness of a cause justifies the blood spilled in its name. In a standout sequence midway through the film, the young lord Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) sees visions of the bloodshed that lies in his future if he throws down his enemies and bends the empire to his will. He is terrified of the path his mother, the Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), has set him on and feels like he’s less than a human for his prescient abilities. And yet, he cannot resist the temptation of his visions, for power is alluring, especially when you can use that power to throw down your enemies, such as the brutal House Harkonnen of the film.

Dune is an enthralling film for its intricate worldbuilding, totalizing sound design, and stirring story of heroism, but deep within its familiar narrative patterns (which have influenced everything from Star Wars to Game of Thrones) lies an interrogation of how religion and politics can intertwine and shape a culture. It’s a film that ultimately prompts the viewer with the question: would you accept the power that is offered to Paul? Would you be the savior if asked? It’s a question we’re all asked each day in ways more modest than on display in the film, and only if we’re equipped with the knowledge that Jesus has in the Gospels, that the devil has no dominion and that his offer is a lie, are we confident to make the right choice. But poor Paul is not so lucky. He is a prisoner of his destiny and the genetic legacy laid out for him. He exists in a world where grace is elusive, and so lies the frightening implication of his future success. Even ending the film in modest victory, the horrors of holy war lie ahead. — Aren Bergstrom

Arts & Faith Lists:
2021 Ecumenical Jury