he spice must flow.” In the year 10,191, the galaxy is ruled by Padishah Emperor Shaddam IV (Jose Ferrer), father of Princess Irulan (Virginia Madsen) – who narrates. Governance is conducted through control of the most precious substance in the universe: a spice that extends life and is vital to space travel. But it can only be found on a single planet, a desolate, dry place full of deserts, called Arrakis – also known as Dune. And on that barren world is a battered, oppressed people, who cling to a prophecy of a messiah who will one day lead them to freedom.

On the homeworld of the emperor, a special envoy arrives to warn of the potential threat of young Paul Atreides (Kyle MacLachlan), whose father, Duke Leto (Jurgen Prochnow), is building a secret army that could pose a threat to the all-powerful ruler. To distract his project, Shaddam orders the Atreides clan to mine spice on Arrakis, which will keep them out of the way for a long enough period of time to allow longtime rival Baron Vladimir Harkonnen (Kenneth McMillan, portraying perhaps the most memorable role as a festering sadist, whose physical affliction is never elaborated upon – is he something of a Countess Bathory, fused with a fearmongering exaggeration on the AIDS epidemic of the era?) to prepare a sneak attack. Deceit and betrayal and sabotage are around every corner; virtually no one can be trusted when it comes to holding – or taking – political power.

Although the introductory scenes are awash with fascinating – if typical – sci-fi environments, structures, machinery, weaponry, spaceships, costumes, makeup/hairstyles, and monstrosities, a training sequence reveals early computer graphics, which pale in comparison to the practical effects and constructions. Though the visuals may alternate their impressiveness (the set designs just might be the most amusing), it’s the story here that holds the most weight – and, likewise, divulges problems in its arrangement. Based on Frank Herbert’s seminal novel, this comparatively brief adaptation crams so many characters, places, backstories, subplots, customs, devices, technology, and other concepts (including such minute things as diseases and animals) together with dizzying rapidity that it quickly becomes difficult to navigate. The jargon and the proper names are the first to be wholly intractable. “Will you give us an explanation of their workings?”

The onslaught of singular imagery is engaging, even if it’s unfocused and confused. But the expositions soon grow wearisome, while the inner monologues and telepathic communications used for narration (by almost every persona, including bit parts) become mildly aggravating and, intermittently, completely unnecessary; almost every time someone speaks to themselves, it’s a conspicuous, bizarre way to relate this tale. It’s clearly intentional, but it’s a poor choice – and it only increases in its interruptive nature. At one point, a line is repeated entirely. Nevertheless, the film isn’t dull; there’s something absorbing about the most basic notion of warring factions vying for superiority over resources and civilians.

In many ways, this take on science-fiction is like an anti-“Star Wars,” as it focuses chiefly on drama and political machinations (including assassination attempts and the placement of spies) rather than space battles and adventure. A few sequences of action and destruction do surface, but they’re spread out and nonessential. A grand quest also emerges (spanning years), paired with a love story with Dune native Chani (Sean Young) – which is so rushed that it makes little sense. Strangely, it’s not the pacing that is off; it’s the way that information is presented. Screenwriter (and director) David Lynch simply isn’t able to handle the massive source material; he doesn’t know which parts to include or cut out. Every 10 minutes, it feels as if the narrative has jumped forward 30 minutes, with gaps that serve only to bewilder. Endeavors and relationships seem to advance offscreen and, eventually, motives are spontaneously generated; unexpectedly, things happen without specific explanation – an odd occurrence, considering that individual thoughts were previously broadcast with great repetition. At least the climax is riveting – and riding a giant sand worm to twanging rock music (by Toto) is a bit of a thrill.

– Mike Massie