Producers: Mary Parent, Denis Villeneuve, Cale Boyter and Joe Caracciolo Jr.    Director: Denis Villeneuve   Screenplay: Jon Spaihts, Denis Villeneuve and Eric Roth  Cast: Timothée Chalamet, Rebecca Ferguson, Oscar Isaac, Josh Brolin, Stellan Skarsgård, Dave Bautista, Stephen McKinley Henderson, Zendaya, Chang Chen, David Dastmalchian, Sharon Duncan-Brewster, Charlotte Rampling, Jason Momoa, Javier Bardem, Babs Olusankokum, Golda Rosheuvel and Benjamin Clementine   Distributor: Warner Bros.

Grade: B+

The first attempt to adapt Frank Herbert’s 1965 sci-fi novel—by Alejandro Jodorowsky—never got past the planning stage.  (Frank Pavich’s 2014 documentary “Jodorowsky’s Dune” is one of the best films ever made about a movie that wasn’t.)  The second—the 1984 film by David Lynch—was visually impressive but incoherent, though whether the fault was his or the studio’s remains an open question.  The third, John Harrison’s 2000 mini-series, was faithful but visually drab.

In this case it’s the fourth time that’s the charm.  Denis Villeneuve’s “Dune” or, more properly as the opening title informs us “Dune, Part 1,” is a magnificent spectacle worthy of the biggest screen your local auditorium offers.  And it offers a narrative drawn from roughly the first half of the book that should be clear even to those unfamiliar with the original, though it doesn’t spell out every detail and nuance, and the clarity is purchased at the cost of vigor—this is a slow-moving film. 

What “Dune” doesn’t do is infuse the story with deep emotional resonance.  Villeneuve’s vision is beautiful but chilly, frosty in human terms despite the parched, hot desert locale in which much of the plot is set and the fact that the characters bake in the heat.  While it can feel rather sterile, however, the film is never less than entrancing.

Based on roughly the first half of the book, Part 1 begins the journey of Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) to the realization of his destiny as the messiah of the Fremen, the oppressed, blue-eyed desert dwellers of Arrakis, a planet that’s among the possessions of an exploitative off-screen emperor.  He doles out favor to the rival noble houses that vie with one another for wealth and power, and Arrakis is a particular prize since it’s the sole source of Spice, a valuable commodity that is mined from the desert wastelands.  Spice is essential to space travel, and expands a user’s mental capabilities.

Control of Arrakis has long been in the hands of the House Harkonnen, headed by the bulbous, brutal Baron Vladimir (Stellan Skarsgård), but the emperor has now capriciously transferred it to Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac), Paul’s father who heads House Atreides.  Leto knows that the baron will not accept the new arrangement calmly, but has no choice but to accept responsibility for overseeing the Spice harvest, and proceeds to Arrakis with his army and his household—Paul, Leto’s concubine and the boy’s mother Lady Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), the House’s weapons master Gurney Halleck (Josh Brolin), swordmaster Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa), and chief advisor Thufir Hawat (Stephen McKinley Henderson), and its resident physician Chang Chen Dr. Yueh (Chang Chen).

Paul is a moody, sensitive boy—qualities that are secure parts of Chalamet’s thespian toolbox—and he has been mentored well by Gurney and Duncan.  He has also received instruction from his mother in the ways of the Bene Gessereit, a powerful group of female mystics, and one of its leaders, Gaius Helen Mohiam (Charlotte Rampling), is impressed by visions Paul has had in his dreams, and by his ability to endure the pain of the group’s mind tests.

The initial experiences of House Atreides on Arrakis are not encouraging: Baron Harkonnen has left the harvesting system in disarray, as Dr. Liet-Kynes (Sharon Duncan-Brewster), the imperial ecologist on the planet, explains, and Leto’s attempts to establish a milder modus vivendi with the Fremen, represented by their spokesman Stilgar (Javier Bardem), are rebuffed.  But they get worse when the planet is invaded by the Harkonnen army, led by the baron’s formidable nephew Glossu Raban (Dave Bautista), acting in league with imperial soldiers.  In the melee that follows, many die, and Paul and his mother are exiled into the desert, where they are expected to perish, perhaps swallowed up by the fearsome sand worms.  But they make contact with the Fermen, and after Paul proves his mettle in combat, set out with Stilgar and Chani (Zendaya), a young woman Paul has seen in his visions, to proceed to the adventures planned for Part 2.                      

The abrupt conclusion will undoubtedly frustrate viewers unfamiliar with the book (and not explicitly informed in the marketing that this is in reality only one-half of the story), and probably many devotees as well, who cannot be assured that Part 2 will ever appear. 

But judged by what’s here rather than what isn’t, “Dune” is an extraordinary achievement.  Villeneuve’s world-making is astonishing, the real locations and beautifully-fashioned sets (production design by Patrice Vermette) and costumes (designed by Jacqueline West and Robert Morgan) captured in cinematographer Greig Fraser’s scrupulously detailed and composed widescreen images.  The effects (supervised by Paul Lambert and Gerd Nefzer) are seamlessly integrated into the visuals, and Joe Walker’s editing maintains a pace that’s solemn but not static, with the periodic action moments not degenerating into the murky mess so prevalent nowadays.  Even Hans Zimmer, not always the most imaginative of composers, provides a score that isn’t dully generic. 

Most of the cast don’t have the opportunity to proceed past one-note characterizations, but Bardem and Momoa add welcome vigor to the generally somber tone.  Among those at the forefront, Chalamet delivers the soulfulness his part demands, and energy when required in the last act, while Ferguson manages to suggest a range of mysterious motivations in Lady Jessica.  And then there’s Skarsgård, whose baron runs a close second to Jabba the Hutt. 

That comparison is a reminder that as a coming-of-age tale of a bewildered boy, “Dune” has a lot in common with the initial “Star Wars” trilogy—understandable, since it was one of George Lucas’ main inspirations.  But while Lucas played the story as juvenile fun modeled after 1940s serials, Villeneuve treats Herbert’s book with utter seriousness.  As a result his film is less accessible and engaging, but it is certainly an elegant, cinematically visionary take on a sci-fi classic.

Producer: Muriel Merlin   Director: Hirokazu Kore-eda   Screenplay: Hirokazu Kore-eda   Cast: Catherine Deneuve, Juliette Binoche, Ethan Hawke, Clémentine Grenier, Manon Clavil, Alain Libolt, Christian Crahay, Roger Van Hool, Ludivine Sagnier, Laurent Capelluto, Sébastian Chassagne, Hannah Castel Chiche, Mailys Dumon, Maya Sansa and Jackie Berroyer   Distributor: IFC Films

Grade: B+

There’s a striking resemblance between this new film by Hirokazu Kore-eda (“Shoplifters’) and Ira Sachs’s “Frankie,” which came out earlier this year.  Each is about a family reunion centered around an iconic French actress, played by a legendary French actress—in the case of “Frankie,” Isabelle Huppert and here Catherine Deneuve.  Each was made by a director who’s an outsider to the world they depict.  And both are witty, touching and cinematically rich.

In Sachs’s film, Françoise (Huppert) was suffering from a recurrence of cancer, and summoned her family (as well as friends) for a final get-together, with plans to arrange things in line with her wishes for the future.  In Kore-eda’s film, which he adapted from a short story by Ken Liu, Fabienne Dangeville (Deneuve) is aging but vibrant, haughty, and totally self-absorbed; she is also currently preparing to make an arty science-fiction picture starring a young actress named Manon Lenoir (Manon Clavil) and directed by an upstart filmmaker (Sébastian Chassagne), with both of whom she’s curt and scornful.  At home she’s imperious with her ultra-efficient, long-serving aide Luc (Alain Libolt) and her second husband Jacques (Christian Crahay), a laid-back fellow who loves to cook.  And she disposes of the fawning reporter (Laurent Capelluto) who’s interviewing her with withering contempt for his predictable questions.

She’s also published a memoir titled “La Vérité”—“The Truth”—for which the publisher has ordered a huge first printing of 100,000.  It’s the book that’s brought her daughter Lumir (Juliette Binoche), a screenwriter, from America to Paris with her husband Hank (Ethan Hawke), an easygoing television actor, and their sweet little daughter Charlotte (Clémentine Grenier).  Lumir, who’s somewhat estranged from Fabienne, hasn’t seen the manuscript, and wonders how accurate it is. 

The answer, from her perspective, is not very; for her its title is heavy with irony (as is, for us, the title of the film).  Fabienne dismisses her daughter’s complaints by saying that the truth would be dull, but Lumir holds on to her grudges about the treatment she got from her mother as a child—though, as the script repeatedly emphasizes, all memory is flawed and what actually happened might be quite different from what one believes.  She’s especially angry about Fabienne’s treatment of fellow actress Sarah Mondavan, supposedly her best friend, who became a sort of surrogate mother to Lumir and died in what appears to have been either an accident or suicide when Fabienne stole the role that won her a César.  Things get even thornier when Pierre (Roger Van Hool), Lumir’s wayward, long absent father, shows up and Luc abruptly resigns, suggesting that Lumir take over his duties.

All these domestic entanglements are juxtaposed with scenes from the film Fabienne is shooting—a fable titled “Memories of My Mother,” about a woman (Clavil) whose terminal illness can be stopped in its tracks by her going into space, where time stands still and she does not age.  That cure, however, means that she must leave behind her husband and daughter Amy, whom she periodically returns to visit.  While she remains perpetually youthful, however, Amy ages; she’s played by Hannah Castel Chiche at age ten, Mailys Dumon at seventeen, Ludivine Sagnier at thirty-eight and Deneuve’s Fabienne at seventy-five.  In making the film, Fabienne is led to contemplating her relationship with Lumir, and in acting as her mother’s assistant, Lumir must confront her attitude toward Fabienne.  The situation is complicated by the fact that Manon so closely resembles the long-departed Sarah. 

When related in such straightforward terms, Kore-eda’s scenario might sound melodramatic, but though there are undercurrents of melancholy and regret, he presents it with such a light touch that the film comes across as more effervescent than manipulative.  There are repeated notes of magic in Fabienne’s connection with Charlotte, and in the child’s relationship with her father (as well as Pierre’s with Lumir)—as well as in an impromptu dance outside a restaurant.  There’s also a delicious scene when Charlotte airily lies to the actress playing ten-year old Amy (who has been, to be fair, rather snooty to her), as well as a cheeky suggestion toward the close that the reconciliation between mother and daughter has been cannily effected by the person who’s arranged most of Fabienne’s life for her, like the final trick of a wizard.

And even if one might complain about contrivances in the narrative, “The Truth” is so beautifully appointed and wonderfully acted as to render any flaws insignificant.  The production design by Riton Dupier-Clement and costumes by Pascaline Chavanne are exquisite, and Eric Gautier’s cinematography is gorgeous, especially in the scenes set in Fabienne’s garden.  Kore-eda has done the editing himself, letting the film unfold gracefully, and employs Alexeï Aïgui ‘s sprightly score sparingly so that it doesn’t overwhelm.

But it’s the performances he secures across the board that make the film truly special.  Deneuve is simply magnificent, embodying both Fabienne’s innate hauteur and her vulnerabilities both as a person and an actress.  As Lumir, Binoche comes across rather brusquely at first, but grows more emotive as the story proceeds, and by the end is positively warm.  Though he has less to do, Hawke makes Hank positively lovable despite his obvious flaws, and Grenier gives a delightfully nuanced performance as little Charlotte.  Add sharp turns by Clavil and Sagnier, impeccable ones from Libolt and Crahay, and a dottily exuberant cameo by Van Hool, and you have an ensemble without a single weak link. 

For all its many virtues, though, this is primarily a triumph of Deneuve, for whom it is kind of a career summation, and Kore-eda, who proves that his distinctive sensibility knows no national boundaries.  Verily, “The Truth” is delectable.