Dune Part 2 and the Legacy of Nazi Propaganda

by Imogen Xavier

Dune Part 2 (2024) directed by Canada’s Hollywood darling Denis Villeneuve, is the second half of his adaptation of Frank Herbert's 1965 novel. A third film Dune: Messiah based on the book’s sequel of the same name is on the way. While I am loathe to speak on the messaging of an artistic work that remains incomplete, Dune Part 2 bears some discussion as an independent work, as it is lauded with praise surrounding this year's Academy Awards.

There has been much talk of the film in parallel to Lawrence of Arabia (1963) and indeed there is much to compare. The two pieces bear remarkably similar narrative structures, and have both received the label of “white savior story.” This labelling describes an archetypal narrative structure with three precepts, though there is of course room for variation. 1) A racially white member of a colonizing entity becomes enamored by, integrates themselves with, and eventually leads to liberation of a non-white population. 2) The liberatory struggle of the colonized group serves to advance the character development of the white protagonist, centering a white, colonial worldview. 3) The white protagonist’s contributions to the liberatory struggle are uniquely effective, enlightening, often messianic or prophetic, and (most importantly for this analysis) materially advance the interests of the colonized group in good faith. While it’s not a simple diagnosis, Lawrence of Arabia lands squarely within this definition. Dune Part 2 almost does as well, the difference being in the last clause of the third precept. Paul Atreides (protagonist of Dune) does not advance the material interests of the Fremen (colonized group of Dune) in good faith - he embraces his position as colonizer to take advantage of them. This analysis falls in line with the stated artistic intention of the text’s original author who described Dune as a warning against the dangers of charismatic leaders. We can thus classify Dune Part 2 as a criticism of the white savior story, wherein Paul adopts the structures and forms of a villain. Why then is Dune Part 2 being cited hand-in-hand with Lawrence of Arabia as a white savior story? The answer lies in the aesthetics of Nazi propaganda filmmaking and the adoption of those techniques by Hollywood. This article will conduct a structuralist (narrative) comparison of Dune Part 2 and Lawrence of Arabia, as well as a formalist (visual) comparison of Dune Part 2 and the corpus of Nazi propagandist Leni Riefenstahl. The shared aesthetic trend between the latter two pieces will illustrate one of the ways in which the Hollywood mode of filmmaking is politically self-sanitizing. What this article does not seek to do is judge the quality of any of the films discussed within, or suggest that Dune Part 2 is an optimally effective work of anti-colonial fiction, seeing as it still centers a white, colonial perspective.

For our purposes, much as we are only analyzing the second half of Dune’s story, we will be focusing on the post-intermission half of Lawrence of Arabia. As astute readers may have noticed, the original publishing of Dune took place only two years after the release of Lawrence of Arabia. It will become obvious in this analysis that not only was Dune’s writing inspired by that film, but that it would be reasonable to consider Dune a direct response to it’s messaging. The protagonists of both films we are discussing participate in remarkably similar narratives. Both plots feature the following trajectory of events at roughly the same pace; the waging of a guerilla war against the colonizing power, the maturation of the protagonist’s messianic reputation, reticence toward and rejection of that reputation, a sudden reversal and embrace of their “destiny,” the meting-out of righteous wrath, and victory in warfare by means of atrocity. The divergence between Paul and Lawrence comes in the last few steps of their journeys. Most simply put, one ending is good for the people and bad for the protagonist, while the other is bad for the people and good for the protagonist. While it certainly has a thesis on the folly of war heroes, Lawrence of Arabia fails to present meaningful criticism of Lawrence’s position as white savior. The tragedy of his character arc is his personal failure to transition from wartime to peacetime. He wishes to be a unifier, but possesses only the skillset to do so through violence, and is thus left behind after the war. Criticism of the role of war hero is framed entirely around the individual. Recall the second precept of the white savior story; the liberatory struggle serves the character development of the white protagonist. There is no obvious suggestion that the colonized group are worse off for having given Lawrence the reins of their struggle. In the seizing of Damascus’ infrastructure under Lawrence at the film’s climax, the peoples of Arabia are freed from the imperial ambitions of occupying Turkiye, and similarly thwart the English-French agreement to assume control in Turkiye’s absence. For the purposes of this analysis, modern understandings of what would become of the Arabian geographical region are not relevant. If anything is to be taken from a contemporary lens it is a historical understanding of English colonial re-strategizing in the 1960s and subsequent resentment of decolonization, as the film was produced in the English filmmaking ecosystem, rather than the American one. We see this evoked in Lawrence’s “modernization” of, then abandonment by the colonized population, reflecting pro-colonial attitudes that imperial powers are entitled to foreign spheres of influence because they provide funds, infrastructure, or materiel.

Conversely, Dune Part 2 wants us as viewers to understand that Paul has become a villain in his embrace of colonial power. In the first two acts of the film we are shown glimpses of the abject suffering, by way of famine, that will be caused if Paul “goes south.” In the third act turn, with Paul’s sudden reversal of values, we come to understand that going south is synonymous with the embrace of colonial identity. The religious indoctrination of the Fremen by Bene Gesserit missionaries is explicitly a colonial tool as stated in Chani’s declarations “This is how they enslave us” and “You want to control people? Tell them a messiah will come. They’ll wait. For centuries.” Indeed the changes made to Chani’s character from book to film are crucial to highlighting Paul’s manipulation of the Fremen. She refuses to believe that the Fremen can be truly liberated by a foreigner, despite her affection for and loyalty to Paul. His decision between marriage to Chani or Princess Irulan acts as a locus for his broader choice between the acceptance offered to him by the Fremen, and his imperial birthright. Paul, of course, chooses empire. Moreover, Paul twice betrays the interests of the Fremen. First when he uses atomic weapons to gain leverage in his claim for the imperial throne by using them to threaten the sacred Spice Fields. Second when he commands the Fremen to conduct a genocidal holy war at the end of the film, once again to assert his position as emperor. While it could perhaps be argued that Paul has advanced the material interests of the Fremen, he has certainly not done so in good faith. The war he conducts against the Harkonnen and the Emperor serves his own self-interest, and is facilitated by the use of colonial manipulation. Paul is the exact picture of a white savior protagonist until he makes his decision to go south, at which point his heroic characterization is superceded by villainous characterization. Where Lawrence’s tragedy was internal, the costs of Paul’s decisions are external; the seduction and ruination of a people. The structural elements outlined here, as well as formal elements in sound design, framing, and costuming tell us Paul has taken on a role which should be condemned.

Leni Reifenstahl’s corpus of Nazi propaganda films is most often condensed to Triumph of the Will (1935) which pioneered the visual style her later work, and that which other propagandists would adhere to for the duration of the Third Reich’s existence. Following WWII, Hollywood began to use this visual language ubiquitously as shorthand for fascism and evil more broadly. While you may not be familiar with the original works, you will recognize their elements. The Empire from Star Wars (1977), the hyenas from The Lion King (1994), and many other pieces of mass media have ingrained it in the public consciousness. Like fascism, Nazi propaganda aesthetics are somewhat amorphous; a collection of identifiers that are endlessly recombinable and seldom manifested in exactly the same way. These elements include but are not limited to; military pageantry, fetishization of machinery and architecture, megastructures, anonymity of the masses, absence of civil life, domination of nature, symmetry, geometry, and choreography. Dune Part 2 is absolutely crawling with these aesthetic devices, uses them to some degree in the depiction of all its imperial subfactions: Corrino, Atreides, but most obviously and acutely for House Harkonnen as the primary antagonists. The sequence on Geidi Prime, for example features all of the elements listed above and more. The gladiatorial arena, within a megastructure of notable, symmetrical geometry, reminds us of Roman bloodsport and culture, beloved by fascists. Battle standards hanging over military parades of identical soldiers, and cheering crowds of identical citizens blur the line between civic life and warfare, using the most identifiable visual trends of this style. This sequence, unlike the rest of the film, is even shot in black and white like the Nazi propaganda films hammering home the similarity even further. Whether or not the invocation of Riefenstahl’s work is intentional, the association is powerful, undeniable, and most importantly subconscious to general audiences. While the pure-evil characterization of the Harkonnen antagonists contributes to the thesis laid out below, the subliminal intertextual associations of evil are most affective.

The effect Nazi propaganda aesthetics have on the viewer is to create a Boolean system of morality. One in which we recognize the Harkonnen faction specifically as belonging to the highest order of evil in fiction. Our simple moral calculus, if we are not engaged in active analysis, tells us if the bad guys are Nazis, then whoever is fighting against them must be a good guy. There lies the crux. Such is how we end up with reactive discourse that labels Dune Part 2 a white savior film. The highly effective use of fascist shorthand works too well, and we assume that Paul Atreides, even having embraced his colonizer identity, is meant to be seen as a hero. While it may seem obvious to those engaged in rigorous analysis that there is more going on under the surface, when consuming media passively, as is the modern norm, these patterns can easily be overlooked. Notions of individualistic good-and-evil dynamics are hardwired into this type of filmmaking by virtue of the visual tradition they draw upon, now several times removed from the origin. This reality is one of several paradigms which make Hollywood studio films virtually immune to effective radical messaging accessible by the public. Corporate influence need not even apply itself after a hundred years of visual codification, producing media that upholds the status quo - if not actively, then tacitly. Revolutionary narratives made by Hollywood studios or designed for consumption on the platforms they dominate - The Hunger Games (2012), Andor (2022), Athena (2022) - are self-castrating. Even so, such films attempting to engage in leftist and revolutionary discourse are nonetheless preferable to ones which are uncritical of the systems that contain them. If we wish to leverage the true revolutionary power of cinema however, we must look to the Third Way, as outlined by Solanas and Getino who tell us an independent filmic tradition is essential to the revolutionary cause.