Ah, Dune. Every science fiction fan knows the book, even if they haven’t actually taken the time to read it. Frank Herbert’s magnum opus was first published in 1965, and has since attained a legendary reputation as the biggest selling sci-fi novel in history, and the genre’s equivalent to The Lord of the Rings.

Which I actually think does it a disservice. Outside of hardcore fantasy fans, the majority opinion these days (which I happen to agree with) is that for all of J.R.R. Tolkien’s skill at world-building, and the massive influence his novels have had, the books themselves are a bit on the dull side, filled with paper-thin characters and highly intrusive pieces of exposition.

You’ll find none of that in Dune. It’s an incredible story that still manages to feel fresh all these decades later, populated with numerous compelling characters and a constantly evolving power struggle that’ll have you on the edge of your seat. Even scenes which simply feature two people talking have a level of gravitas and veiled threat, but if you pay attention you’ll never be confused, except when you’re supposed to be.

It’s not a perfect book. Herbert’s less than tolerant views of homosexuality are a little too apparent at times, and the story eventually gets a bit too big for its own good, so that the final chapter ends up feeling really rushed, with one subplot resolution after another after another thrown at us. But these are minor concerns, seeing as how the rest of the book is so good.

Herbert wrote four sequels, and was planning more before his death, but was never quite able to recreate the magic of the first book. And the less said about his son Brian’s shameless attempts to milk the cash cow, the better. Thankfully, we’ll always have that first book to treasure.

Which brings me to the subject of this recap. Naturally, Hollywood smelled huge potential in making movies out of these books, but producers had to wait a while, given that science fiction films at the time of publication were mostly in the realm of zero-budget schlockfests. Then along came a movie that proved a sci-fi film could be a massive success under the right circumstances.

Dino De Laurentiis wound up with the film rights, and he searched high and low for a writer-director who could be entrusted with such a huge potential moneymaker. What he found instead was David Lynch.

To me, like most people, Lynch is the very definition of a hit or miss director. When he’s good, he’s very good indeed, creating disturbing yet thoughtful films, often on his favorite subject: the seamy underbelly of ostensibly rosy societies. It’s here that you get films like The Elephant Man, Blue Velvet, Wild at Heart, and The Straight Story, as well as the TV series he co-created, Twin Peaks.

But then there are the times when he gets way too full of his own pretentions, and produces self-consciously artsy and confusing films like Eraserhead and Lost Highway. And when you manage to make a lesbian relationship between Naomi Watts and Laura Elena Harring among the most boring things ever committed to film, something has gone wrong.

And finally, there’s Lynch’s adaptation of Dune, the one true black sheep of his career. Not only is it his only adaptation of a novel, but it’s his only science fiction film as well (to me, Eraserhead doesn’t count, as it’s more weird than sci-fi). And boy does it show, as you get the impression that Lynch spent most of the shoot flailing around with no clue what he was doing. And it’s really a shame, because the movie sports an impressive cast who definitely could have given us great interpretations of the book’s characters, if only they’d been given a writer and director who knew what to do with them.

Interestingly, accounts vary wildly on how seriously Lynch took this film. Some say he was excited at the prospect of becoming a commercially successful director, hoping to create a franchise to rival Star Wars. Others insist he didn’t care at all, and only took the job to get financing for Blue Velvet, as was specified in his contract.

Whatever his intentions, the film is a mess. It’s a textbook example of how not to turn a novel into a movie, showing no concern at all for people who don’t already know the book. In fact, the film is so bad at exposition that several theaters resorted to handing out “cheat sheets” to anyone who bought a ticket, with a plot summary and character descriptions.

But at least it’s an endlessly fascinating mess. While watching it, you’ll find yourself constantly wondering just what the hell was going through the minds of everyone involved with the current scene. Maybe if you haven’t read the book, you’ll just find yourself bored by having no idea what’s going on or why you should care, but if you’re in the right mood, it makes for one hell of a viewing experience that you won’t soon forget.

We start out on an awkward note, because before the film we get a dedication to De Laurentiis’s son Federico, who died in a plane crash a few years earlier at age 26. Moving on to something I can feel comfortable joking about, the film opens with the expected space backdrop, as we’re treated to that most beloved of desperate expository tactics, the opening voiceover.

Though, it’s a bit of a twist this time, as much like in Zardoz, an actual character from the story appears onscreen talking to us directly. This is Irulan, daughter of the Emperor of humanity, and an early role for Virginia Madsen.

The gist of her speech is: we’re in the year AD 10191 (100 years later than the book is set, for no apparent reason), and humans are entirely dependent on “melange”, a spice that can do all kinds of nifty things like cure all diseases and enable faster than light space travel, and is only found on the desert planet Arrakis. We also learn there’s your standard messianic prophecy among the Arrakis locals, called “Fremen”.

Unfortunately, Irulan’s face keeps disappearing and reappearing for no reason, which distracts severely from this rather vital part of the backstory. Her speech also includes the phrase, “Oh yes, I forgot to tell you... ” before the bit about Arrakis, which completely draws me out of the atmosphere Lynch has taken such pains to create.

Meanwhile, I wonder what the hell we’re supposed to make of this, and whether Irulan is an omniscient narrator, or if this is some kind of in-universe recording. The film will never answer this, though the book gave a great explanation I won’t spoil. And there’s a nice little drinking game for every time she says “spice” within these first couple of minutes. Try it; it’s surprisingly effective.

The credits play over various shots of sand dunes (get it?), and we’re introduced to the film’s music, which is by the thankfully forgotten band Toto. I suspect they broke up because they were tired of people laughing at their name. And their music isn’t much better here, consisting almost entirely of a single four-note sequence repeated in various renditions in the hopes that it’ll sound epic.

Plus, what the hell is a major science fiction saga doing with a rock score instead of a lush John Williams-style orchestral score? It’s just one of many signs that David Lynch really didn’t know what he was doing.

Then we dive right back into more exposition, with a report in the Spacing Guild, the major trade organization. They’re thoroughly corrupt, like almost everyone else, though that’s almost completely left out of the film. We’re educated on four planets, though the only one we really need to know about is Arrakis, which Irulan just gave us a pretty comprehensive rundown on. So this is only distracting us with pointless information when we’re still struggling to understand what little we’ve already been given. Thanks, Mr. Lynch.

The reason for all this exposition is that the Guild has sensed a danger to spice production, so they’ve sent a delegation to the Emperor (José Ferrer). He passes a lot of extras in various embarrassing costumes, including one guy who’s walking a bunch of dogs. Watch enough David Lynch movies and you learn to let these things go, but you really have to feel for fans of the book.

The Emperor tells Irulan to leave, while she gets her final onscreen piece of dialogue in the movie. I really do wonder what Virginia Madsen thinks of this movie these days, seeing as it involved wearing weird stuff and just standing around for most of it.

The Emperor is joined by his “Truthsayer” Reverend Mother Gaius Mohiam, a member of the ancient cult the Bene Gesserit, whose members are so skilled at Sherlock Holmes-type deducing tricks that they’re practically mind readers, and whose Reverend Mothers actually have this skill plus some other supernatural talents. Not that the movie’s in a hurry to explain any of this, so if you haven’t read the book, you’re already feeling a bit lost.

Mohiam is played by Sian Phillips, the wife of Peter O’Toole, who’s best known for her brilliant performance as the reptilian Livia in I, Claudius. This is a pretty similar role that she could have been great in, but she’s hampered all the way by a director with no idea what he’s doing.

The Guild members immediately order Mohiam to leave, rendering her presence just a pointless bit of confusion. Though we do get to watch her in the back room apparently having an orgasm for the entire duration of the following conversation. Classy as always, Lynch.

And here comes more confusion, as we’re introduced to the Guild Navigator. In the book, these are people who have eaten so much of the spice that they’ve become slightly mutated by it, and can use it for faster than light travel. The key word there being “slightly”. Actually, the other Guild agents are closer to the idea, as they can’t speak normally, and need to use a futuristic voicebox thing. As for the actual navigator, well, I’ll let the image speak for itself:

I mean, seriously. Imagine how much money it would cost to build this thing today, let alone in 1984. And David Lynch chooses to spend all that money here, on something that confuses the newbies and doesn’t even make sense to the fans, instead of on other parts of the film which feature pretty shoddy effects, even for the time, as we’ll see later.

The Navigator is really here to get the Emperor to provide more exposition by demanding to know what’s going on, immediately after he brags about knowing everything already. This script is now on par with the opening monologue of Plan 9 from Outer Space.

The Emperor obliges anyway, and lets us know the Atreides family has developed a new weapon that could pose a threat to him. So he’s arranged for them to take over ownership of Arrakis from their old enemies the Harkonnen family, as part of a larger scheme to take them down. This will involve the help of the Sardaukar, elite Imperial soldiers taken from a particularly nasty prison planet. Though once again, we aren’t told any of this, so the newbies are just being thrown another confusing new word.

The Navigator says that Paul Atreides, the son of family head Duke Leto, will also need to be killed, though he doesn’t say why. He also adds, “I did not say this. I am not here.” And at this point, you may be wondering if that’s meant to be taken literally, and if you’re even watching this movie. Unfortunately, there’s still more than two hours to go.