Traditional storytelling is a thing of the past. The new adaptation of Dune marks a radical shift from classic cinematic conventions. In line with recent changes in Western societies, notions of good, evil, and happy endings are being challenged. Sensitive souls, beware.
In just two films, it has won eight Oscars. Yet, you should never have seen Dune in theaters. The new adaptation project of Frank Herbert’s saga was built on sand. Initially, Warner studios had long deemed the storyline too complex. One major issue : the psychological evolution of the protagonist, Paul Atreides. The hero gradually shifts from a sympathetic and positive ethos to a harmful, dangerous character, blinded by power.
Not to mention the structural complexity of the narrative: its multiple settings, long timeline, and interwoven storylines. Warner Bros found it unmarketable, too demanding, too… Denis Villeneuve.
A time in quest of new representations
At a time when moral judgments are increasingly being questioned – particularly under the influence of movements advocating inclusivity and openness – the director of Dune and Blade Runner 2049 seems to have pondered, before many others, whether 21st-century audiences were capable of breaking free from the moralistic axiological imprints that have shaped Western behaviors and cultures, deeply rooted in the Christian tradition.
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Our era is indeed marked by a growing desire to emancipate itself from norms and values now perceived as inherited from a patriarchal, dogmatic, and traditional society. This is reflected, for instance, in the “woke” movement – derived from the English term “awakened” – which promotes constant vigilance against injustices and social inequalities. Initially, “wokism” aimed at denouncing systemic racism and police violence in the United States, but it has since expanded to encompass an increasing number of issues. Today, its focus extends to the discrimination faced by all minorities in general: non-white individuals, LGBTQIA+ communities, women, and immigrants.
Mirroring a more open society, our representations have evolved. Shaped by an inclusive Zeitgeist, this modern morality manifests itself most clearly on stage, where it fully reveals its “gestus” – to use Brecht’s term – as a political stance in representation. In other words, our entertainment reflects the values we seek to democratize. The increasing complexity of heroic figures and the portrayal of less linear destinies mark a significant shift in how we perceive good and evil. Fiction is gradually abandoning its manichean morality to embrace richer nuances, challenging our expectations of storytelling.
Once upon a time happily ever afters
Until recently, the film industry rarely offered anything other than “happy endings.” Even Hitchcock, in Suspicion, provided a forced “happy ending” that the audience could hardly believe. This recent moral detachment resembles a postmodern syndrome of interest in deconstruction. Before this, the expression “happy ending” became lexically established in the 1950s when American cinema became embedded in the French imagination. From the start, Hollywood films were associated with this specific type of resolution. “Happy endings” were a production standard. According to critic and theorist David Bordwell, no less than 60% of classic American films exhibit this characteristic.
The idea of happiness as a “telos” – an ultimate goal towards which actions are directed—aligns with the Latin adage finis coronat opus (the end crowns the work), where the “end” is invariably a happy and legitimizing resolution of the protagonist’s trials. Traditionally, since Ancient Greece, the conclusion of a play, literary work, or film has been surrounded by several expectations: resolving the plot (the denouement), answering all questions, and offering a new state of stability (or catastrophe) and equilibrium. These notions are clearly outlined in Aristotle’s Poetics.
When Dune meets Aristotle
In classical dramaturgy, as explained by Jacques Scherer, the denouement had to meet three criteria: it had to be necessary (arising logically from the narrative rather than from an arbitrary deus ex machina), complete (resolving all characters’ fates and answering all questions), and rapid and simple. These classical aesthetic principles, concerned with clarity, emphasized two key expectations for an ending: its logical rigor within the dramatic framework and its intelligibility in addressing the issues raised throughout the story. The conclusion thus serves both a retrospective coherence, closing a structured narrative, and a prospective significance, offering answers (with all the ambiguity that entails), sketching a future outlook, and outlining an axiological stance.
These two dimensions combine to make the denouement a highly constrained and ritualized moment within a film – a segment set apart. In this sense, the ending conveys an axiological stance, a certain worldview presented as a lesson. Depending on whether the diegetic universe is improved or worsened compared to its beginning, different moral orientations emerge from the story. In Poetics, Aristotle asserts that a narrative’s characters must be coherent and consistent, so that they can embody a “moral type” in the eyes of the audience. Choices, for Aristotle, are therefore essential in shaping a character’s identity, which is revealed through the dynamics of their actions. A villain must deliberately choose evil to be considered as such, just as a benevolent character must demonstrate their essence through their decisions. It is not the human condition that representation should reveal, but rather this ethical dynamic of the world, as a judgment on the success or failure of a life.
Thus, fiction allows us to reflect on the quality of our actions as “engaged in the world” – making fiction a means of knowledge, a space for experimentation. Today, these ethical considerations directly impact the commercial strategies of producers, directors, and writers who, in seeking to satisfy mass audiences, conform to this social horizon of expectations.
A new era of narratives
As society reinvents itself, the stage and the big screen increasingly serve as platforms for promoting alternative social conceptions. This reconfiguration of values in entertainment is not universally accepted. Some political regimes and conservative movements attempt to regulate audiovisual representations. Hungary, for example, passed a law in 2021 to control the portrayal of homosexuality. The law bans “making content that portrays or encourages sexuality, gender transition, or homosexuality available to minors under 18.” It applies to public communications, including education, media, advertising, and certain commercial activities, as reported by Amnesty International. Although this law does not directly affect cinema, the Hungarian government targets public representations because they are powerful communication tools. Even in societies that claim to be the most neutral and open, our depictions always serve a value-laden framework.
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In the United States, the term “colorblind casting” refers to film or theater casting where actors are chosen without consideration of their ethnicity, even if it does not align with historical accuracy – particularly when the character has traditionally been portrayed as white. This principle is controversial: some see it as a way for films to better represent diverse audiences, while others consider it discriminatory and condescending. Critics of colorblind casting – whether viewers, commentators, or filmmakers – argue that casting actors of color in historical narratives compromises historical accuracy. “I think you have to produce something credible”, British screenwriter and producer Julian Fellowes told The Stage in 2017. The creator of Downton Abbey defended the lack of diversity in his adaptation of Half a Sixpence, noting that there wouldn’t have been many Black people in Folkestone in 1900. This historical argument resonates on social media, where backlash erupted over the casting of a Black Little Mermaid or a Black James Bond instead of white actors.
Dune, the primacy of art?
How can this not be seen as a modern reissue of the harsh criticisms once directed at Racine ? In his 17th-century adaptation of Britannicus, the French playwright took liberties in casting actors who did not necessarily match the expected appearances of ancient Roman characters. In the preface to Britannicus, Racine defended himself against his detractors by asserting the primacy of art over strict realism.
From one century to another, debates over the expansion of our representations remain intense. Our audiovisual consumption is never neutral. The politics of storytelling always provoke passions and controversy. The questioning of “happy endings” and the rise of morally ambiguous heroes reflect an evolution in our relationship with fiction and ethics. The reactions they elicit are yet another chapter in the age-old quarrel between the Ancients and the Moderns.
Watching Dune in theaters means witnessing a redefinition of our narrative and moral frameworks – an opportunity to reflect on how we want to tell stories in an ever-changing world.
