My Jo(h)ns, My Dune, My Heart
My cup runneth over with mental and emotional occupations of late. My Liam has continued to be my primary Roman Empire (this month, I’m up to Othello, which is an entire boundlessly fascinating job in itself). Both Werner Herzog and David Lynch have filled my ears with their mellifluous memoirs (thanks to Spotify’s audiobook treasure trove). Spring Break is on the horizon, along with all the potential tidying/purging/improvement opportunities.
But mostly, I’m squeeing over my favorite manflesh and of course, the return of Dune to the theatres.
Words are insufficient for encompassing the gratitude and joy that comes with the nostalgia-inducing bliss triggered by having both Jon and Joliver on the air every week. Their critical voices are both reassuring and achingly necessary at this juncture in time, their unwavering passions a salve for my uneasy soul. Stephen, of course, always holds the line, steadfastly complementing my trusty triumvirate of reason.
I’ve indulged in mild schadenfreude from the fact that Jon’s return to his throne on The Daily Show has proven more consequential than pundits and journalists originally predicted. Turns out, his prime demographic is plenty relieved to have the OG Fake News admiral back at the helm, his navigational hand as steady as ever. And though we may be watching on Youtube, as we have mostly eschewed actual cable TV, we’re still here, gathering around our screens every Tuesday morning to see what old Stewbeef has skewered this time. I, for one, have also returned to watching TDS and The Late Show clips the other three days of the week during dinner, one of the few moments I’m sitting down not studying or tuning into Criterion for a dose of filmic excellence.
I dare say, it’s kinda like… being back in college. Except now, George W. Bush is merely a harmless old man painting portraits of former and current world leaders who have their twitchy fingers hovering over nuclear buttons.
Both Stephen and I were super titillated over the return of Dune last week, and it was heart-warming to watch him schmooze with Rebecca Ferguson, Josh Brolin, and Denis Villeneuve (who so wonderfully confirmed that he’s working on getting Dune 3 up and running). It’s been… *sigh*… so moving to indulge in Frank Herbert’s universe as Denis has envisioned it. I’ll admit that all the hype the last few years has come as somewhat of a surprise to me, since Dune has long been relegated to the hearts and minds of uber scifi nerds such as myself, who have for decades, with huge soft spots in our hearts for David Lynch’s beautifully baffling and infinitely iconic contribution, felt like the epic tale of prophets and sandworms has served as eyeroll fodder for laypersons unschooled in the cinematic or the literary universe.
Now, it’s downright mainstream sexiness making serious bank and raking in plaudits from all angles. Incredible.
One of the primary reasons Dune has been so successful is due to no small amount of MCU fatigue amongst filmgoers looking for adult escapism. At the moment, one does not require a doctoral degree in Marvel history to sit down and watch and daresay truly enjoy Dune. Denis has done a fantastic job navigating the Strait of Messina that is oversimplification vs. expositional deluge, serving up a brilliant, illuminated manuscript-level index for anyone who wishes to delve more deeply into the literature.
Thusly we encounter the rub: the Duneiverse mythos embraces the density of neutron star material. In fact, this latest installment has led me to the precipice of nerd anxiety regarding the delicious hints and clues about book details throughout. I’ve read the first four books a few times each, but in the last decade, I’ve not revisited the remaining two that Herbert wrote before he died. I’ve read a handful of his son’s prequels, as co-written with Kevin J. Anderson, and those have been fun, but this week, I realized I really need to pick up my original paperbacks again, lest I lose my nerd cred.
But Caitlin. You have infinite variety of nerd cred, a veritable Jeff Bezos quantity of nerd cred in your coffers.
But like Arrakis, I have no chill (when it comes to my studies). Behold what one small angry hobbit lass can do when they don’t subscribe to Netflix anymore.
But mostly, I’m squeeing over my favorite manflesh and of course, the return of Dune to the theatres.
Words are insufficient for encompassing the gratitude and joy that comes with the nostalgia-inducing bliss triggered by having both Jon and Joliver on the air every week. Their critical voices are both reassuring and achingly necessary at this juncture in time, their unwavering passions a salve for my uneasy soul. Stephen, of course, always holds the line, steadfastly complementing my trusty triumvirate of reason.
I’ve indulged in mild schadenfreude from the fact that Jon’s return to his throne on The Daily Show has proven more consequential than pundits and journalists originally predicted. Turns out, his prime demographic is plenty relieved to have the OG Fake News admiral back at the helm, his navigational hand as steady as ever. And though we may be watching on Youtube, as we have mostly eschewed actual cable TV, we’re still here, gathering around our screens every Tuesday morning to see what old Stewbeef has skewered this time. I, for one, have also returned to watching TDS and The Late Show clips the other three days of the week during dinner, one of the few moments I’m sitting down not studying or tuning into Criterion for a dose of filmic excellence.
I dare say, it’s kinda like… being back in college. Except now, George W. Bush is merely a harmless old man painting portraits of former and current world leaders who have their twitchy fingers hovering over nuclear buttons.
Both Stephen and I were super titillated over the return of Dune last week, and it was heart-warming to watch him schmooze with Rebecca Ferguson, Josh Brolin, and Denis Villeneuve (who so wonderfully confirmed that he’s working on getting Dune 3 up and running). It’s been… *sigh*… so moving to indulge in Frank Herbert’s universe as Denis has envisioned it. I’ll admit that all the hype the last few years has come as somewhat of a surprise to me, since Dune has long been relegated to the hearts and minds of uber scifi nerds such as myself, who have for decades, with huge soft spots in our hearts for David Lynch’s beautifully baffling and infinitely iconic contribution, felt like the epic tale of prophets and sandworms has served as eyeroll fodder for laypersons unschooled in the cinematic or the literary universe.
Now, it’s downright mainstream sexiness making serious bank and raking in plaudits from all angles. Incredible.
One of the primary reasons Dune has been so successful is due to no small amount of MCU fatigue amongst filmgoers looking for adult escapism. At the moment, one does not require a doctoral degree in Marvel history to sit down and watch and daresay truly enjoy Dune. Denis has done a fantastic job navigating the Strait of Messina that is oversimplification vs. expositional deluge, serving up a brilliant, illuminated manuscript-level index for anyone who wishes to delve more deeply into the literature.
Thusly we encounter the rub: the Duneiverse mythos embraces the density of neutron star material. In fact, this latest installment has led me to the precipice of nerd anxiety regarding the delicious hints and clues about book details throughout. I’ve read the first four books a few times each, but in the last decade, I’ve not revisited the remaining two that Herbert wrote before he died. I’ve read a handful of his son’s prequels, as co-written with Kevin J. Anderson, and those have been fun, but this week, I realized I really need to pick up my original paperbacks again, lest I lose my nerd cred.
But Caitlin. You have infinite variety of nerd cred, a veritable Jeff Bezos quantity of nerd cred in your coffers.
But like Arrakis, I have no chill (when it comes to my studies). Behold what one small angry hobbit lass can do when they don’t subscribe to Netflix anymore.
P.S. I can’t help a crush on Denis. Look at him.
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