In Dune: Part Two, Paul Atreides’ character is portrayed with ambiguous motivations, balancing between preventing a jihad, seeking revenge against the Harkonnens, and restoring Arrakis’ ecology. This complexity challenges the audience’s perception of him as either a hero or anti-hero, blending noble intentions with morally compromising actions. The film explores the impact of power on his motivations, ultimately presenting Paul as a tragic figure whose path is influenced by both his foresight and external pressures, leaving his true nature open to interpretation.
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by Chris Montanelli
Denis Villeneuve’s second installment of the Dune saga continues to captivate audiences with its sprawling deserts, intricate political machinations, and the enigmatic figure of Paul Atreides. However, it leaves us with a critical question: Is Paul a hero, an anti-hero, or something altogether different?
The most striking aspect of Paul’s portrayal in Dune: Part Two is the ambiguity of his motivations. Villeneuve paints Paul with broad, sometimes indistinct strokes, creating a character whose true intentions are as elusive as the sandworms of Arrakis.
Avoiding the Jihad. Initially, Paul’s desire to prevent the jihad is clear and compelling. This mission establishes him as a character driven by a noble cause, evoking our sympathy and aligning us with his plight. “I don’t want to lead them into a war. If I can’t find a way, the Fremen will lead a jihad,” Paul confesses, underscoring his reluctance and the weight of his foresight. Yet, as the film progresses, this goal seems to dissipate, overshadowed by other motivations.
Revenge. Paul’s quest for vengeance against the Harkonnens for their treachery and his father’s death is undeniable. This thirst for retribution is a stark contrast to his father’s virtuous character, highlighting a potential flaw in Paul. However, the film doesn’t definitively mark this as a flaw, leaving it open to interpretation whether Paul’s actions are driven by justice or a darker impulse. “Your father didn’t believe in revenge,” Jessica reminds him, to which Paul tersely responds, “Yeah, well, I do.”
Restoring Dune’s Ecology. Paul’s visions of a green Arrakis and his discussions about returning water to the planet’s surface hint at a grand, albeit vague, environmental ambition. This goal seems noble, but its execution and underlying motivations remain unclear, muddled by the film’s narrative choices. Stilgar’s hope that “When we have enough water, the Lisan al-Gaib will change the face of Arrakis” speaks to this dream, yet Paul’s personal commitment to it feels tenuous.
The film’s climax presents a sequence of events that leave Paul’s success ambiguous. He reluctantly accepts the mantle of Mahdi, a decision that feels both sudden and inadequately explained. The dialogue with his mother about the “narrow path” hints at a strategic decision, but the film’s ambiguity here undercuts the potential impact. “You’re so close now. Only one step remains and you will become the Kwisatz Haderach. Only one step remains,” Jessica intones, but this destiny is clouded in uncertainty.
Anti-Hero or Classic Hero? The discussion around Paul’s classification as a hero or anti-hero is rich and varied. In the traditional sense, anti-heroes like Clint Eastwood’s characters in spaghetti westerns operate with morally gray motives, often excused by their contexts. Paul, however, aligns more closely with a tragic hero. His noble lineage and well-intentioned actions are marred by circumstances that force him into morally compromising decisions, much like Lawrence of Arabia.
The film masterfully explores the theme of power and its impact on motivations. Once Paul attains omniscience through the water of life, his motivations become inscrutable. This transformation resonates with the idea that immense power blurs moral clarity and human empathy, making his actions appear increasingly detached and enigmatic. “He’s not like the other strangers. He’s sincere,” Chani observes, adding layers to his complex character.
Jessica’s Influence. Lady Jessica’s evolving stance complicates matters further. Her initial caution contrasts with her later push for Paul to embrace his role as the messiah. This shift muddies the narrative waters, making it unclear whether Paul’s ultimate path is a result of his own hubris or his mother’s manipulations. “Look how your Bene Gesserit propaganda has taken root. Some of them already think I’m their messiah. Others… false prophet,” Paul reflects, caught in the web of his own destiny.
Paul Atreides remains a fascinatingly complex figure. Villeneuve’s portrayal teeters between heroism and tragic downfall, leaving audiences in a state of introspective ambiguity. This complexity is perhaps the film’s greatest strength, encouraging viewers to ponder the multifaceted nature of power, motivation, and morality. As we await the third installment, one thing is certain: the enigma of Paul Atreides will continue to provoke thought and debate, much like the sands of Dune itself—ever-shifting, elusive, and profound.
