A knock-on effect from the rise of streaming services is that established IP is no longer limited to either TV or film: Nowadays, the biggest franchises move between mediums. When Disney+ launched, for instance, small-screen extensions of Star Wars and the Marvel Cinematic Universe soon followed. (One could argue that too many series have diluted the brands, but hey, as long as Andor exists, I’m not complaining.) Meanwhile, Warner Bros. is hoping that one of the defining shows of the 21st century, Game of Thrones, will appeal to moviegoers with a feature film set in the world of Westeros. I could go on: The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, and even the John Krasinski iteration of Jack Ryan have shown that studios will find new ways to keep franchises humming along.
The latest case study is Dune, which, across two films, has become a worthy champion of the theatrical experience. In the hands of director Denis Villeneuve, Dune isn’t just something that demands to be seen at the multiplex—real ones know that splurging for an IMAX screening is the best way to embrace desert power. Such a sentiment is even part of the franchise’s origins. When the first Dune was made simultaneously available in theaters and on the streaming service formerly known as HBO Max, Villeneuve penned a scathing op-ed chastising Warner Bros. for putting the franchise’s future at risk and betraying the sanctity of cinema. No matter: Dune still collected more than $400 million, an impressive haul considering how many Warner movies crashed and burned at the box office after the studio’s ill-fated release strategy. Fast-forward to 2024, and Dune: Part Two has become the fifth-highest-grossing movie of the year—no small feat for a 166-minute sci-fi epic about a drugged-out aristocrat who incites an intergalactic holy war. All of which to say: Dune is, perhaps more than any current franchise not named Avatar, synonymous with the act of moviegoing.
Will fans of the Dune films migrate to streaming? For the past three weeks, HBO has been dropping new episodes of Dune: Prophecy, a prequel series set 10,000 years before the events of the movies. Prophecy has been in the works since 2019, so its release didn’t exactly come out of the blue. But there are plenty of question marks surrounding the show, including the inherent challenge of making prequels as compelling as their predecessors, the dense (off-putting?) lore at the core of the franchise, and the four different showrunners (and three lead directors) Prophecy cycled through during its messy development. (Also, for what it’s worth, it was originally titled Dune: The Sisterhood.)
Prophecy concerns the origins of the Bene Gesserit, the all-powerful coven who have ingratiated themselves with Dune’s Great Houses with the intent of controlling future leaders through genetic breeding. (The Bene Gesserit are also capable of Truthsaying, which is a fancy way of saying they see through people’s bullshit, a valuable tool in interplanetary politicking.) Our entry point into the story is Valya Harkonnen (played by Jessica Barden and Emily Watson across two timelines), the sisterhood’s second-ever Mother Superior, who has a complicated relationship with her family that drives many of her choices. Meanwhile, the Imperium is thrown into disarray when an arranged marriage between House Corrino and House Richese leads to the death of 9-year-old Pruwet Richese (Charlie Hodson-Prior) at the hands of Desmond Hart (Travis Fimmel), a mysterious Corrino soldier who returns from Arrakis with the ability to burn people alive with his mind. (It’s as gnarly as it sounds.)
Prophecy’s pilot ends with said child being roasted to death by a guy who looks like Matt Damon in The Last Duel, an unhinged statement of intent the likes of which HBO hasn’t seen since Game of Thrones’ little Bran Stark inadvertently spied on the Lannister siblings boning in a tower. (It didn’t go well for Bran, either.) In fact, the Thrones universe is the closest point of reference for Prophecy, which also leaned on a combination of political intrigue, complex world-building, power-hungry characters, shocking violence, and [deep sigh] sexposition in an attempt to reel viewers in. But even though Prophecy is following the Westeros playbook, its early episodes aren’t deserving of a ringing endorsement as much as an indifferent shrug.
Prophecy’s main problem is also its biggest selling point: the prequel’s relationship to the movies. On the one hand, the series is quite deferential to Villeneuve—aesthetically, it’s easy to discern that this is taking place in the same universe. On the other hand, Prophecy is set 10,000 years in the past or, as the cast has described it, 10,000 B.C. (before Chalamet). In that context, it’s discombobulating that very little distinguishes Prophecy from the Dune we know and love, as if this world has been encased in amber for several millennia. (If Times Square still looks like Times Square in 10,000 years, well, I’d just be impressed humanity made it that long.) In any case, the Dune comparisons were always going to be a losing battle: When it comes to a sense of scale, special effects, and star power, Prophecy doesn’t hold a candle to its predecessor.
What we’re left with, then, is a show that reminds you of bigger and better things—and what Prophecy does bring to the equation isn’t exactly revelatory. Halfway through the first season, we’ve learned that House Harkonnen and House Atreides have had beef for a very long time, peace throughout the Imperium is fragile, the Bene Gesserit wield more power than they’ve let on, and Travis Fimmel is basically playing the same chaos agent he did in Raised by Wolves (not a complaint, to be fair; that show ruled). Then there’s the narrative crux of the series: the Bene Gesserit’s big-picture aspirations to breed a worthy leader. That’s all well and good, but anyone coming into Prophecy with knowledge of the movies is already aware that Paul Atreides is destined to become this figure and that the Sisterhood won’t be thwarted by someone like Desmond Hart. The future being set in stone is a classic prequel conundrum—one that Prophecy fails to solve.
Despite these drawbacks, there’s always room for improvement, especially if Prophecy is renewed for a second season. (While Prophecy hasn’t officially been renewed, according to HBO chief Casey Bloys, Season 2 is already in development.) But it’s hard to shake the feeling that this franchise just isn’t suited for television. Villeneuve let the jaw-dropping imagery of Dune speak for itself; in the director’s own words, “I hate dialogue. Dialogue is for theater and television.” But the TV-specific qualities of Prophecy don’t feel organic to the world of Dune as much as borrowed from elsewhere: There’s the Thrones-like political scheming, yes, but also soapy YA romantic subplots that wouldn’t seem out of place on the CW. Consider: Princess Ynez Corrino (Sarah-Sofie Boussnina) vaping the spice mélange with her hunky sword master (an Atreides, naturally) at a nightclub. [Erik Killmonger voice] IS THIS YOUR DUNE?!
Despite this WTF-ery, I don’t hate everything that Prophecy is trying to accomplish. At times, its bizarre cocktail of influences—Villeneuve and Thrones, with dashes of Westworld, Foundation, The Acolyte, and CW dramas for good measure—is, if not necessarily great television, an entertaining watch for fellow sci-fi obsessives. Removed from the context of the IP it hails from, I would gladly watch a big-budget series about conniving space witches controlling the universe from the shadows as telekinetic Morgan Wallen tries to stop them. As an extension of the Dune universe, however, there are no two ways about it: Prophecy is stuck in quicksand.
