Dune: Prophecy: The Hidden Hand - Review Season One - Episode One

HBO’s Dune: Prophecy arrives as a tempestuous prequel, set 10,000 years before Paul Atreides walks the sands of Arrakis. It navigates the tumultuous waters of the Bene Gesserit’s early machinations. Episode One plunges viewers into the layered political intrigue of the Imperium, trading children for space ships and spice for a baroque tale of ambition, betrayal, and prophecy. 

With its moody cinematography and shadowy performances, Prophecy establishes itself not as a sibling to Denis Villeneuve’s visually stunning Dune films, but as a wannabe descendant of Game of Thrones. The episode spins a web of intrigue, with Truthsays acting like Varris himself but its strength lies in its exploration of power’s fragility and the cost of foresight.

The story opens on Wallach IX, where a young Valya Harkonnen (Jessica Barden, The Lobster) confronts the growing zealotry within the Sisterhood. Her resolve to create a calculated, political Sisterhood lays the groundwork for her transformation into the cold and commanding Mother Superior Valya (Emily Watson, Minority Report). 

Thirty years later, Valya’s consolidation of the Sisterhood’s influence becomes the series’ central axis, as she seeks to place one of their own on the Imperial throne. Emily Watson’s steely gravitas gives depth to a character haunted by Raquella’s dying prophecy: the Bene Gesserit’s looming annihilation.

At the heart of Dune: Prophecy is its refusal to glorify heroics. The episode pivots sharply from the messianic themes of Herbert’s original work, delving instead into the granular mechanics of power. Valya and her sister, Tula (Olivia Williams, The Postman), are not saviors; they are architects of control, leveraging genetic manipulation and political scheming to secure the Sisterhood’s survival. 

Their machinations culminate in an arranged marriage between Princess Ynez Corrino (Sarah-Sofie Boussnina, The Colony) and Pruwet Richese, a union intended to solidify their influence over Emperor Javicco Corrino (Mark Strong, John Carter of Mars). Yet, this plan teeters on the edge of chaos, disrupted by Desmond Hart (Travis Fimmel, Raised by Wolves, Vikings), an enigmatic soldier who embodies the wild unpredictability of divine intervention.

Desmond’s return from Arrakis introduces a new dimension to the Dune mythos. Claiming salvation by a god during a sandworm attack, Desmond emerges as a one-man resistance to the Bene Gesserit’s manipulation. His terrifying power—to telepathically burn a man alive—shatters the episode’s intricate balance. 

The gruesome death of Pruwet Richese at his hands, mirrored by Kasha’s simultaneous demise light-years away, speaks to a larger, unarticulated force at play. Desmond’s vendetta against the Sisterhood reframes the Bene Gesserit as both saviors of humanity and manipulators akin to the thinking machines they once sought to destroy.

The episode’s thematic undercurrent—the price of manipulation—is further explored through Tula’s struggles on Wallach IX. Tasked with training the Bene Gesserit’s acolytes, Tula wrestles with internal skepticism about the Sisterhood’s growing power. The scenes with the young trainees offer glimpses into the institution’s harsh philosophy, contrasting their disciplined future with the chaos threatening the Imperium. 

This dynamic introduces a tantalizing ambiguity: 

is the Sisterhood a necessary evil, or is it sowing the seeds of its own destruction?

Dune: Prophecy takes bold steps to differentiate itself from its cinematic predecessors by eschewing Arrakis for the decadent courts of Salusa Secundus. The absence of spice and sandworms shifts the narrative’s focus to the sprawling political chessboard of the Imperium. The show smartly frames the Bene Gesserit as power brokers in a galaxy still healing from the wounds of the 'Butlerian Jihad' which the shows refers to as the war with the Thinking Machines. Valya’s pursuit of control mirrors the Bene Gesserit’s foundational philosophy: manipulating genetics and politics to steer humanity toward an ideal future. 

Yet, as Desmond’s fiery wrath demonstrates, such control comes with grave risks.

Visually, the episode embraces a gothic aesthetic, its shadow-drenched halls and flickering candles a reflection of the moral ambiguity of its characters. The restrained use of CGI enhances the tactile, lived-in feel of the universe, grounding its grand themes in a relatable, human scale. The musical score, blending eerie choral elements with throbbing percussion, reinforces the series’ ominous tone.

Concept art of young Valya Harkonnen

While Dune: Prophecy deftly handles its political intrigue, its character development falters. Secondary players like Kasha (Jihae, Mortal Engines) and Emperor Javicco feel more like narrative devices than fully realized individuals. The emotional weight of Kasha’s death, for example, is dulled by the brevity of her screen time. Similarly, the young Princess Ynez’s blind commitment to the Bene Gesserit lacks the nuance needed to fully invest viewers in her arc. 

Despite its missteps, Episode One succeeds in laying a compelling foundation. The clash between Valya and Desmond serves as a microcosm of the show’s larger conflict: the tension between order and freedom. Desmond’s faith-driven rebellion against the Sisterhood echoes the thematic core of the Dune saga—the cyclical nature of power and the hubris of those who wield it. Valya’s chilling pragmatism, juxtaposed with Desmond’s fiery zeal, sets the stage for a battle that promises to reshape the Imperium.

Ultimately, Dune: Prophecy is less about the grandeur of Herbert’s universe and more about its shadowy underpinnings. The show’s focus on the Bene Gesserit’s secretive rise provides a refreshing lens through which to explore the complexities of the Imperium. Episode One invites viewers into a world where prophecy is both a guiding light and a harbinger of doom. As the series unfolds, its success will depend on its ability to deepen its characters and maintain the intricate balancing act between intrigue and action. 

For now, Dune: Prophecy offers a dark and tantalizing glimpse into the hidden hand shaping humanity’s future.

The thematic meanings of the 'Sisterhood of Dune' novel

Book Review

Sisterhood of Dune: The Origins of Power and Fanaticism

Eighty years after the Jihad, the Imperium is a fragile balance of emerging powers. Herbert and Anderson explore the collision between progress and regress in this foundational text.

In Sisterhood of Dune, Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson take us back to a defining period in the Dune universe, one rich with emerging political and spiritual forces that will shape human destiny for millennia to come. Eighty years after the Butlerian Jihad, the Imperium is a tense balance of newly established power factions—the Bene Gesserit, Mentats, Suk doctors, and the Spacing Guild—struggling to establish identities and philosophies in a time marked by the deeply divisive shadow of the anti-technology Butlerian movement.

This novel, the first in the Great Schools of Dune trilogy, resonates with timeless themes of fanaticism, knowledge, and societal evolution. Herbert and Anderson brilliantly expand the Dune universe, creating a thought-provoking tapestry that examines humanity’s paradoxical desire for both order and autonomy.

I. Progress Versus Regress: Venport and Torondo

Central to the novel is the collision between progress and regress. This timeless battle is crystallized in the power struggle between Josef Venport and Manford Torondo. Venport, head of the galaxy’s monopolistic space-travel conglomerate, embodies the allure and utility of technology, emphasizing logic, advancement, and control over his enterprise and society. Torondo, on the other hand, represents humanity’s primal distrust of progress. He is an icon of fanaticism who rallies the Imperium’s vulnerable masses against any vestige of the thinking machines.

Here, Herbert and Anderson deftly illustrate how the lust for control, whether technological or ideological, can lead to disastrous polarization. The rivalry between Venport and Torondo underscores the tension between reason and faith, leaving readers questioning the true path to human advancement.

II. The Fragility of Governance

Yet this ideological conflict between Torondo and Venport is more than a binary clash of technocrat versus zealot. Through characters like Emperor Salvador Corrino, the novel illuminates the precarious nature of governance in a fractured universe. Salvador’s hold on power is continually threatened by populist pressures, technological monopolies, and rebellion. Here, the Corrino rule becomes a metaphor for fragile authority, as Salvador’s attempts to balance power reveal his vulnerability. The novel demonstrates that power is not absolute. It requires constant maintenance, adaptation, and, at times, compromise.

Salvador’s struggles exemplify how governance, in its purest form, must navigate a labyrinthine landscape of competing ideologies, illustrating that ruling over an empire is as much about containing its chaos as about providing order.

The foundations of the Great Schools are laid in chaos.

III. The Birth of the Sisterhood

Meanwhile, the origins of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood bring a unique lens to Sisterhood of Dune, offering insight into the evolution of what will become one of the Dune universe's most powerful institutions. Unlike the cold, manipulative order of Frank Herbert’s original novels, here the Sisterhood emerges from necessity, camaraderie, and survival. Raquella Berto-Anirul, the Sisterhood’s leader, imbues the order with purpose and integrity, even as she engages in morally ambiguous practices, such as using forbidden computers to catalog family genetic information.

Raquella’s efforts are acts of rebellion against the Butlerian purists, setting the Bene Gesserit on a path of quiet defiance that will ultimately define their methods. Through Raquella’s character, Herbert and Anderson explore the theme of legacy and the moral cost of preserving it, showing that power often demands uncomfortable choices in the pursuit of higher goals.

IV. The Mentat Paradox

Another thematic cornerstone of the novel lies in the struggle for knowledge and identity, particularly within the Mentat School led by Gilbertus Albans. Gilbertus’s attempts to hide his robotic mentor, Erasmus, from the watchful eye of the Butlerians reveal a complex internal conflict. The Mentats’ pursuit of knowledge is marked by a paradox: they are the very embodiment of human potential, yet their existence is perilously close to violating the anti-machine principles of their society.

The Mentats’ struggle to thrive under Butlerian scrutiny underscores the theme of intellectual persecution. In Gilbertus, the authors create a character wrestling with his identity as both human and machine learner. His journey is one of navigating treacherous waters, questioning how much of humanity’s legacy can be retained without the technologies that once empowered it.

V. Generational Trauma and Populism

Equally compelling is the portrayal of the Harkonnen and Atreides families, whose blood feud exemplifies the theme of generational trauma. Vorian Atreides and the disgraced Harkonnens, exemplified by Valya Harkonnen’s determination to restore her family’s honor, represent two paths in the face of loss and disgrace. Their stories ask whether one’s destiny is determined by heritage or choice. Vorian’s exile and the Harkonnen’s humble existence on Lankiveil show that family legacy is both a burden and a motivator.

Through these familial arcs, Herbert and Anderson explore how individuals and families attempt to shape their identities while shackled to their pasts, a poignant exploration of heritage in a universe that prizes bloodline and legacy above all else.

The anti-technology fervor of the Butlerian movement, led by Torondo, touches on a theme that feels more relevant today than ever: the dangers of populism and zealotry. Torondo, a populist dictator in every sense, utilizes fear and charisma to incite the masses against any whisper of advanced technology. His rise highlights humanity’s susceptibility to charismatic leaders promising simple solutions to complex problems.

Torondo’s character reminds readers of the seductive nature of fanaticism, with promises that are ultimately empty yet devastatingly effective. This portrayal is both a caution and a reminder that humanity’s instinctual need for purpose can often blind it to reason, making it vulnerable to leaders who exploit rather than uplift.

VI. Religion, State, and Original Vision

Finally, Sisterhood of Dune explores the intersection of religious fervor and political power. The Emperor’s strategic use of the Orange Catholic Bible’s release to quell unrest reveals the complex relationship between religion and the state. The religious undertones and the reinterpretation of ancient texts for political gains emphasize the manipulation of faith as a means of control, asking readers to consider the ethics of institutionalizing belief for the sake of order.

Salvador’s eventual downfall illustrates that exploiting faith as a tool of authority is fraught with risks, especially when that faith becomes the only weapon left to both oppressors and the oppressed.

The themes in Sisterhood of Dune seamlessly connect to Frank Herbert's original Dune universe, weaving a deeper understanding of the ideological roots and institutions that will shape the future struggles on Arrakis. At its core, Sisterhood of Dune builds on Herbert's central examination of humanity’s relationship with power, technology, and ecological responsibility.

The Butlerian anti-technology fervor echoes Herbert's cautionary tales about humanity's dependency on machines and presages the technological puritanism and selective manipulation of genetics that the Bene Gesserit, Mentats, and Spacing Guild later employ. Similarly, the Sisterhood’s early ethical compromises and breeding program reflect Herbert’s complex portrayal of the Bene Gesserit’s role in human affairs, foreshadowing their pivotal influence over centuries.

This novel enriches Herbert’s theme of fanaticism as a double-edged sword, with Torondo’s zealotry mirroring later figures like Paul Atreides and the cult of Muad’Dib. By delving into these foundational conflicts, Sisterhood of Dune not only expands the lore but intensifies Herbert's original exploration of humanity’s unending battle between free will, the allure of messianic power, and the consequences of ideologically driven control over society and nature.

Connection to Dune: Prophecy

Sisterhood of Dune serves as the foundational narrative and inspiration for the television series Dune: Prophecy, which explores the origins of iconic institutions like the Bene Gesserit, Mentats, and the Spacing Guild. As a starting point, the novel delves into the turbulent post-Butlerian Jihad era, where anti-technology fervor and new power struggles begin to shape the Imperium's future. This background enriches the series, bringing to life the early ideological conflicts and ambitions that set the stage for the political and spiritual intrigues central to Frank Herbert’s original Dune saga.

Silo: The final episode of season one explained

The season finale of Silo masterfully fractures the myth of sanctuary that this underground haven clings to, peeling away layers of secrecy that choke its inhabitants.

When Juliette Nichols, Rebecca Ferguson’s raw-boned, no-nonsense engineer-turned-sheriff, is cast outside, the series steps out of claustrophobic corridors and into the void, with a gasping intensity that recalls the post-apocalyptic dread of The Road or Children of Men.

What she encounters beyond the airlock is less a revelation of freedom than a plummet into existential bleakness, one that redefines Silo’s dystopian roots.

It’s not freedom; it’s a grimmer cage.

Juliette's final moments in the Silo are as disorienting as they are crucial. Bracing against her fate, she is forced to confront Bernard, the show’s sinisterly bureaucratic mayor (Tim Robbins, War of the Worlds), who turns her cleaning sentence into a moral riddle.

 

Bernard is part Orwellian authority, part pragmatist, wielding his control over the Silo with a menacingly gentle touch, promising her leniency for her loved ones if she accepts this public punishment. And by sending her out, Bernard preserves not only his control but also the facade of the Silo as a hermetic safehouse against a hellish outside.

But Juliette’s departure cracks that facade for herself and the viewers alike.

As she steps outside, Silo rips into its grand illusion—quite literally—in the form of an ocular trick designed to pacify. The helmet display conjures a luscious, habitable world: blue skies, greenery, even birds flitting across a pristine horizon.

This artificial projection lulls its victims into one last moment of obedience, compelling them to "clean" the sensor, reaffirming the illusion for everyone left behind. The repeated display pattern, the same hopeful, lush world, is a calculated cruelty meant to keep the Silo’s lie alive.

But Juliette, noticing the birds’ repeated, programmed movement (which keen viewers can observe themselves in prior episodes), unearths the truth in a moment of profound horror.

It’s the heat tape, ironically, that lets her see past this deception.

This seemingly innocuous material, a mechanic’s staple in the world below, turns from mundane supply to lifeline. Harriet Walter’s character Walker, Juliette’s mentor, recognizes that the standard-issue tape—designed to fail—is the true cause of death for the condemned.

 

Walker's homemade, industrial-grade tape is a quiet revolution wrapped around Juliette’s suit, allowing her to survive the trek up the hill and past the display’s lies. The decision to trust Juliette’s life to tape recalls the symbolic poignancy of a minor object taking on monumental meaning, a detail Silo hides in plain sight until its significance detonates in the finale.

Juliette’s survival goes beyond defiance; it sparks curiosity and rebellion in others.

By refusing to clean, by cresting the hill to see what lies beyond the display, she becomes the unwitting Flamekeeper that Gloria foreshadowed.

Meanwhile, Robert Sims (Common), Bernard’s enforcer, finds his own allegiance at a breaking point. While outwardly a believer in the Silo’s strict protocol, Sims reveals a subtle internal fracture. His confusion as Bernard mutters, “She knows,” at Juliette’s realization hints at an incomplete awareness of the true machinations within. Sims embodies a brutal paradox—both enforcer and victim of the system he perpetuates, a state apparatchik who may soon discover the extent of the lies he’s built his life around.

Bernard, the icy, calculating overseer, holds a key to one of the show's greater enigmas—the "18" marked on his cryptic access key, linking their Silo to a broader network of isolated worlds. When he uses this key in the finale, viewers are left to wonder:

Is Bernard himself a pawn in an even grander scheme? 

His loyalty, or perhaps his fear, to preserve the Silo’s order suggests that his power is conditional, dependent on following orders from an unseen authority. The number “18” pulls back the curtain, revealing that this oppressive microcosm is one of many, part of a network engineered to keep humanity in stasis.

As Juliette presses further, her encounter with the desolation beyond reaffirms the finality of her journey. What she sees is haunting: a toxic landscape devoid of life, a stark contrast to the illusion in her helmet. The city skyline that punctuates this barren horizon suggests a past civilization decimated, a monument to humanity’s self-inflicted apocalypse. This is no paradise lost; it is a vision of ruin, a tomb that confirms the Silo’s narrative of the world above.

What’s chilling, though, is that the Silo was right—just not in the way its inhabitants were led to believe. The outside air is indeed toxic, a hostile wasteland unfit for life. Juliette’s clarity in realizing this unfiltered truth while grappling with the helmet’s artificial projection—one last visual lie—is perhaps the show’s most philosophical moment.

It’s not only a commentary on survival but also on the existential cost of knowing, the unbearable price of truth.

Silo season one ends not with closure but with an expansion of its oppressive world. Juliette's act of rebellion—by seeing, by refusing to comply—is a spark in the powder keg of a far larger conspiracy. It leaves audiences to question:

Who built the Silo? 

And more urgently, who controls it?

Check out the explanation of the season 2 final of Silo.

The Key Themes of Dune: Prophecy

Series Analysis

Dune: Prophecy and the Architecture of Power

At the heart of Dune: Prophecy lies a meditation on the nature of power, both overt and subtle.

The Bene Gesserit Sisterhood wields influence not through force but through manipulation and psychological mastery. This theme resonates with the broader Dune lore, where power often lies not in direct control but in the ability to shape the thoughts and decisions of others.

Valya Harkonnen’s journey as Mother Superior embodies this approach, as she deftly navigates the political currents of the Imperium. Her power, like that of the Sisterhood at large, is quiet yet formidable. It is shaped by the ability to see possibilities, plant ideas, and shape outcomes without the need for violence.

Dune: Prophecy examines how power can be wielded in silence, casting light on the hidden, manipulative arts that form the foundation of Bene Gesserit influence.

The hidden currents of the Bene Gesserit.

Prophecy and Predestination

In the Dune universe, prophecy is a double-edged sword. Dune: Prophecy leans heavily into this concept, depicting how the Sisterhood’s actions are often shaped—and sometimes hindered—by their own foreknowledge of what’s to come. Mother Raquella’s prediction of a future tyrant who will rise against the Sisterhood casts a shadow over Valya’s every decision.

This theme ties into the broader Dune saga’s fascination with destiny and the burden of foreknowledge, as seen with Paul Atreides in Herbert’s novels.

In Dune: Prophecy, prophecy is both a guide and a cage. It is a motivating force that propels Valya and the Sisterhood forward but also a trap that limits their freedom. The series invites viewers to consider how the belief in destiny can constrain as much as it empowers.

Gender and Agency in a Hierarchical World

Dune: Prophecy brings the gender dynamics of Dune into sharper focus, highlighting the Bene Gesserit’s complex role in an overwhelmingly male-dominated Imperium. The Sisterhood’s covert power reveals the limits placed on women within the Imperium’s political structure, where overt authority remains the domain of emperors, dukes, and other male figures.

In response, the Bene Gesserit develop their own systems of agency, mastering arts of influence that men overlook or underestimate. The series underscores the theme of women finding agency within restriction, turning limitations into assets. This focus adds a poignant layer to the narrative, showing that in a world where direct power is denied, indirect influence can become a weapon just as potent as any blade.

Humanity’s Wariness of Technology

Set in the aftermath of the Butlerian Jihad—a pivotal event where humanity rose against “thinking machines”—Dune: Prophecy is steeped in a cultural fear of artificial intelligence. The Imperium’s prohibition of thinking machines shapes not only its technological development but its social fabric, influencing how knowledge, power, and labor are organized.

This aversion to AI has led to a culture that prizes human potential and, in particular, to the Bene Gesserit’s focus on honing the mind and body to near-superhuman levels. This wariness echoes throughout the show, creating a society that values mastery over self rather than mastery over machines. The series probes this theme through characters like Desmond Hart, who flirts with the forbidden line of technology, highlighting the ever-present fear that humanity’s creations might one day overtake them.

Transformation and the Path to Self-Mastery

A recurring theme in Dune: Prophecy is the Bene Gesserit’s path of self-mastery, a grueling journey of mental and physical training that allows them to become Truthsayers, visionaries, and masters of the Voice. This theme of transformation goes beyond physical capability; it’s about honing one’s self to become an instrument of control and influence.

Concept art illustrating the grim atmosphere of the series.

The acolytes’ rigorous training, pushed to their physical and mental limits, reflects Herbert’s larger idea of self-mastery as the only path to true freedom. By controlling their bodies, emotions, and thoughts, the Bene Gesserit believe they are freed from manipulation—a claim that is perhaps ironic given their own practices.

In Dune: Prophecy, the path to mastery is as much about freedom from external control as it is about the responsibility that comes with such power.

The Tension Between Loyalty and Individual Ambition

Dune: Prophecy explores the tension between individual desires and loyalty to the Sisterhood, a theme encapsulated in Valya Harkonnen’s ambition and the internal conflicts faced by her acolytes. The Bene Gesserit’s strict code emphasizes loyalty to the Sisterhood above all, but the personal ambitions of characters often conflict with this creed. Valya’s ruthless drive to see her visions realized sometimes jeopardizes the Sisterhood, revealing how individual ambition can become a double-edged sword.

This theme parallels the Bene Gesserit’s belief in collective survival, raising questions about the cost of personal power within an organization built on shared purpose. It’s a powerful reminder that loyalty, when mixed with unchecked ambition, can lead to fractures within even the most disciplined societies.

Legacy and the Weight of History

The weight of history permeates Dune: Prophecy, reflecting Dune’s larger preoccupation with the cycles of power and the scars of past conflicts. The Bene Gesserit are not just living in the present; they are carrying the knowledge and traditions passed down since the Butlerian Jihad, shaping their every decision in light of historical experience.

Valya’s Harkonnen lineage is a constant reminder of the past and the burdens it brings, tying her actions to both her family’s and the Sisterhood’s legacies. This theme enriches the series by framing individual actions as part of a larger continuum, asking viewers to consider how the weight of history can both guide and restrict those who carry it.

The Inescapable Reach of Fate

Finally, Dune: Prophecy delves into the inexorable pull of fate, a theme that resonates through every choice and every plot twist. Valya’s decisions to fulfill or defy prophecy highlight the tension between free will and preordained destiny. In the Dune universe, fate is both a cosmic and personal force, dictating the lives of individuals and the fate of entire empires.

Dune: Prophecy captures this struggle, portraying the Bene Gesserit’s use of prophecy as a way to gain control over the uncontrollable, to see the future as both a map and a warning. This theme serves as a reminder that in the world of Dune, destiny is never just a future to arrive at—it is a force that shapes the present, one that characters cannot escape no matter how fiercely they try.

Dune: Prophecy > Review

The Dune universe has always felt boundless, a sprawling vision of the future where political intrigue, mysticism, and cosmic dread converge across endless desert sands. The arrival of Dune: Prophecy marks a significant new chapter, one that digs into the scarcely explored depths of the Bene Gesserit Sisterhood, pulling back the veil on the mysterious order that’s quietly dictated events from the shadows for millennia. 

Set more than 10,000 years before the saga of Paul Atreides unfolds, the six-episode prequel series opens a portal into the formative years of the Imperium and a galaxy still haunted by the scars of the Butlerian Jihad—a war against “thinking machines” that reshaped human society in profound ways. This is Dune re-imagined as historical epic and metaphysical odyssey, bringing the Sisterhood into the kind of brutal, hypnotic focus that could only have thrived in the age of prestige television.

Unlike the vast deserts of Arrakis that dominate Herbert’s novels and Villeneuve’s films, Dune: Prophecy roots itself in the cold, forbidding environments of Wallach IX, the Bene Gesserit homeworld, and the imperial power seat on Salusa Secundus. There’s no mistaking that the series owes a debt to Game of Thrones for its palace intrigue and power plays, but it’s far from a mere imitation. 

Rather, the story draws its intensity from a philosophical tension unique to Dune: the line between control and destiny, the risk and reward of prophesy, and the unfathomable power held by those willing to sit in shadows. At the heart of it all stands Mother Superior Valya Harkonnen (Emily Watson), a cunning leader whose quiet determination and relentless ambition aim to elevate the Sisterhood and secure its influence within the sprawling Imperium. This is no rise-to-power arc but a meditation on the costs of influence.

Adapted from Sisterhood of Dune by Brian Herbert and Kevin J. Anderson, Dune: Prophecy takes liberties with its source material, yet it remains true to the book’s underlying tensions and vast, complex lore. The Butlerian Jihad, the great war against artificial intelligence that banned “thinking machines” and rewrote the moral code of civilization, looms over this narrative like a dark specter. In the vacuum left by the demise of these machines, new power structures emerge—paramount among them the Sisterhood. Led by Valya Harkonnen, the Sisterhood begins its ascent, quietly embedding itself within the Imperium, while acolytes undergo rigorous mental and physical training to prepare for their roles as truth-sayers, manipulators, and future prophets. We find ourselves in a time when their legendary powers, such as the controlling Voice, are in nascent form, and the breeding project to create the Kwisatz Haderach is still a dream on the horizon.

Valya’s dominance over the Sisterhood is hardly a given, and her journey is shaped by those around her, notably her sister Tula (Olivia Williams, The Postman + The Sith Sense), whose quiet loyalty and inner conflict lend the narrative a tragic undercurrent. Together, the Harkonnen sisters embody Dune’s ceaseless interplay of power and vulnerability, often more allies than family in a universe that requires brutal pragmatism over kinship.

Watson and Williams bring a near-mythic intensity to their roles, managing to convey the vastness of this world not through sweeping monologues but through glances and whispered exchanges that imply an ocean of secrets. Through them, we see how the Sisterhood operates—never with a hammer, but with a scalpel—finessing outcomes that shape the destiny of empires.

As viewers follow the Sisterhood’s machinations within the courts of Salusa Secundus, Dune: Prophecy strikes an arresting balance between palace intrigue and metaphysical dread. Emperor Javicco Corrino (Mark Strong, John Carter of Mars) struggles to keep control of his empire while the forces of Arrakis loom over him. Meanwhile, the charismatic yet ruthless soldier Desmond Hart (Travis Fimmel, Vikings, Raised by Wolves) brings an unsettling energy to the emperor’s court, further agitating tensions with the Sisterhood and Corrino’s daughter, Princess Ynez (Sarah-Sofie Boussnina). 

This tangled web of political factions, bolstered by ancient prophecies and deep-seated grudges, provides the show’s pulse, while the tension between the Sisterhood’s hidden hand and the emperor’s overt authority heightens each scene with anticipation.

One of Dune: Prophecy’s most intriguing elements is how it layers its backstory with the mythic horror of the Butlerian Jihad. This isn’t just filler lore; it’s a reminder of humanity’s encounter with its own ambition, and the psychic scars it left behind in the form of prohibitions against artificial intelligence. We see this cultural trauma refracted through Valya’s ruthless adherence to tradition and Desmond Hart’s peculiar relationship with forbidden technology. 

Though rarely mentioned explicitly, the war’s aftermath is evident in everything from the rigid hierarchy of the Imperium to the Sisterhood’s insistence on mastering the human mind and body to fill the void once dominated by machines. It’s a shadow over the entire series, a reminder that the power wielded in Dune is always a double-edged sword.

While the sands of Arrakis dominate much of the Dune universe, Dune: Prophecy bravely shifts its gaze to other pivotal worlds, specifically Wallach IX and Salusa Secundus. These planets, with their bleak, cold atmospheres, make a stark contrast to the desert sun and spice-laden air of Arrakis, yet they are equally integral to the story. Through the glittering imperial palace on Salusa Secundus and the austere Sisterhood library on Wallach IX, the series brings to life a galaxy where even the landscapes seem to echo the harshness and gravity of its conflicts. 

Tom Meyer’s production design teams with Bojana Nikitovic’s costume work to conjure spaces that feel lived-in and lore-bound, imbuing every veil, corridor, and throne room with the heavy, inevitable march of history. This world-building doesn’t just satisfy fans; it demonstrates the sheer breadth of Herbert’s universe.

At the center of Dune: Prophecy lies a revelation of the Sisterhood, not merely as mystics but as individuals negotiating personal ambitions and the Sisterhood’s future under Valya Harkonnen’s guidance. The Bene Gesserit here are not yet the fully realized force depicted in Herbert’s novels or Villeneuve’s films. They’re still grappling with their identity, balancing loyalty and individual desire in a universe that will not yield to them easily. 

Their rigorous training—the mental and physical crucibles that acolytes endure—adds a ritualistic, almost monastic quality to the series, as they learn to wield powers of truth-saying and body control, preparing for the political chess game that is life in the Imperium. We see, with each grueling trial and whispered lesson, the seeds of the Bene Gesserit we know, and the women who will one day transform this sisterhood into a force that can bend emperors to their will.

Through Valya Harkonnen’s ascendance, Dune: Prophecy also revisits the infamous Harkonnen lineage, transforming it from the one-dimensional house of villains familiar to fans of the films into a complex narrative of survival, betrayal, and raw ambition. Valya is no caricature; she’s a tactician, haunted by a family history marred by the Butlerian Jihad and her ancestors' disgrace. Her sister Tula, gentler yet no less resolved, offers an intriguing foil, adding complexity to a lineage that will later be embodied in the infamous Baron Harkonnen. 

This series sheds light on the humanity, even the honor, woven into the Harkonnen name before it became synonymous with ruthless tyranny. By grounding their motivations in family loyalty, political necessity, and personal ambition, Dune: Prophecy brings to life a part of Dune that often lives in the shadows.

At its core, Dune: Prophecy is about destiny—a theme that saturates every corner of Herbert’s universe. The series teases out the role of prophecy in shaping the Sisterhood’s decisions and the Imperium’s political landscape, balancing the question of free will against the weight of ancient predictions. Valya’s relentless drive to fulfill her vision, to secure the Sisterhood’s legacy, reverberates through each storyline, casting the characters as both architects and prisoners of fate. Her fierce belief in the prophecy from Mother Raquella, predicting a tyrant who will crush the Sisterhood, is both her motivation and her potential undoing. 

In this way, Dune: Prophecy explores how prophecy can inspire or imprison, a fitting parallel to the wider Dune mythos and its eternal struggle between fate and autonomy.

Dune: Prophecy succeeds in its mission, leaving us with an Imperium rich in both mystery and meaning, a new standard in sci-fi television. It’s a thrill to know that, even after decades, Dune still has secrets to uncover and stories to tell.

Finch (2021) - Themes of Survival, Legacy, and the Human Spirit

Finch (2021), directed by Miguel Sapochnik (Repomen, Game of Thrones), combines elements of post-apocalyptic survival and human emotion, the need for legacy.

The film, starring Tom Hanks (Cloud Atlas, Forest Gump), tells the story of Finch, the apparent last surviving human on Earth, who, in the wake of an environmental catastrophe, strives to protect his dog, Goodyear, and teach his robot creation, Jeff, to care for the dog after his inevitable death. Set against a barren landscape, the film’s exploration of the end of humanity touches on themes of survival, legacy, human connection, and the role of technology.

While Finch unfolds as a road trip across a desolate world, it’s much more a profound meditation on the fragility of life and what it means to leave something behind. 

Survival and the Fragility of Human Life

At its core, Finch is a film about survival in a dying world. 

The theme of survival is central to the narrative, not just as a matter of physical endurance but also as a means to ensure that the values and knowledge of the human race are not lost. Finch is the lone survivor in a world devastated by environmental collapse. As he faces the certainty of his own death due to illness, Finch is tasked with preparing for a future beyond his own life.

The fragility of human life is made explicit in Finch’s declining health and his efforts to teach Jeff how to care for Goodyear. This relationship between man and machine goes beyond mere survival tactics; it becomes a testament to the human need to protect those we love, even in the face of an inevitable, uncontrollable fate. 

The film’s bleak landscapes and the harsh conditions the characters endure emphasize just how precarious human life is in a world that has already moved past its prime.

Sapochnik’s direction and the film's visual style underscore this fragility, with wide shots of desolate environments highlighting the smallness and vulnerability of Finch as he makes his way through the world. 

 

Human Connection and Companionship

In Finch, the theme of human connection is explored through the relationships that form in an otherwise isolated and desolate world. Finch, the last surviving human, shares his life with only his dog Goodyear and, as the film progresses, the AI robot Jeff. 

In this broken, apocalyptic setting, the film emphasizes that companionship is not just a luxury but a fundamental need for survival. 

As Finch faces the inevitable end of his life, the film explores how these relationships—though unconventional—are what sustain him emotionally and psychologically, offering a sense of meaning and purpose in a world devoid of human interaction.

The relationship between Finch and Goodyear serves as the emotional anchor of the film. 

The dog is not just a pet but a symbol of the old world—loyal, familiar, and dependable. In the early stages of the film, Goodyear is Finch's sole companion, and their bond is one of mutual dependence. Goodyear’s presence provides Finch with a sense of stability and emotional connection in a world where human bonds no longer exist. 

As Finch’s health deteriorates, his need for Goodyear's companionship grows even more pronounced, and it becomes evident that he cannot fully rely on the dog alone to secure the future. This is where Jeff, the robot, enters the narrative. While initially created as a tool for survival, Jeff’s role in the film gradually shifts from a functional machine to an evolving form of companionship. Finch’s attempt to teach Jeff human qualities, such as empathy and emotional understanding, becomes a central aspect of the film.

What’s particularly striking in Finch is the way the film juxtaposes the relationships between Finch, Goodyear, and Jeff. While Finch’s bond with Goodyear is based on years of mutual companionship, his relationship with Jeff evolves out of necessity and the understanding that human connection, even with a machine, can take on unexpected and deeply meaningful forms.

Jeff’s development throughout the film reflects the broader theme of humanity's need for connection, suggesting that even in a post-apocalyptic world where human life has all but disappeared, the longing for connection remains a fundamental aspect of survival.

 

Legacy and Passing Down Knowledge

At the heart of Finch lies the theme of legacy—specifically, the desire to leave something behind after death. In a world on the brink of extinction, where Finch is one of the few last surviving humans, the concept of legacy takes on profound significance. 

As Finch faces his own mortality due to a terminal illness, he is driven by an urgent need to prepare for the future, not just for his dog Goodyear, but also for the robot, Jeff, whom he has created to serve as a caretaker. This act of preparing Jeff to care for Goodyear represents Finch’s attempt to pass down the responsibility of life itself, ensuring that there is continuity even after humanity is gone (in this sense George Clooney's Midnight Sky echoes similar sentiment).

Finch’s legacy is not one of traditional wealth or status but of knowledge, love, and survival instincts. In teaching Jeff how to care for Goodyear, Finch is also imparting lessons about empathy, responsibility, and compassion—values that will guide the robot in fulfilling his role as a caretaker. Finch's struggle to communicate these values to Jeff highlights the deeper philosophical inquiry into what it means to leave behind a legacy in a world where human civilization has collapsed.

 
The transfer of responsibility for Goodyear to Jeff is a significant moment in the film, one that marks the culmination of Finch’s life’s work. He realizes that his legacy will not be about the preservation of the human race, but rather the preservation of care and responsibility, even through a machine. This dynamic evokes the idea that the most lasting aspects of humanity—the ability to love, nurture, and protect—can be passed down, not only through human descendants but through other forms of life, even if those forms are artificial.

The final scenes of the film, where Jeff takes on the responsibility of Goodyear’s care after Finch’s death, encapsulate the idea of legacy as a living, evolving force. In a sense, Finch’s legacy is not simply something that exists after his death—it is something that will continue to grow and transform. Jeff’s capacity to care for Goodyear and to continue Finch’s mission of survival speaks to the idea that the true measure of a legacy is how it continues to impact the world even when the original creator is no longer present.

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If you enjoyed Finch and are intrigued by the emotional bond between a human and a robot, I highly recommend exploring these films that similarly delve into human-robot relationships. 

Chappie (2015) explores the journey of a sentient robot struggling to understand the world around him, offering a poignant look at the complexities of AI and human connection. 

Bicentennial Man (1999) follows the evolution of an android who gradually becomes more human over two centuries, highlighting themes of love, identity, and mortality. 

Ex Machina (2014) presents a gripping exploration of artificial intelligence, focusing on the ethical dilemmas and emotional interactions between a human programmer and a highly advanced robot named Ava. 

Short Circuit (1986) offers a lighter take on the genre, with a robot gaining sentience and forming a bond with a human, leading to a heartwarming adventure about friendship and discovery. 

These films, much like Finch, provide compelling narratives that question the nature of consciousness, connection, and what it means to be truly "alive."

Themes of 'Civil War' - written and directed by Alex Garland (2024)

OK.

What kind of American are you?

Filmmaker Alex Garland has come a long way since he first hit a note with his script for The Beach.

Throughout the last 20 years Garland has had a steering hand in many classic gems of films - the pitch-perfect Dredd, the scary bear movie - Annihilation, the overlooked Men and the A.I. classic of Ex Machina.

Produced by A24 films, Alex Garland's film Civil War (2024) explores a near-future America divided by a devastating internal conflict, taking a deep dive into themes of political disintegration, the ethics of journalism, and the chaotic fog of war. Set against the backdrop of a nation fractured between an authoritarian federal government and secessionist factions, Garland constructs a narrative that refrains from clear political affiliations, instead focusing on the universal descent into chaos and the moral ambiguity that follows.

So hardly states that are united then...

It emphasizes the importance of journalism in such contexts, underscoring the role of the media in exposing truths during war and holding power accountable.

One of the film’s primary themes is the breakdown of political and societal structures. 

Garland avoids a simplistic portrayal of the red versus blue divide, opting instead to illustrate a complex and murky conflict where the motives and ideologies of both sides are unclear, even to those fighting in it. This lack of clear political stances emphasizes the absurdity and tragedy of civil wars, where factions fight without a coherent understanding of their goals, highlighting the senseless violence driven by deeply entrenched divisions in society.

Another critical theme is the role and ethics of journalism in war. 

The story is seen through the eyes of war journalists, who strive to document the conflict while grappling with their professional duty and personal trauma. Kirsten Dunst’s character, Lee, exemplifies this struggle; she is a seasoned war photographer facing an existential crisis over her work's impact, or lack thereof. This theme reflects Garland's commentary on the often-questioned objectivity and moral quandaries of the press in conflict zones, where the lines between documenting and influencing events are blurred.

Garland also delves into the psychological toll of war on individuals, particularly journalists on the front lines. The characters face intense stress and trauma, manifesting in different ways. For instance, Lee's emotional detachment contrasts sharply with the reckless thrill-seeking of her colleague Joel, portraying a spectrum of coping mechanisms against the relentless backdrop of violence. 

This focus on personal struggles offers a raw and intimate perspective on the broader chaos of the conflict, showing how war alters one's psyche and distorts moral judgment.

The film further critiques the spectacle of political power and its downfall. The portrayal of the President as a despotic figure who manipulates fear and division, yet becomes a pitiful figure hiding from the advancing rebels, underlines the transient and performative nature of political authority. This theme resonates with historical instances of collapsing regimes and highlights the inevitable vulnerability of even the most powerful leaders when societal structures crumble.

Lastly, Civil War serves as a cautionary tale about the dangers of extreme polarization and the fragility of democratic institutions. The ambiguous motives of the warring factions suggest that the specifics of the political divide are less significant than the fact of division itself, pointing to a broader commentary on the contemporary political landscape. 

Garland uses this dystopian vision to reflect the current anxieties around democracy's decline and the societal consequences of entrenched partisanship, making the film a relevant and thought-provoking piece on the potential future of American society.

Through its themes, Civil War challenges viewers to contemplate the cyclical nature of conflict and the human capacity for self-destruction, making it a haunting exploration of the complexities underlying civil strife in the modern age.

Trump that...