DUNE Page #5

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PAUL:

Why?

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

To find out if you are really human.

PAUL:

It’s burning me.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

Be quiet!

The noise of the machine becomes louder and Paul’s painful expression increases. He is sweating and digging his fingers into the palm of his free hand. He bites his lips so as not to cry out. The bones of his hand can be heard cracking.

The sizzling of burning flesh and the sound of bones breaking; the highest degree of suffering, but Paul endures it without flinching.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

Nobody has ever endured such suffering.

The Reverend Mother moves her hand and the noise of the cube stops. The pain stops immediately as well.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

Take out your hand.

Paul does not want to look at his hand, which he thinks must now be nothing more than a stump.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

(in her inhuman voice)

Take out your hand.

Paul obeys slowly. He sees with amazement that his hand has remained intact.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

(laughing lightly)

Pain by nervous induction. When your mother took the Gom Jabbar test, she sat down beside me, and I caressed her.

Furious, Paul steps back.

PAUL:

I’m not my mother.

Jessica enters and goes to kiss Paul, who pushes her away. She stops beside the Reverend Mother.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

We can see into the past and the future, but we only use feminine methods. There is a place in time, like a dark spot, which we cannot reach. One man will discover what we cannot see, through our drug. Yes. He will know the infinite possibilities of time. We have given our drug to a number of men, and all of them have died. Perhaps you will resist?

PAUL:

You seek the Kwisatz Haderach so as to be able to use him for your horrible political purposes. But you have said nothing which might help my father.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

If we were able to do something for him, we would have done it. Because of the myth which Our Missionaria Protectiva has spread in Dune, perhaps you two will be saved. But your father will die.

Paul, stooping, trying hard not to show his sorrow, opens the curtains and breathes the twilight air. Bird songs and river noises can be heard.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

(in her inhuman voice)

Paul!

At the sound of the Voice, Paul falls into a hypnotic trance.

THE REVEREND MOTHER:

Never repeat this to anyone!

EXTERIOR:
HARKONNEN CASTLE

Approach to the somber castle, bathed in the sound of sea waves. Bestial laughter. Music. Snatches of conversation. On the central balcony, Peter, the Baron’s Mentat, and Feyd Rautha, the Baron’s nephew and lover, can be seen playing chess.

EXTERIOR:
HARKONNEN CASTLE BALCONY

Peter and Feyd are sitting opposite each other. They are playing chess with a set where the pieces are shaped like spiders and scorpions on the Mentat’s side and like butterflies and wasps on the nephew’s side.

Beside Peter there is an outfit containing 24 hypodermic syringes arranged inside a clock-face. The syringes are filled with liquid spice. Peter looks at the time on a tiny watch-ring, takes out a syringe, places it in a surgical revolver and injects it into his leg. As the liquid progressively enters his blood, he moans with pleasure.

FEYD:

Why is my uncle giving a party? We’ve just lost Dune!

PETER:

Lost Dune?

He bursts out laughing.

INTERIOR:
THE HARKONNEN DRAWING-ROOM-SWIMMING POOL

A frantic party. The walls are composed of thousands of gargoyles; each of their mouths is spitting waves of wine. The floor is an enormous swimming pool filled with wine with passages and platforms made out of crystal. The pool is not deep, and the guests are in it, swimming, sitting, or floating in the drink. A large proportion of them, with their mouths open, are drinking the streams of wine dropping from the gargoyles; large hogs are swimming around, eating up the left-overs of food. Old half-naked women, between 70 and 80 years old, are dancing an erotic ballet together with effeminate young adolescents.

On a palanquin, carried on their shoulders by a group of children disguised as Cupids, Baron Vladimir Harkonnen can be seen entering, his enormous body lying on its side, his face smiling. It’s a splendid entry, as his master at arms Uman Kudu makes a way for him to pass through.

The palanquin arrives at the central platform, passing over the old women, who, with their bellies, pay obscene homage to the Baron. Uman Kudu forces them aside with lashes of his whip. Slaves enter carrying the food for the banquet. They circle around the palanquin offering various dishes to the Baron so that he can have first choice. The slaves are young and strong, dressed in loincloths and made up like women. The baron helps himself to a tiny portion of each of the hundred dishes. The rest is thrown to the guests who fight for their meal.

On a large plate of fried ostrich eggs, the baron only takes a small piece of bread. From giant artichokes, he takes just a leaf. From a pâté of canaries’ tongues arranged in the middle of a thousand dead canaries, blood stained and with open beaks, he takes one tiny little tongue. From an eight-hooved bull, entirely roasted, he cuts himself a bit of testicle.

When, on his plate, he finally has a heap of food, three old toothless slaves, at each side, suck his fingers, made greasy by the food, so as to wash them. Lambs’ heads are thrown into the pools. The guests dip them in wine. A group of monstrously fat naked women is then hurled into the wine. The guests rush towards them. Orgiastic, sinister, elephant-like scenes follow.

The baron lets himself be applauded and adulated. He finishes eating. Uman Kudu cracks his whip. The band falls quiet, the gargoyles stop spitting wine, the pool empties. Powerful fires light up the gloom. The guests silently steal away from this crude light, like nocturnal animals wounded by daylight.

The baron remains alone with Uman Kudu in the center of the deserted room.

Uman Kudu cracks his whip again. More slaves appear. They fix his anti-gravitation devices on the baron; these are electronic appliances adjusted to his body, enabling him, in spite of his weight, to float like a feather.

A pack of dogs, with their mouths made up, enter the room: snouts with painted lips, false eyelashes, necklaces, curly wigs, ear-rings. They run excitedly around the Baron.

In an acute tenor voice, Uman Kudu sings while the baron dances a weird parody of classical ballet, moving up and down like a sphere filled with gas. His dogs follow him, barking. As he dances, the baron throws them little pieces of raw meat as if they were flower petals.

INTERIOR:
BARON HARKONNEN’S NIGHT CLUB

An apartment like night-club. A theatre stage with footlights. On the floor, composed of various levels, plastic shapes designed for relaxation can be seen. In the middle of the shot is a large globe-shaped cake, a replica of the planet Dune. The doors open and Vladimir Harkonnen, in euphoric mood, enters followed by Uman Kudu, Peter, Feyd, and a group of slaves.

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