Tag: HBO Max

Dune: Prophecy – Eugenics, Lies, and Weak CGI

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So, you watched Dune: Prophecy episode 1 on HBO Max. Congratulations on your bravery. Let’s face it—Dune adaptations are a minefield. Remember David Lynch’s Dune? Of course, you do because it’s impossible to unsee Sting in that ridiculous winged codpiece. And whilst Denis Villeneuve’s recent entries managed to elevate the franchise from high-school drama club aesthetics to actual cinema, they also came dangerously close to being too good—almost like Dune took itself seriously.

And now, here we are, back on shaky ground with Dune: Prophecy. Sure, the first episode was watchable, despite some environmental CGI that looks like it came out of a Sims expansion pack. But this isn’t a film review channel, so let’s dive into the show’s actual content—or, as I like to call it, The Philosophy 101 Drinking Game.

Eugenics: Creepy, Even by Dune Standards

Ah, eugenics. Nothing screams cosy sci-fi night in like a narrative steeped in genetic elitism. The Bene Gesserit’s obsessive fixation on a “pure bloodline” takes centre stage, making you wonder if they’re auditioning for a dystopian version of Who Do You Think You Are?. Creepy is putting it mildly. It’s all very master race, but with better posture and less obvious moustaches.

Righteousness vs. Power: The Valya Harken Show

Valya Harken is an enigma—or perhaps just your classic power-hungry sociopath cloaked in the silky veil of duty. Is she righteous? Maybe. Is she using morality as a smokescreen for her own ambition? Absolutely. Watching her wrestle with her supposed “deontological duty” to the sisterhood is like watching a cat pretend it cares about knocking over your wine glass. Sure, it’s interesting, but it’s also patently obvious there’s an ulterior motive.

Her quest for power is unmistakable. But here’s the kicker: the sisterhood needs someone like her. Systems, after all, fight to survive, and Valya is just the ruthless gladiator they require. Whether her motives are noble or nefarious is irrelevant because survival trumps all in the Dune universe. Her arc underscores the show’s recurring obsession with false dichotomies—righteousness versus calculated ambition. It’s not “one or the other,” folks. It’s always both.

Progress as a Façade

Progress, Dune-style, is a beautifully brutal illusion. One group’s advancement always comes at another’s expense, a message that’s summed up perfectly by the episode’s pull quote: “Adversity Always Lies in the Path of Advancement.” In other words, progress is just oppression with better PR. It’s a meta-narrative as old as civilisation, and Dune leans into it with an almost smug glee.

Lies, Manipulation, and the Human Condition

If humanity’s greatest weapon is the lie, then the Bene Gesserit are armed to the teeth. For a group that claims to seek truth, they certainly have no qualms about spinning elaborate deceptions. Case in point: the mind games encapsulated by “You and I remember things differently.” It’s a phrase so loaded with gaslighting potential it should come with a trigger warning.

This manipulation isn’t just a tool; it’s the cornerstone of their ethos. Truth-seeking? Sure. But only if the “truth” serves their interests. It’s classic utilitarianism: the ends justify the means, even if those means involve rewriting history—or someone else’s memory.

Fatalism, Virtue Ethics, and the Inescapable Past

The Dune universe loves a good dose of fatalism, and Prophecy is no exception. The idea that “our past always finds us” is hammered home repeatedly as characters grapple with choices, bloodlines, and cultural memory. It’s as though everyone is permanently stuck in a Freudian therapy session, doomed to relive ancestral traumas ad infinitum. In this world, identity is less a personal construct and more a hand-me-down curse.

Self-Discipline and Sacrifice: The Dune Holy Grail

Finally, we come to self-discipline and sacrifice, the twin pillars of Dune’s moral framework. Whether voluntarily undertaken or brutally enforced, these themes dominate the narrative. It’s a trope as old as time, but it works because it’s relatable—who among us hasn’t sacrificed something important for an uncertain future? Of course, in Dune, that sacrifice usually involves something more dramatic than skipping dessert. Think more along the lines of betraying allies, murdering rivals, or, you know, manipulating an entire galaxy.

The Verdict

Dune: Prophecy has potential. It’s rich in philosophical musings, political intrigue, and that uniquely Dune blend of high drama and existential dread. Sure, the CGI needs work, and some of the dialogue could use an upgrade (how about less exposition, more nuance?), but there’s enough meat here to keep you chewing. Whether it evolves into something truly epic—or collapses under the weight of its own ambition—remains to be seen. Either way, it’s worth watching, if only to see how far humanity’s greatest weapon—the lie—can take the sisterhood.

The Relativity of Morality: A Penguin’s Tale

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I recently watched The Penguin on HBO Max, a series set in DC’s Batman universe. Ordinarily, I avoid television – especially the superhero genre – but this one intrigued me. Less spandex, more mob drama. An origin story with a dash of noir. I’ll spare you spoilers, but suffice it to say that it was an enjoyable detour, even for someone like me who prefers philosophy over fistfights.

This post isn’t a review, though. It’s a springboard into a larger idea: morality’s subjectivity – or, more precisely, its relativity.

Audio: Spotify podcast related to this topic.

Morality in a Vacuum

Morality, as I see it, is a social construct. You might carry a private moral compass, but without society, it’s about as useful as a clock on a desert island. A personal code of ethics might guide you in solitary moments, but breaking your own rules – eating that forbidden biscuit after vowing to abstain, for instance – doesn’t carry the weight of a true moral transgression. It’s more akin to reneging on a New Year’s resolution. Who’s harmed? Who’s holding you accountable? The answer is: no one but yourself, and even then, only if you care.

The Social Contract

Introduce a second person, and suddenly, morality gains traction. Agreements form – explicit or tacit – about how to behave. Multiply that to the level of a community or society, and morality becomes a kind of currency, exchanged and enforced by the group. Sometimes, these codes are elevated to laws. And, ironically, the act of adhering to a law – even one devoid of moral content – can itself become the moral thing to do. Not because the act is inherently right, but because it reinforces the structure society depends upon.

But morality is neither universal nor monolithic. It is as fractured and kaleidoscopic as the societies and subcultures that create it. Which brings us back to The Penguin.

Crime’s Moral Code

The Penguin thrives in a criminal underworld where the moral compass points in a different direction. In the dominant society’s eyes, crime is immoral. Robbery, murder, racketeering – all “bad,” all forbidden. But within the subculture of organised crime, a parallel morality exists. Honour among thieves, loyalty to the family, the unspoken rules of the game – these are their ethics, and they matter deeply to those who live by them.

When one criminal praises another – “You done good” – after a successful heist or a precise hit, it’s a moral judgement within their own framework. Outside that framework, society condemns the same actions as abhorrent. Yet even dominant societies carve out their own moral exceptions. Killing, for instance, is broadly considered immoral. Murder is outlawed. But capital punishment? That’s legal, and often deemed not only acceptable but righteous. Kant argued it was a moral imperative. Nietzsche, ever the cynic, saw this duality for what it was: a power dynamic cloaked in self-righteousness.

In The Penguin, we see this dichotomy laid bare. The underworld isn’t without morals; it simply operates on a different axis. And while the larger society might disdain it, the hypocrisy of their own shifting moral codes remains unexamined.

Final Thoughts on the Series

I’ll save other philosophical musings about The Penguin for another time – spoilers would be unavoidable, after all. But here’s a quick review: the series leans into drama, eschewing flashy gimmicks for a grittier, more grounded tone. The writing is generally strong, though there are moments of inconsistency – plot holes and contrivances that mar an otherwise immersive experience. Whether these flaws stem from the writers, director, or editor is anyone’s guess, but the effect is the same: they momentarily yank the viewer out of the world they’ve built.

Still, it’s a worthwhile watch, especially if you’re a fan of mob-style crime dramas. The final episode was, in my estimation, the best of the lot – a satisfying culmination that leaves the door ajar for philosophical ruminations like these.

Have you seen it? What are your thoughts – philosophical or otherwise? Drop a comment below. Let’s discuss.