Reflections on "Dune: Part Two – The Photography" | The Arrakis I imagined

Latest addition to my Dune collection: Dune: Part Two – The Photography.

I first saw David Lynch’s Dune in the late ’80s, long before I truly understood what spice, prophecy, or politics meant. It was strange and mesmerizing, more bizarre dream than story. Later, in college, I devoured Frank Herbert’s novels, and that’s when his universe truly came alive in my imagination — a vast and fragile ecosystem of power, where politics, mercantilism, and religion intertwined with prophecy and war. It was a story of humanity stretched to its limits: empires built on faith and fear, knowledge traded like spice, and intelligence evolving into something both divine and dangerous.

But for decades, every adaptation felt slightly out of phase with what I’d imagined — like trying to hold onto a dream that dissolves the moment you wake. Lynch’s film had its merits, flashes of brilliance even, but it never quite captured the spirit of Herbert’s universe I had imagined. The later television miniseries, though ambitious, was almost unbearable to watch. Over time, I began to accept that no cinematic version would ever align with the mental landscape I’d built through years — decades — where the map of that universe improved in my mind with every reread.

Then Denis Villeneuve came along.

His vision, spread across Dune: Part One and Part Two, finally captured the scale, texture, and emotional gravity I’d always pictured — not just the look of Arrakis, but its soul. Dune: Part Two – The Photography (Amazon.com - Amazon.ca), shot by Niko Tavernise, is the perfect companion to that achievement.

This isn’t your typical behind-the-scenes book. It’s a visual feast — hundreds of images, many previously unseen, that pull you deep into the making of Villeneuve’s epic. Each photograph feels deliberate, evoking the same mythic, tactile energy that defines the films. The quality of the print, the design, the paper stock — all of it feels crafted with reverence.

Yes, it’s a pricey collector’s piece, and there’s not much text beyond a few pages of commentary. But that’s not the point. We're here for the imagery, not an essay on Muad'dib. This isn’t about reading the story again; it’s about seeing it — feeling the grit, the scale, and the quiet humanity that made Villeneuve’s version the most faithful interpretation yet.

If you’re already drawn to the world of Dune, or if you’re fascinated by how art, light, and engineering merge to create a cinematic world, this book earns its place on the shelf. It’s not just a record of the film — it’s a testament to the imagination behind it.

For me, it’s more than a photography book. It’s a mirror of the world I first dreamed up, decades ago, while turning the pages of Herbert’s novels. And finally, it feels like someone else saw it the same way.

What about you? What version of Arrakis lives in your mind?

Rebuilding the Star Wars prequels | From myth to consequence

Like many lifelong Star Wars fans, I wanted to love the prequels. And in a way, I did, really, for their ambition, their worldbuilding, their intent to tell a grand political tragedy. But even back then, something always felt hollow. They were visually dazzling but emotionally distant. Beneath the endless CGI, the high-concept politics, and the (over-the-top) lightsaber choreography, I couldn’t feel the humanity that made the original trilogy timeless. Never mind the dialogues that fell flat.

To me, the prequels were shallow not because of their story, but because of how little truth they allowed to surface. They wanted myth, but they forgot consequence. They wanted destiny, but abandoned choice. It all felt too sanitized:  a story of corruption and collapse told without dirt, sweat, or moral weight.

So now, years later, I've decided to revisit them — not to “fix” Star Wars, but to rediscover what made it real to me in the first place. What if the fall of the Republic felt like something we could believe — a slow, procedural death of democracy and faith, rather than a fireworks show of villains and chosen ones? What if the Jedi weren’t superheroes but weary monks, spies, and diplomats caught between faith and bureaucracy? What if Anakin’s fall wasn’t inevitable, but painfully human?

That’s the heart of this project — a rewrite of Episodes I–III that reimagines them through the grounded realism of Rogue One and the moral gravity of Andor. The spectacle fades. The consequence remains.

The prequels didn’t fail because of what they tried to say — they failed because of how they said it. Beneath all the gloss were the bones of a masterpiece: the death of democracy, the corruption of faith, the rise of tyranny. 

Those bones were strong — they just needed to breathe.

Here's how I imagine things...

Why Blue Eye Samurai cut so deep & why I can’t wait for season 2

Every once in a while, a show slices through the noise and reminds you why you fell in love with animation in the first place. Blue Eye Samurai did that for me.

From the very first frame, that painterly Edo-era Japan bathed in blood and moonlight, I knew this wasn’t just another revenge story. It’s an emotional blade honed to perfection: sharp, purposeful, and heartbreakingly human. Mizu isn’t a hero; she’s an instrument of fury shaped by a world that refuses to see her as whole. And yet, beneath every duel and dismemberment, there’s this quiet ache, the question of what’s left when vengeance burns everything else away.

It’s Kurosawa meets Kill Bill, but with the moral complexity of Andor and the tragic beauty of Princess Mononoke. The choreography is poetry. The dialogue cuts like truth. And the craftsmanship (the light, the pacing, the music, etc.) it all screams that animation can be cinematic, adult, and profound without needing to apologize for it.

Season 2 can’t come soon enough. Not just to see where Mizu’s path leads, but to watch this creative team keep redefining what “animated storytelling” can be. 

If Season 1 was the strike, Season 2 feels like it'll be a reckoning.

Anyone else feel like this show reignited their faith in what animation can say?