Lawliet

After years of complaining about the same thing, somebody agrees with me. Dune appears on a list of games that need to be remade. http://www.cheatcc.com/extra/pcgamesthatneedtoberemade2.html#.URQYiT7UpO1 The last Dune game came out in 2001. When is someone going to make a new one?

I have to say and i don't like the skin of the forum at all. I guess because it's too dark for me, but i also find it extremely dated, even though it's not.

Good news, i love the original Duke Nukem. By the way, today (June 10) Duke Nukem Forever was finally released.

I first heard about this show on Jacurutu. I didn't know the books either. Looks promising.

Love it! Great idea.

Congratulations. I'm not a marriage person myself, but I always feel very happy for those doing it when it's right for them. What's the guy's name? Just kidding. :P

I find it funny how some people prefer a Dune RTS game over a movie. But to be honest, the game would probably be better. :P

I think "Paul was born on Caladan" would be cool.

Awesome pic!

Well, i saw it last night and guess what? I was VERY dissappointed. Seriously, don't watch it, it's fucking awful. It's boring and full of corny sentimentality and cliche characters and dialogue. The editing and camerawork seems to have been made by a 12 year old. After 50 minutes i just wanted the movie to fucking end. Mi rating : 2

This was inspired by a CollegeHumor post called Five Sci-Fi Children's Books.

I'm looking forward for Battle Los Angeles too. Hope i don't get dissappointed.

Actually i did not read Eras's comment. And that particular koala was harmless. :) I went to Australia last year and they let you hold them in zoos.

Chani from the miniseries and the little girl that played Alia also in the miniseries. Eveyone else sucked.

Ok, i was reading on wikipedia about Jessica Atreides and i found this : I thought : "What the hell? Gaius Helen Mohiam was NOT Jessica's mother!" Then i read in the same article this : "In the Prelude to Dune series, it is revealed that Jessica's mother is in fact Mohiam; according to the authors, this fact was pulled directly from Frank Herbert's working notes for the original Dune series. Ok, if that was the case, it was just a working note. In the original novels by Frank Herbert it doesn't say anywhere that Mohiam was Jessica's mother. I guess this means he eventually did not like the idea and ditched it. So, is that really the idea of writing of Brian and Kevin? To use a ditched working note from the original author? I haven't read any of the Brian and Kevin books so i don't know if they're worth reading, but after this i'm not very enthusiastic about it. To me, anything not written by Frank Herbert never happened in the duniverse, and i don't consider it canon. So, i ask only to those who read any of the Brian and Kevin novels : how many more of this stuff are in their books? Do they at least make sense? Are they worth reading?

I don't think there's any iconic logo in the Duniverse, but Arrakis is orbited by 2 moons and they're visible during night.

Does the movie get better or worse the second time you watch it?

Well, nowadays you can get hard-to-find books like those on amazon, (that's how i got The dosadi experiment) so it's not really a problem for me.

I recently found this in The road to Dune, i don't know if you know about them already, but i thought some of you might be interested. PAUL & THUFIR HAWAT Paul continued to stare at the old man. "Thufir, I just thought of something." "Heh?" "I really know so little about you." "What's that?" Hawat stared sharply at Paul, wondering: Am I being insulted by this cub? Does he doubt my loyalty? "I mean I don't know real things about you," Paul said. "Like, oh, have you ever been married, or . . ." "I've had women," the old man growled. "And children?" "Like as not." "But no family." "My Duke's family is my family." "It's not the same," Paul said. "You've been so busy with our . . ." "What I want or need my Duke gives me," Hawat said. "If talk like yours came from a commoner it'd be a headsman offense. You're born to rule, lad, and to accept the services of those whose loyalty you've earned. Being born to it isn't enough, though. You've a deal to learn, too. That's why we're here now and we'd best get down to business." He tapped the papers on the table. "Yueh and your mother and everyone with a scrap of knowledge about Arrakis has been pumping it into you. Now, what do you know about the place?" PAUL & GURNEY HALLECK Gurney was, in fact, the closest thing to a playmate that Paul knew. Gurney dropped the weapons onto the exercise table, lined them up, gave them a last examination to be certain they were ready: stunners on safety, buttons secure on the rapier tips, bodkins and kindjals in their blunting sheaths, fresh power charges in the shield belts. Behind him, Gurney heard the boy moving restlessly, and it occurred to Gurney that Paul was slow to warmth with most people, that few saw anything but a strange irregularity of friendliness beneath the manners. Like the old Duke, Gurney thought. Always conscious of class. And it's a pity because there's so much fun in the boy, too much to be pushed under all the time. He turned, swinging a baliset off his shoulder, began checking its tune. There I go again, he thought. Filling my mind with fly-buzz when I should be getting down to work. "YOU HATE THE Harkonnens almost as much as my father, Paul said. "Almost as much," Gurney agreed, and Paul heard the irony. "The Count Rabban at Lankiveil is a Harkonnen cousin. You've heard the tale of Ernso, the goldsmith, captured on Pedmiot and sold to slavery of the Count Rabban . . . with his family held in the same bondage?" "I've heard you sing the ballad many a time," Paul said. Gurney spoke to the wall beyond the boy. "Then you'll recall that Ernso was ordered to embellish the handle and blade of the Count's best sword. And Ernso obeyed, but he hid in the design a curse calling on heaven to destroy an evil House." "Yes." Paul nodded, puzzled. The bloody ballad was not one of his favorites. "And the design remained hidden there," Gurney said, "until a Court lackey chanced to see it and recognized the script from his childhood. Oh, it was a great joke at Court until word got back to Beast Rabban." "And for that Ernso was hung by his toes over a chirak nest until dead and his family scattered to the slave pits," Paul said. "I remember the story, but..." "I'd tell you a thing now that's known to very few in this House," Gurney said. "I'm properly called Gurney Halleck Ernson, the son of Ernso." Paul stared at the rippling of the scar on Gurney's jaw. "It was Hawat's men brought me off Giedi Prime that time they nearly got the Baron," Gurney said. "I was just a child, but I showed aptitude for the sword, there being motive behind my learning. Duncan Idaho found a way for me to train at his school on Ginaz. I had some large bids for my services when I graduated, lad, but you understand now why I came back to the Atreides and why I'll never leave short of being carried out in the basket." PAUL & DR. YUEH That sounds like Hawat," Yueh said, and he smoothed his drooping mustache. "Hawat's gone, I hear. Taken most of the propaganda corps, all the presses. Interesting. I wonder what filmbooks he has in mind for first publication there. The Harkonnens, you know, didn't use much printed matter on Arrakis. They relied on the persuasion of the sword." "My father does things differently," Paul said. "Indeed," Yueh said. And he straightened the Suk School's silver ring that bound his hair at the shoulder. "My mother says you have some Bene Gesserit training," Paul said. "Does the Suk School have Bene Gesserit teachers?" "No." Yueh dropped his hand to his lap. "My . . . Wanna . . . she was Bene Gesserit. A wife teaches a husband much even when he is not deep-trained . . . and when she's Bene Gesserit. . ." He shook his head. "Is she ... dead?" Paul asked. Yueh swallowed in a dry throat. He has pity for me. I do not want his pity! "Yes," he said. And he thought: I pray it is true. Let her be dead, and in that death, free of Harkonnens. Yet, I cannot be sure until I face the Baron in our own tahaddi alburhan. The challenge of the proof. My eyes shall see it. "I'm sorry," Paul said. And he thought: Perhaps that's why he makes me uneasy. He's a man with a terrible grief. I must be kinder to him. Mayhap my father could get him a woman. "I must leave in a few minutes," Yueh said. "But we really haven't studied much, have we? It's all this upset. We'll get back to regular lessons and a full schedule ... on Arrakis." "Things are pretty mixed up," Paul said. "And there's all this huddling within our four walls because our forces are depleted by the ones we've sent on ahead. My father says we're not very vulnerable here, though, because many of the Great Houses pray for the Harkonnens to violate the Convention. That'd make the Harkonnens fair game to anyone who wanted to hit them in force." "It is best to stay indoors, though," Yueh said. "I hear they blasted a hunter-seeker out of the orchard last night."

I recently found this in The road to Dune, i thought you might be interested. PAUL & REVEREND MOTHER MOHIAM (Several short scenes from the opening of Dune) On the inner wall beneath the window was a loose stone that could be pulled out to reveal a hiding place for the treasures of his boyhood—fishhooks, a roll of meta-twine, a rock shaped like a lizard, a colored picture of a space frigate left behind by a visitor from the mysterious Spacing Guild. Paul removed the stone and looked at the hidden end of it where he had carved with his cutterray: "Remember Paul Atreides, age 15, Anno 72 of Shaddam IV." Slowly, Paul replaced the stone above his treasures and knew he would never remove it again. He returned to his bed, slipped under the covers. His emotion was sad excitement, and this puzzled him. He had been taught by his mother to study a puzzling emotion in the Bene Gesserit fashion. Paul looked within himself and saw that the finality of his goodbyes carried the sadness. The excitement came from the adventure and strangeness that lay ahead. PAUL SLIPPED OUT of bed in his shorts, began dressing. "Is she your mother?" he asked. "That's a fool's question, Paul," Jessica said. She turned. "Reverend Mother is merely a title. I never knew my mother. Few Bene Gesserits of the schools ever do; you know that." Paul put on his jacket, buttoned it. "Shall I wear a shield?" Jessica stared at him. "A shield? Here in your home? What ever put that idea into . . ." "Why're you afraid?" he demanded. A wry smile tugged one corner of her mouth. "I trained you too well. I..." She took a deep breath. "I don't like this move to Arrakis. You know this decision was made over my every objection. But. . ." She shrugged. "We haven't time to dally here." She took his hand the way she had done when he was smaller, led him out into the hall toward her morning room. Paul sensed the oddness of her taking his hand, felt the perspiration in her palm and thought: She doesn't lie very well, either. Not for a Bene Gesserit she doesn't. It isn't Arrakis that has her afraid. PAUL TURNED BACK to the Reverend Mother; thinking of the exposed idea within this test: Human or animal? "If you live as long as I have lived you will still remember your fear and your pain and your hate," the old woman said. "Never deny it. That would be like denying part of yourself." "Would you have killed me?" he asked. "Suppose you answer that for yourself, young human." He studied the wrinkled face, the level eyes. "You would have done it," he said. "Believe it," she said. "Just as I would've killed your mother in her day. A human can kill what she ... he loves. Given necessity enough. And there's something always to remember, lad: A human recognizes orders of necessity that animals cannot even imagine." "I don't see this necessity," he said. "You will," she said. "You're human, and you will." She looked across at Jessica and their eyes locked. "And when you've brought your hate to a level you can manage, when you've absorbed it and understood it, here's another thing for you to consider: Think of what it was truly that your mother has just done for you. Think of her waiting outside that door there, knowing full well what went on in here. Think of her with every instinct screaming at her to leap in here and protect you, yet she stood and waited. Think on that, young human. Think on it. There's a human, indeed, your mother." SOUNDS FROM THE assembly yard below the south windows interrupted. The old woman fell silent while Paul ran to the window and looked down. An assemblage of troop carriers was drawing up in review ranks below and Paul saw his father in full uniform striding out for inspection. Around the perimeter of the field, Paul made out the distorted air that spoke of shields activated there. The troops in the carrier wore the insignia of Hawat's special corps, the infiltrators. "What is it?" the old woman asked. Paul returned to her. "My father the Duke is sending some of his men to Arrakis. They're here to stand review." "Men to Arrakis," the old woman muttered. "When will we learn?" She took a deep breath. "But I was talking about the Great Revolt when men threw out the machines that enslaved them. You know about the Great Revolt, eh?" " 'Thou shak not make a machine in the likeness of a man's mind,'" Paul answered. "Right out of the Orange Catholic Bible," she said. "Want to know the trouble with that? It leaves too much unspoken. It's a sop to the counterfeit men among us, the ones who look human but aren't. They look and talk like humans, but given the wrong pressures they expose themselves as animals. And the unfortunate thing is they think of themselves as human. Oh, yes! They think. But thinking isn't enough to qualify you as human." "You have to think within your thinking," Paul said. "There's no end to it." She laughed aloud, a quick burst of sound full of warmth, and Paul heard his mother's laughter joining it. "Bless you," the old woman said. "You've a wonderful turn for language, lad, you fill it with meaning." "TELL ME TRULY now, Paul, and remember I'm a Truthsayer and can see truth. Tell me: Do you often dream a thing and have the dream happen exactly as you dreamed it?" "Yes." "Often?" "Yes." "Tell me about another time." He looked up to the corner of the room. "I dreamed once that I stood in the rain outside and the castle door was locked and the dogs were barking in their cages and Gurney was beside me and Duncan Idaho and Duncan stumbled against me and bruised my arm. It didn't hurt much, but Duncan was so very sorry. And that's how it happened when I was ten." "When did you dream this?" "Oh, a long time ago. Before I had a room by myself. It was when I was little and slept in a room with a nurse beside me." "Tell me another time." There was excitement in the old woman's voice. SHE CLEARED HER throat. "Those of our numbers who have not attained the status of Reverend Mother know only so much of the search as we tell them. Now, I will tell you a bit more. A Reverend Mother can sense what is within her own bodily cells—every cell. We can peer into the cellular core of selfdom, but there we find . . ." She took a trembling breath. "This thing of which I spoke earlier. This emptiness which we cannot face. Fearful it is. The direction that is dark . . . the place where we cannot enter. Long ago, one of us fathomed that a male force is needed to peer into this place. Since then, each of us at attaining the Reverence has seen that this is true." "What's so important about it?" Paul asked, and his voice was sullen. "Let us imagine," she said, "that you have a troop carrier with only half its motor. If you find the other half, you'll have the complete unit needed to move your carrier." "You still have to put them together and make them work," Paul sneered. "May I go now?" "Don't you want to hear what I can tell you about the Kwisatz Haderach?" Jessica smiled at the Reverend Mother. Paul said: "The men who've tried to ... enter this place, are they the ones you say died?" "There's a final hurdle they seem unable to leap," the old woman said. His voice was not a child's voice, but old and grim despite its treble pitch: "What hurdle?" "We can only give you a hint." "Hint then." "And be damned to me?" She smiled wryly. "Very well: That which submits rules." "That's a hint?" She nodded. "But submitting, you rule." "Ruling and submitting are opposites," he said. "Is the place between them empty?" she asked. "Ohhhh." He stared at her. "That's what my mother calls the tension-with-meaning. I'll think about that." "You do that." "Why don't you like me?" Paul asked. "Is it because I'm not a girl?" The Reverend Mother snapped a questioning look at Jessica. "I've not told him," Jessica said. "That's it, then," Paul said. "Can a woman help it if her child's a boy?" "Women have always controlled what sex their offspring will be," the old woman said. "By acceptance or rejection of sperm. Even when they didn't know the mechanism of it, they controlled it. There's a kind of racial necessity in this, and men must submit to it." He nodded. "By submitting, we rule." "That's part of it." Jessica spoke from behind him: "Yet, humans must never submit to animals." He glanced at his mother, back to the old woman. "CONCENTRATE ON YOUR training, lad, all of it," said the old woman. "That's your one chance to become a ruler." "What about my father?" Paul demanded. "Are we just. .." "Your mother warned him," the old woman said. "Specifically against instructions, I might add, but that isn't the first Bene Gesserit rule she ever broke." Jessica looked away. The Reverend Mother plunged on without a glance at her. "You naturally love and respect your father. If there's action you can take to guard him, you'll want to take that action. But have you ever thought about your duty to the ones who came before your father?" "Before . . ." The boy shook his head. "You're the latest in the Atreides line," she said. "You carry the family seed. And when you come right down to it, that's a tenuous thing. There are no other viable members of your line. A once- numerous clan comes to this: If both you and your father die, the name Atreides ends there. Your cousin, the Padishah Emperor, who is Corrino bar Shaddam, will gather the last of the Atreides holdings back into the Regate, a possibility which has not escaped him. Fini Atreides." "You must guard yourself for your father's sake," Jessica said. "For the sake of all the other Atreides who've come to this ... to you." "YOUR MOTHER WILL tell you of these things. They're not in any history books, not the way she'll explain them. But what she tells you, depend on it, lad. Your mother is a container of wisdom." Paul stared at the hand that had known pain, then at the Reverend Mother. The sound of her voice held a difference from any other voice he had ever heard. The words were as though outlined in brilliance. There was an edge to them that cut through him. He felt that any question he asked her, she would have the answer. And the answer could lift him out of his flesh-world. But awe held him silent. "Come, come, ask the question," she said. He blurted it out: "Where did you come from?" She absorbed the words and smiled. "I've heard it phrased differently," she said. "One youngster asked me: 'How old are you?' I thought that contained a measure of feminine adroitness." She stared at him. He stared back. "I came from one of the Bene Gesserit schools. There are many such schools to the power of many. Do you know yet about mathematical powers?" He nodded. "Good. Routine knowledge is always useful for communication. We teach another order of knowledge. We teach what you might call 'thingness.' Does that make any sense to you?" He shook his head no. "If you graduate, it'll mean something to you," she said. Paul said, "But this isn't answering my question." "Where did I come from? I am a Bene Gesserit. Thence, where did Bene Gesserit come from? Well, lad, I have only time to give you the outline. We'll leave it to your mother to fill in the details. Eh?" He nodded agreement. "A long time ago," she said, "men had machines that did more things for them than machines do today. Different things. They even had machines that could, after a fashion, think. They had automatic machines to make useful objects. All of this was supposed to have set man free, but, of course, permitted machines to enslave him. One man with the right kind of automatic machine could make many destructive objects. Do you see that?" He found his voice and ventured sound: "Yes." She noted the change in him, the increased alertness. "Good, lad. What we didn't have was a machine to make all men good or even to make all men into men. There are many counterfeit men among us, lad. They look human. They can talk like a human. But given the wrong pressure, they expose themselves as animals. The unfortunate thing is, they think of themselves as human. Oh, yes, they think. But thinking isn't enough to make you human." "You have to think about your thinking," he said. "You have to . . ." he hesitated, ". . . understand how you think." She had followed his words, mouthing them silently with him. Now, she wiped her eyes, said: "Ah, that Jessica." "What happened to all the machines?" Paul asked. "It takes a male to ask that kind of question," she said. "Well, they destroyed them, lad. There was war. Revolution. Anarchy. And when it was over, men were forbidden to make such machines again." "You aren't telling me where you came from," he said. She laughed out loud, a quick burst of sound full of warmth. "Bless you, my darling, but I am. You see, there was still the need for some of the things those so-called thinking machines had done. So somebody remembered that certain humans could think in those ways." "What ways?" "They could take in all kinds of information and never be at a loss to repeat it. They had what is called eidetic memory. But more than that. They could answer complicated questions. Mathematical questions. Military questions. Social questions. Probability questions. They could swallow all sorts of information and spew out answers when the answers were needed." "They were human," he said. "Well, yes they were, most of them." "What do you mean most of them?" "It isn't important, lad. Your mother can explain about idiot savants and such if you ask her. But I'm explaining where I came from. This was the way of it. Schools were started to train this special kind of human. One such school was called the Bene Gesserit School. In it was a human who saw the need to separate the humans from the animals. As a stock. A breeding stock. But there was a reservoir of chance human births among the animals because of ... mixing." She thought she saw his attention waning, and snapped: "Do you understand all this?" "I know how we pick the best bulls," he said. "It's through the cows. If the cows are brave the bulls will be brave." "Yes, of course," she said. "It's a general rule. Men are the doers, and human males seek out the Bene Gesserit. Well, lad, the Bene Gesserit School was successful. We produced mostly women . .. breeders. Brave ones. Beautiful ones. But in the new Empire there were only certain ways we could act. Some of the things we did had to remain secret. You know what I'm telling you are secret things, don't you?" He nodded absently. The secrecy of her manner had been obvious. There were other things troubling him. He voiced one of them: "But I'm a boy." Maybe he is the one, the old woman thought. So mature for his years. So very perceptive. She said: "Men have their uses. And we've always been searching for a special kind of man." "What kind?" "Our time is too short," she said. "Your mother will have to explain it. I can say this to you briefly: The man we need will know himself that he is the man. When he learns this of himself, that will be the moment of his graduation." "You're just putting me off," he said. He felt resentful. The adult world had no more hateful aspect than this form of frustration. "Yes, I am," she admitted. "But you'll have to take me on faith right now. It's not only impossible for me to answer your question right now, it could be hurtful for you. It's as though the knowledge had to grow within you until the day you feel it flowering. It can't be forced. We think we know the climate it needs, but. . ." She shook her head. The apparent uncertainty in the old woman's manner shook Paul. One moment she had been the Goddess-source of all knowledge. Now ... he could see her exposing an area of unknown. And that area concerned himself. He didn't formulate this feeling as words. He only felt it. It was like being lost. "Time to call in your mother," she said. "You've a busy day ahead of you."

Thanks!

It would probably be better a two part movie, released in two volumes, like Kill Bill was.

I don't think anyone cried, it's just a book...but i felt that the character deserved a "better" death, Paul Atreides stabbed just doesn't make much sense to me.

I hate the movie, but i understand Herbert, i mean, if Hollywood wants to make a movie about your book, with a big budget and an ensemble of well-known American and European actors, wouldn't you say yes?