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  • ‘Hear Me Out’: Meme Halloween Costumes Are So Last Decade

    ‘Hear Me Out’: Meme Halloween Costumes Are So Last Decade

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    Many lies get told on TikTok; also, many truths. One such truth came last weekend when a user with the handle @madallthatime explained that all the people looking for distinct Halloween costume ideas on social media were just being served the same videos by the algorithm—thus negating their uniqueness. Instead, this internet sage explained, they should be looking somewhere else: the #HearMeOut trend.

    TikToks of the trend, also known as #HearMeOutCake, encompass a simple premise: A group of friends, or enemies, or coworkers, sets a cake on a table and then takes turns placing sticks in it. Upon each stick rests the image of a person—or fictional character, human or otherwise—on which the friend/enemy/coworker has an embarrassing crush. Sometimes it’s Mr. Burns, sometimes it’s Fidel Castro. Always, it’s uncomfortable. That’s the point.

    What @madallthatime was suggesting, though, was that all the faces on those cakes represented a font of untapped Halloween costume potential—a series of obscure characters perfect for All Hallows’ Eve partying.

    Every October the internet-savvy among us look for smart, creative outfits and decorations, and every year many of the best stem from bizarre memes. This is why that person who made a “Pink Boney Club” of skeletons in their yard in honor of Chappell Roan (er, Chappell Bone) has already been all over social feeds this fall. (Just me?) But meme-as-costume, as an idea, doesn’t trend the way it used to. If anything, it’s millennial cringe. When The Atlantic publishes “The Chronically Online Have Stolen Halloween,” it’s time to pack up your Target Lewis look and go home.

    Which is where @madallthatime’s plan comes in. As algorithms, particularly TikTok’s, get more adept at serving viral-ready content, a homogeneity takes over. If everyone is going to be some version of Roan—or, perhaps, some green-clad Brat—then maybe the best costume is an obscure character from the C-plot of an animated series. Right now, the #HearMeOut trend is offering loads of them.

    Four score and seven internets ago—OK, maybe more like a decade or so—celebrating what became known as HallowMeme was a cultural moment. People dressed up as “double rainbow” or Mitt Romney’s “binders full of women.” Unlike the “total slut” lore of Halloween costumes given by Mean Girls, HallowMeme outfits were mostly demure. Sometimes they were political. It was the Obama years, before the power of 4chan revealed itself as a true political force.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • The Dystopia of Watching Hurricane Milton on TikTok

    The Dystopia of Watching Hurricane Milton on TikTok

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    Then there’s Caroline Calloway. The influencer and author, who lives in Sarasota, drew the ire of the internet when she posted on X “where there’s a Callowill, there’s a Calloway” and said she wouldn’t be leaving her home, even as officials were stressing the importance of evacuating. (“You are going to die,” Tampa Mayor Jane Castor warned anyone who stayed put.) In an interview with New York Magazine’s Intelligencer, Calloway said she was staying to check on elderly neighbors, adding that her sense of humor is just “very dark.” On Thursday, she apparently sent a text to Intelligencer’s writer with a picture of herself and her cat with the message “I lived bitch.”

    All of this wouldn’t feel so dystopian if the US—and the world—wasn’t hurtling toward a scenario when social media platforms, particularly TikTok, weren’t becoming a lot of people’s go-to news source. Even as Anderson Cooper braves the storm to give CNN viewers updates on Milton, a new report from Pew Research shows 52 percent of Americans who are on TikTok regularly get their news there. Not from media outlets, but from influencers and content creators.

    While these accounts may be relying on reports from traditional outlets when they deliver news, their posts are “probably interspersed with a lot of very non-traditional content—like skits, funny dances or promotional content,” Aaron Smith, Pew’s managing director of data labs, told Axios. On-the-ground reporting from influencers, then, becomes mixed with entertainment. Watching it, or, admittedly, writing about it, feels like missing the point.

    Loose Threads:

    Lots of people were following the Waffle House Index during Hurricane Milton: If you don’t know, the Waffle House Index tracks whether or not a local outpost of the chain is open in a given location. If it’s closed, the coming storm is probably bad, because Waffle House prides itself on keeping its restaurants open as often as possible. When the chain closed several locations, people took notice.

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    The Fat Bear contest has a winner: Grazer beat Chunk to win Alaska’s Fat Bear Contest. It was her second win, and she defeated the bear who killed her cub earlier this year.

    Stay safe hiking out there: Thanks to a video from @stanchrissss, lots of people are posting TikToks demonstrating the ways they show people who they are while passing on hiking trails. For @stanchrissss and friends, it’s showing women they’re gay/uninterested. For one woman, it’s saying things like “I shot him twice and he cried.”

    The Ohio mystery rug discoverer says she got hacked: A lot has happened to Katie Santry since that whole haunted rug thing we told you about last week. Including, maybe, getting hacked.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • The Week of Brat Summer Will Go Down in Internet History

    The Week of Brat Summer Will Go Down in Internet History

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    Jake Tapper looked as flummoxed as everyone else. After a week spent trying to figure out the whys and hows of the assassination attempt against former US president Donald Trump, the CNN anchor was now facing something far more perplexing: why a British pop singer was calling Vice President Kamala Harris a “brat.” As his panel on The Lead tried to explain, he eventually put it together: We’re all brat. “I will aspire to be brat,” Tapper concluded.

    So say we all, apparently.

    What’s happened in the week since President Joe Biden announced he would not be seeking reelection and tapped his veep, Harris, as his pick for the nomination, the meme-ification of the presidential election in the US has gone from a cautious yellow to a neon, slimelike “Let’s go” green.

    Shortly after Biden made his announcement on Sunday, British pop star Charli XCX posted on X that “kamala IS brat” and solidified something that had been percolating for weeks. The internet that had seemed to either feel “meh” about Biden or had been spending its time on the Trump Train or spinning up conspiracies suddenly snapped to attention. The Harris HQ Instagram account embraced the meme. Gays on Fire Island had “Kamala” shirts in the Brat album cover’s lime green before sundown on Sunday.

    Brat Summer, though, extends beyond this moment. Like Hot Girl Summer, the meme that sprung up in 2019 around Megan Thee Stallion’s song of the same name, Brat Summer has moved past Charli XCX’s album Brat to become an embodiment of the vibe of the season in 2024. For Charli, it’s about—and this is what Tapper was trying to understand—being a little messy, a little volatile, a little vulnerable. But also honest. It’s about crying in the club, but also about crying over the state of the world in a ridiculous outfit with the top down. It is, in its way, anti-defeatist.

    This is the idea of Brat Summer that has been at the edges since Brat dropped in mid-June, and it was woven into the politics of 2024 weeks before Biden announced he was out of the running. Ryan Long, a 22-year-old college student, made a fancam of Harris’ now infamous “You think you just fell out of a coconut tree?” remarks overlaid with the green Brat cover back in early July. It now has more than 4 million views on X and landed Long in TechCrunch, which quoted him as saying “because of her Venn diagrams quote, Kamala goes viral on gay Twitter every couple of months. She has turned into this, like, psuedo-gay icon.”

    Because this can make heads spin in the over-40 crowd (see above), the internet has since been inundated with stories on how Harris’ campaign is embracing the memes and explaining, Hey, this Brat thing is far more introspective than you might expect. All of this is valuable reader service for anyone who might think introspection wasn’t possible in pop music and/or anyone who had never heard Robyn.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • The Limits of the AI-Generated ‘Eyes on Rafah’ Image

    The Limits of the AI-Generated ‘Eyes on Rafah’ Image

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    As “All eyes on Rafah” circulated, Shayan Sardarizadeh, a journalist with BBC Verify, posted on X that it “has now become the most viral AI-generated image I’ve ever seen.” Ironic, then, that all those eyes on Rafah aren’t really seeing Rafah at all.

    Establishing AI’s role in the act of news-spreading got fraught quickly. Meta, as NBC News pointed out this week, has made efforts to restrict political content on its platforms even as Instagram has become a “crucial outlet for Palestinian journalists.” The result is that actual footage from Rafah may be restricted as “graphic or violent content” while an AI image of tents can spread far and wide. People may want to see what’s happening on the ground in Gaza, but it’s an AI illustration that’s allowed to find its way to their feeds. It’s devastating.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to Twitter.

    Journalists, meanwhile, sit in the position of having their work fed into large-language models. On Wednesday, Axios reported that Vox Media and The Atlantic had both made deals with OpenAI that would allow the ChatGPT maker to use their content to train its AI models. Writing in The Atlantic itself, Damon Beres called it a “devil’s bargain,” pointing out the copyright and ethical battles AI is currently fighting and noting that the technology has “not exactly felt like a friend to the news industry”—a statement that may one day itself find its way into a chatbot’s memory. Give it a few years and much of the information out there—most of what people “see”—won’t come from witness accounts or result from a human looking at evidence and applying critical thinking. It will be a facsimile of what they reported, presented in a manner deemed appropriate.

    Admittedly, this is drastic. As Beres noted, “generative AI could turn out to be fine,” but there is room for concern. On Thursday, WIRED published a massive report looking at how generative AI is being used in elections around the world. It highlighted everything from fake images of Donald Trump with Black voters to deepfake robocalls from President Biden. It’ll get updated throughout the year, and my guess is that it’ll be hard to keep up with all the misinformation that comes from AI generators. One image may have put eyes on Rafah, but it could just as easily put eyes on something false or misleading. AI can learn from humans, but it cannot, like Ut did, save people from the things they do to each other.

    Loose Threads

    Search is screwed. Like a stupid aughts Bond villain, The Algorithm has menaced internet users for years. You know what I’m talking about: The mysterious system that decides which X post, Instagram Reel, or TikTok you should see next. The prevalence of one such algorithm really got the spotlight this week, though: Google. After a few rough days during which the search giant’s “AI Overviews” got pummeled on social media for telling people to put glue on pizza and eat rocks (not at the same time), the company hustled to scrub the bad results. My colleague Lauren Goode has already written about the ways in which search—and the results it provides—as we know it is changing. But I’d like to proffer a different argument: Search is just kind of screwed. It seems like every query these days calls up a chatbot no one wants to talk to, and personally, I spent the better part of the week trying to find new ways to search that would pull up what I was actually looking for, rather than an Overview. Oh, then there was that whole matter of 2,500 search-related documents getting leaked.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • Jerry Seinfeld, ‘Hacks,’ and the Future of Comedy in a Digital World

    Jerry Seinfeld, ‘Hacks,’ and the Future of Comedy in a Digital World

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    Once upon a time in Hollywood, Jon Favreau wrote a movie. It was called Swingers. It was about a group of twentysomething white dudes—played by Favreau, Vince Vaughn, and Ron Livingston—trying to make it as actors. Toward the movie’s end, Favreau’s character, the affable Mike, is telling a woman he just met (played by Heather Graham) why he moved to Los Angeles: “When I lived in New York, they made it sound like they were giving sitcoms out to stand-ups at the airport here.”

    The joke was that, when the movie came out in 1996, shows led by comedians were everywhere: Seinfeld, Mad About You, Martin, Ellen. Getting on TV back then just seemed like a matter of being kind of funny and having a name that looked good on a title card.

    The irony, though, is that following Swingers, those actors did become incredibly famous. Favreau especially, though now he’s mostly producer-writer-director who holds the keys to Disney/Lucasfilm/Marvel in his hands, having worked on everything from Iron Man to The Lion King to The Mandalorian. Vaughn and Livingston both made it as actors. They became the people their characters were aspiring to be. Such things were possible then.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to Twitter.

    They’re not now. Today, very few, if any, television sitcoms are based on stand-up acts. Network TV just doesn’t have time for that anymore. Streaming services may be lining up to run the next stand-up special from Dave Chappelle or Chris Rock, but shows starring stand-ups filled with jokes and plot lines loosely based on their acts feel like relics. All the funny people seem to have migrated to TikTok.

    If you ask Jerry Seinfeld, this is because “the extreme left and PC crap” ruined comedy. Or so he told The New Yorker over the weekend. Funny people are so worried about offending folks, Jerry says, they just don’t make jokes like they used to. Larry David, who created Seinfeld with Seinfeld and stars in HBO’s Curb Your Enthusiasm, is “grandfathered in.” Now, the comedian says, networks aren’t smart enough to figure out, “Do we take the heat or just not be funny?”

    One flaw with this logic: There is a comedy on HBO that actually manages to do both, and is smart enough: Hacks. The series, which launched its third season Thursday, follows a comedian from Seinfeld’s generation, Deborah Vance (Jean Smart), who hires a young writer, Ava (Hannah Einbinder), to collaborate on jokes. Ava, a quintessential lefty Gen Zer, calls Vance out on her occasionally uncool gags. They bicker; resolutions emerge. Criticizing the current friction in comedy over “how far is too far?” is the source of much of the comedy on Hacks. Perhaps these jokes live beyond the imaginations of comedians who don’t want to evolve.

    Broad City veterans Jen Statsky, Paul W. Downs, and Lucia Aniello created Hacks as, what they call, their “love letter to comedy.” The trio came up in the New York comedy scene, where, in a flip to the scene depicted in Swingers, comedians could work in improv for a while and then find work on a show like Broad City to make their break. Comedy Central doesn’t really do original scripted shows like that anymore, something Aniello recently told The Hollywood Reporter is “so bad” for the funny business. “There’s already a lack of young, cutting-edge comedy, because Comedy Central doesn’t exist anymore.”

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • The More People Say ‘Megalopolis’ Is Unsellable, the More We Need to See It

    The More People Say ‘Megalopolis’ Is Unsellable, the More We Need to See It

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    Of all the utterly depressing things printed in the Hollywood trades on any given day, this has got to be among the worst: “It’s so not good, and it was so sad watching it … This is not how Coppola should end his directing career.”

    This was in response to an early screening of Francis Ford Coppola’s Megalopolis, a $120 million sci-fi epic that the legendary Godfather director has been trying to make for roughly four decades. The quote, from an unnamed “studio head,” was published in a piece in The Hollywood Reporter positioning the film as the kind of movie no one in the business wants to funnel money into because it (allegedly) doesn’t have box office potential. While that quote was, in journalism parlance, the kicker, the real zinger came in the addendum at the end: “This story has been updated to include that Megalopolis will premiere in Cannes.”

    Shot. Chaser.

    THR’s piece doesn’t provide the gender of the studio exec quoted, but I’m going to go out on a limb: Sir, what the fuck are you talking about? Even if Megalopolis is two hours and 15 minutes of Adam Driver (yes, he stars) doing paper doll plays, Coppola has survived so much worse. This will not end his career. If anything, quotes like this signal an end of—or at least the massive need for a reboot of—Hollywood.

    Earlier this week, Bilge Ebiri wrote a full-throated plea in Vulture, declaring “Hollywood Is Doomed If There’s No Room for Megalopolises.” Matt Zoller Seitz took a slightly different tack, addressing France directly from his desk at RogerEbert.com and begging Cannes Film Festival participants to cheer the film and save the US from itself. Both pointed out that many of Coppola’s films—Bram Stoker’s Dracula, One from the Heart—didn’t fully connect with audiences or critics when they were first released. The latter nearly bankrupted him—right after he mortgaged everything he owned to finance Apocalypse Now, which currently sits, alongside other Coppola films, on the American Film Institute’s top 100 movies of all time.

    I’d like to make an entreaty of a different kind: Nerds, assemble. We have a long history of crowdfunding and letter-writing to manifest the projects on which Hollywood has wobbled. Bjo Trimble saved Star Trek. Queer sci-fi, Veronica Mars, The People’s Joker—we’ve raised cash for all of it. Studios don’t think Megalopolis is bankable; it may not appease any streaming service’s algorithm. Who cares. An online petition with enough backing can provide a marketing campaign to rival the multimillion-dollar one Coppola has envisioned. It’s worth a shot,

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to Twitter.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • Disney+ Has a New Look—Which Is No Look at All

    Disney+ Has a New Look—Which Is No Look at All

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    Are you one of those people who arranges your apps by color? Do you keep folders? Or are you, like me, a moron who just keeps a loose memory of what color any particular app is and swipes and scrolls until their eyes catch a familiar glimpse? If you are the latter, finding Disney+—and Hulu—might be getting a little harder.

    This week, Disney rolled out Hulu on Disney+ in the US. Ostensibly part of company CEO Bob Iger’s promise of a “one-app experience,” the launch basically just means that if you have one of the Disney “bundles” you can now watch Hulu stuff while you’re in Disney+. OK, cool. Along with the change, though, Disney+ got a new logo, one awash in what it is calling “aurora,” a swampy blue-green hue that looks like what would happen if the eyes of Tammy Faye were imprinted on your device’s screen like it was the Shroud of Turin.

    As with any minor change to their digital experience, internet people have noticed this shift. And commented. Some called it “bland,” while others called it “lifeless.” More nuanced and jugular-aiming takes went like this: “I mean, it’s Disney. Making new versions of stuff that’s worse than the original is what they do.” A hot take for a cool color.

    Courtesy of Disney+

    Disney’s shift here isn’t entirely insignificant. It involved modifying everything, from re-encoding Hulu’s video files to work on Disney+ to updating the metadata attached to shows and movies. The idea is that one day Disney will have “one master media library for the entire company,” Aaron LaBerge, president and CTO of Disney Entertainment and ESPN, told the Verge. It is, in other words, about making Disney+ a bigger trove of content than it already is.

    This is where, metaphorically, the Disney+ color change takes on a different tone. It serves as a reminder of the flattening of the streaming experience. In the app libraries of our minds, Netflix is red, Apple TV+ is black, Hulu is green, Paramount+ and Amazon Prime Video have a very similar blue hue, Peacock and Discovery+ have a rainbow-and-black thing going on. These visual signifiers indicate what kind of experience will emerge when clicked. (I don’t know about you, but I now associate perfectly zestless television with RGB 229 9 20, aka Netflix Red.)

    As the streamers have consolidated or changed their identities, they’ve muddied the nonverbal cues that have set our expectations around what they offer. Had HBO kept that old black-silver-blue look from the Go days, maybe, coupled with Apple TV+, black would be the official color of prestige television. But it’s not.

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to Twitter.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • No, ‘Leave the World Behind’ and ‘Civil War’ Aren’t Happening Before Your Eyes

    No, ‘Leave the World Behind’ and ‘Civil War’ Aren’t Happening Before Your Eyes

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    Several people are typing, and they’re all saying Netflix’s Leave the World Behind is wildly prescient. The movie, directed by Sam Esmail, opens on a world where communication has been knocked out following a cyberattack. And earlier this week, when nearly all of Meta’s platforms—Facebook, Instagram, Threads—went down, people took to (other) social media platforms to post and hand-wring about the apocalypse.

    Most of the posts, per usual, were jokes: wry observations to help soothe the agita that comes with being alive when everything feels unstable. “Another dry run for Leave the World Behind,” wrote one X user. “I fear we are moving close to a Leave the World Behind scenario,” wrote another. “These tech glitches are increasingly [sic] with regularity.”

    But there was also a more conspiratorial undercurrent. For those who don’t know, Leave the World Behind was produced by Barack and Michelle Obama through their company Higher Ground Productions. Ever since the movie’s release, a conspiracy theory has persisted online that the film is somehow a warning about the widespread disorder to come.

    This same thread emerged late last month when an AT&T network outage wreaked havoc on US cellular networks. “The predictive programming of the Obama’s [sic] movie, Leave the World Behind, is becoming a little too real right now,” one user wrote on X. “I wouldn’t put it past our own federal government to institute a terrorist or cyber attack, just to blame it on foreign countries like China and Russia.”

    Odds are that nothing of the sort happened. Leave the World Behind is based on a 2020 book by Rumaan Alam and, according to the film’s director Sam Esmail, the former US president came on as a production partner only after the script was pretty much done. “I would just say [the conspiracy theorists] are pretty wrong in terms of his signaling,” he told Collider. “It had nothing to do with that.”

    Not that facts have ever gotten in the way of an online conspiracy before. Case in point, this week’s big trailer drop: Civil War. When the first trailer for Alex Garland’s next film dropped in December, online right-wing pundits speculated that it was also predictive programming, something meant to prepare the populace for events already planned by those in power. When the new trailer dropped this week, people on Reddit and elsewhere seemed to be fretting that the film will become, as The Hollywood Reporter put it, “MAGA fantasy fuel.”

    Ultimately, reactions like these to Leave the World Behind and Civil War merely serve as proof that they’re effective as works of fiction. They’re not part of some psyop to placate the public—they’re reactions to a political era that is fraught at best. Comfort is not a prerequisite for good filmmaking; movies are supposed to be unsettling sometimes. Concerns about a movie being too real are just signs that the filmmakers have tapped in to the collective psyche. Rather than think that Esmail or Garland—or Obama, for that matter—are trying to send some warning, perhaps consider the circumstances for why you’re worried that they might.

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    Angela Watercutter

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  • ‘Dune: Part Two’ Fulfills the Prophecy of ‘Dune’

    ‘Dune: Part Two’ Fulfills the Prophecy of ‘Dune’

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    The second part of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune adaptation, efficiently titled Dune: Part Two, contains a single line that is as much about fans of Frank Herbert’s book as it is about its protagonist, Paul Atreides. It’s delivered by Chani, Paul’s concubine in Herbert’s novel and equal/skeptic in Villeneuve’s meticulously crafted reimagining. “You want to control people?” Chani says, rhetorically. “Tell them a messiah will come. They’ll wait. For centuries.”

    Dune acolytes didn’t have to wait for centuries, but the anticipation for a well-executed, faithful adaptation of Herbert’s 1965 book is the stuff of legend. Chilean director Alejandro Jodorowsky tried and failed to make the film in the 1970s. David Lynch made one in the ’80s that’s a camp classic but struggles to stay coherent. Sprawling and intricate, Dune’s pages carry an all-but-unfilmable weight. Unfilmable to anyone but Villeneuve.

    Except, in Villeneueve’s eyes, Paul isn’t a messiah. That’s the trick. Dune: Part Two fulfills the prophecy of what Dune can be rather than what it was. For years, the Dune novel has been treated, by directors, and many readers, as a hero’s journey—the quest of a young man in a strange land who saves the people of the resource-rich planet Arrakis, the Fremen, from foreign rule while working out some Freudian issues along the way. Swap in Luke for Paul and Darth Vader for Baron Harkonnen and it’s Star Wars all the way down (though Dune did it first). No tension, just a blink of internal struggle, and then Paul—the messiah, the Lisan al Gaib—rides to the rescue on the back of a sandworm.

    Dune: Part Two, picking up where 2021’s Dune left off, buffs out the white-savior sheen of that telling of the story. Instead it presents Paul (Timothée Chalamet) as a guy aware that his hero status is just the result of decades of myth-building by his mother, Jessica (Rebecca Ferguson), and the Bene Gesserit (basically, space witches). They’ve been promising the Fremen a savior for years, and when Paul arrives and Stilgar (Javier Bardem) starts yammering on about prophecies fulfilled, Lisan al Gaib whispers to his mom, “Look how your Bene Gesserit propaganda has taken root.”

    Jessica’s role, like the one of Chani (Zendaya), has far more dimensions in Dune (the movies) than it did in Dune (the book). Villeneuve told me this deepening of womens’ perspectives would happen back before he even released the first installment. He wanted equality between the genders, and for Harkonnen to not be a caricature, like Ursula on a way-worse power trip. “The book is probably a masterpiece,” he said when I spoke to him in 2021, “but that doesn’t mean it’s perfect.” Its heteronormative patriarchal shortcomings provided space for him to explore. Chani now fills the role of warrior who refuses to bow to her boyfriend and doesn’t buy the messiah bullshit. Paul, as my colleague Jason Kehe so succinctly put it when connecting the dots between Dune and Burning Man celebrants, goes “into the desert, becomes a messiah, and ends up a goddamn monster.”

    The Monitor is a weekly column devoted to everything happening in the WIRED world of culture, from movies to memes, TV to Twitter.

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    Angela Watercutter

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