November 29, 2021

Quem matou o Bolsa Família?

 

Letícia Bartholo

Socióloga, é especialista em políticas públicas e gestão governamental e ex-secretária nacional adjunta de Renda de Cidadania (2012-16, governo Dilma)

Leandro Ferreira

Presidente da Rede Brasileira da Renda Básica

Milton Coelho

Deputado federal (PSB-PE), é advogado e auditor do Tribunal de Contas de Pernambuco

Neste mês de novembro faleceu um dos programas sociais mais reconhecidos mundialmente, o Bolsa Família. Em seu lugar, entra o confuso Auxílio Brasil. Mas quem, afinal, matou o Bolsa?

Ora, o contexto nos faz buscar o caminho óbvio ao apontar o culpado —o governo federal e seu desdém pela área social. Porém, tal assassinato parece envolver trama mais complexa: o governo apertou o gatilho, mas a perícia indica que o local do crime foi organizado por muitos de nós. Sim, também ajudamos a matar o Bolsa Família.

Nós ajudamos a matar o programa quando, no exercício essencial da atividade de imprensa, optamos por linhas editoriais preconceituosas e sem embasamento empírico. E, negando as evidências, insistimos em chamá-lo, durante anos, de assistencialista, gerador de dependência ou mecanismo de compra de votos. Atuando nos órgãos de controle, também ajudamos a executá-lo ao colocar nosso desejo de aparecer acima da sobriedade necessária à fiscalização das políticas públicas.

Alardeamos achados iniciais de auditoria como se fossem fatos conclusivos. Lembram-se dos beneficiários com propriedade de veículos caros ou que fizeram doações eleitorais de alto valor? Pois é, a apuração mostrou que a maioria expressiva desses casos era fraude fiscal: pessoas pobres usadas como laranjas.

Ajudamos a matar o Bolsa com a nossa vaidade intelectual. Divulgamos simulações com desenhos de novos programas cujo foco seria, em tese, muito melhor. Mas fizemos isso sem esclarecer que a focalização do Bolsa Família estava profundamente em linha com os programas internacionais de mesmo tipo e que nossos modelos analíticos baseavam-se em pressupostos pouco aderentes: Estado onisciente, pessoas pobres com total clareza das regras e incluídas digitalmente, rede de assistência social completamente ágil. E quando nós, servidores públicos cuja função seria assegurar a boa atuação estatal, nos dispusemos a fazer qualquer serviço, também o matamos. "Estamos simplesmente cumprindo ordens", dissemos, num bom exemplo de banalização do mal.

 

Colaboramos com sua morte por nossa paciência com o tiozão polemista na ceia de Natal. Era batata: em toda família, em todo Natal, lá estava o tiozão bradando o famoso caso da "empregada da prima de uma tia de uma amiga dele" que deixou de trabalhar e agora só quer saber de fazer filho por conta do Bolsa Família. Para não estragar a ceia, nos calamos diante da maledicência sobre essa personagem tão famosa quanto irreal.

​E o matamos de sobrecarga. O Bolsa não podia somente dar o peixe: era preciso que ensinasse a pescar, instruísse o pescador sobre a devida manipulação do alimento, o conectasse à indústria alimentícia e, quiçá, o transformasse num empresário de sucesso. Exigimos do Bolsa Família, um programa de renda assistencial articulado à saúde e à educação, que resolvesse toda a complexidade da pobreza brasileira.

Pois toda vez que agimos conforme esses exemplos, ou os reverberamos, ajudamos a construir a percepção de que seria um programa antiquado. E o Bolsa não foi antiquado. Foi inovador e com excelentes resultados. De fato, tinha lacunas que careciam de correção, e nós inclusive facilitamos sua morte ao lhe negar, durante 18 anos, melhorias importantes, como a fixação de critérios e periodicidade de atualização das suas linhas de pobreza e valores de benefícios, o fim das filas e a extensão de benefícios a famílias pobres sem filhos. Sim, mata-se também por omissão.

O Bolsa Família precisava ser melhorado, mas não merecia ser assassinado no improviso de uma medida provisória sem parâmetros monetários, com benefícios pulverizados e tão calcada na ideia de que a pobreza é um fenômeno de responsabilidade individual. O Auxílio Brasil, este sim, nasce ultrapassado, pois se pauta numa concepção de pobreza comum ao século 19.

Resta ao Bolsa o reconhecimento póstumo de um programa que viveu com dignidade e contribuiu para que milhões de pessoas pudessem experimentá-la. A nós, cujas ações, palavras ou omissões colaboraram com o cenário do crime, resta a reflexão de que ele morreu também por soberba. No caso, a nossa.

FOLHA

 

 

 

 

November 28, 2021

Guedes, do paraiso á frigideira

 


 p or A N DRÉ BA R RO C A L

O ministro Paulo
Guedes participou
nos últimos dias,
em Washington,
de reuniões peri-
ódicas do Fundo
Monetário Inter-
nacional, do Banco Mundial e de autori-
dades econômicas de países do G-20. Ape-
sar de se sentir em casa nos States, ele teve
dissabores na viagem. O FMI cortou para
1,5% a previsão de crescimento brasileiro
no eleitoral ano de 2022. O Prêmio Nobel
de Economia consagrou três pesquisado-
res e um deles, o canadense David Card,
provou que aumentar o salário mínimo
não causa desemprego, ao contrário, um
golpe na teimosia neoliberal do Posto Ipi-
ranga. De quebra, o Chicago Old teve de
responder a jornalistas estrangeiros so-
bre aquela sua empresa no paraíso fiscal
das Ilhas Virgens Britânicas revelada nos
Pandora Papers.


No Chile, outra pátria amada pelo
ministro devido ao pinochetismo, o es-
cândalo custou ao presidente Sebastián
Piñera, dono de offshore nas mesmas
ilhas, um pedido de impeachment no Con-
gresso. Aqui, o caso dá munição para o tal
Centrão governista, senhor do Parlamen-
to, intensificar a fritura de Guedes, com o
objetivo último de tirá-lo do cargo. O mi-
nistro foi convocado a dar explicações no
plenário da Câmara, e os deputados pre-
param temas indigestos para embaraçá-
-lo na arapuca. Assuntos que não se li-
mitam aos resultados pífios da econo-
mia brasileira, mas também a “negó-
cios ocultos” mantidos por ele no Bra-
sil e comparações com Eduardo Cunha,
cassado em 2016 por ter mentido sobre
(adivinhe?) uma firma em paraíso fiscal.
Um dos temas à espera de Guedes é
a mudança no projeto de nova cobran-
ça do Imposto de Renda enviado em ju-
nho ao Congresso. Diante da revelação
da offshore em nome do ministro, a mo-
dificação admite novas interpretações.
O artigo 6° do projeto taxava os lucros
de empresas em paraísos fiscais contro-
ladas por brasileiros. Mais: considerava
ganho de capital passível de tributação o
lucro com a variação do dólar na hora da
prestação de contas ao Fisco. As taxações
haviam sido idealizadas pela Receita Fe-
deral, em virtude de esforços internacio-
nais contra paraísos fiscais.


As taxações sumiram do projeto quan-
do o relator na Câmara, Celso Sabino, en-
tão no PSDB, hoje no PSL, apresentou seu
parecer, em 10 de agosto. “Por que (o pre-
sidente) não fala que o Paulo Guedes in-
termediou, no projeto sobre o Imposto de
Renda, a retirada da taxação de recursos
no exterior, para poder aliviar os seus (do
ministro) rendimentos em dólar?”, per-
gunta o deputado Júlio Delgado, do PSB.


Acusação ecoada pelo neoliberal Kim
Kataguiri, do DEM, para quem houve “um
esquema criminoso de uso de cargo públi-
co para enriquecimento ilícito”. Questio-
nada sobre a participação de Guedes no
sumiço do artigo, a pasta da Economia diz
que Sabino nega ter havido pedido do mi-
nistro. E que não “faz sentido” supor que o
governo proporia a taxação e, depois, pe-
diria à Câmara para derrubá-la. Não faz?


A Lei de Conflito de Interesses, a
12.813, de 2013, diz, no artigo 5°, que há
conflito se um ministro “praticar ato em
benefício de interesse de pessoa jurídica
de que participe (...) e que possa ser por
ele beneficiada ou influir em seus atos de
gestão”. Se Guedes tentasse impedir que a
proposta de taxar offshore fosse formula-
da em sua seara, poderia despertar a aten-
ção de testemunhas à volta. Nessa hipóte-
se, a exclusão no Congresso lhe seria con-
veniente: passaria como obra alheia. “Se
o ministro de fato intercedeu para obs-
taculizar a taxação periódica de paraí

sos, se autobeneficiou”, afirma o advoga-
do Mauro Menezes, presidente da Comis-
são de Ética Pública de 2016 a 2018. Seria,
prossegue, um ato de improbidade admi-
nistrativa previsto na lei de 2013 e na Lei
de Improbidade, a 8.429, de 1992, que fixa
como punição a proibição de ocupar car-
gos públicos por oito anos, ressarcimento
ao Erário do dano causado e multa.


A oposição cobrou do Minis-
tério Público Federal que
investigue Guedes por im-
probidade. O procurador-
-geral da República, Au-
gusto Aras, abriu uma “averiguação pre-
liminar”. Os advogados do ministro envia-
ram à Procuradoria provas, segundo eles,
de que seu cliente se afastou da gestão da
offshore em dezembro de 2018, antes de
tomar posse no governo. Detalhe: são os
mesmos defensores de Eduardo Cunha no
passado, Ticiano Figueiredo e Pedro Ivo
Velloso. Afastar-se bastaria? Guedes mon-
tou a empresa em 2014 com a filha, Paula,
e 8 milhões de dólares, dinheiro guardado
em Nova York. Em 2015, sua esposa, Ma-
ria Cristina, entrou como sócia e depositou
mais 1,5 milhão. Quer dizer, o Posto Ipi-
ranga pode até não ter feito negócios com
a Dreadnoughts, mas o que o impediria de
telefonar para a família e dar umas dicas?


Em 2019, a Comissão de Ética recomen-
dou a Guedes que a empresa não fizesse
negócios, enquanto ele estivesse no car-
go. Idem ao presidente do Banco Central,
Roberto Campos Neto. O banqueiro abriu
uma offshore, a Cor Assets, no mesmo pa-
raíso fiscal, em 2004, com 1 milhão de dó-
lares. Diz tê-la fechado em 12 de agosto de
2020. Curioso: foi uma semana após o BC
reduzir a taxa de juros para 2%, a menor
da história. Quanto menor a Selic, mais
chance de o dólar subir. Outra curiosida-
de: um mês antes, o Conselho Monetário
Nacional, integrado por Guedes e Campos
Neto, decidira que movimentações acima
de 100 mil reais, se feitas no exterior, de-
veriam ser registradas no BC.


Campos Neto foi convidado, na compa-

nhia de Guedes, a comparecer ao Senado.
A dupla deveria prestar esclarecimentos
na segunda-feira 18, mas como será vés-
pera do relatório da CPI da Covid, a “con-
versa” ficou para mais adiante. Quanto
aos deputados, deixaram Campos Neto
de lado e miraram em Guedes. A propos-
ta de obrigar o ministro a ir ao plenário
partira da oposição. Sem os votos da base
governista, porém, não teria sido aprova-
da, em 6 de outubro, por 310 a 142, placar
que por si só foi um sinal para o ministro.
Este terá de explicar violações potenciais
de duas regras. Do artigo 5° do Código de
Conduta da Alta Administração Federal,
que proíbe uma autoridade de ter investi-
mentos influenciáveis por decisões pró-
prias ou informações privilegiadas, e do
artigo 37° da Constituição, que impõe a
moralidade como um dos princípios a ser
obedecidos no setor público. “É um caso
gravíssimo, o ministro já deveria ter si-
do demitido”, afirma o líder da oposição,
Alessandro Molon, do PSB.


Na hora de decidir a con-
vocação plenária, houve
uma reviravolta entre os
governistas que jogou
óleo na fritura do minis-
tro. Um movimento liderado pelo PP, a si-
gla do comandante da Câmara, Arthur Li-
ra, e do chefe da Casa Civil, Ciro Noguei-
ra. O líder do governo, Ricardo Barros, ou-
tro pepista, queria salvar Guedes. Sugeriu
que fosse convidado (convite pode ser re-
cusado, convocação não) e comparecesse
no dia 13. PL, PSD, Republicanos e PP, si-
glas do Centrão, apoiaram. Mas eis que
o líder pepista, Cacá Leão, soldado de Li-
ra, mudou de ideia: “Eu conversava ago-
ra com alguns colegas da minha banca-
da, e há o entendimento da importância
da vinda do ministro Paulo Guedes a este
plenário, para esclarecer tudo que tem si-
do falado na imprensa e agir com a serie-
dade de que este momento precisa”.
A convocação, diz um estrategista do

Centrão, foi o começo do fim do Posto Ipi-
ranga. O bloco, prossegue o informante,
odeia o ministro e viu no caso da offshore
a chance de resolver o conflito. Em algum
momento, aposta a fonte, o Centrão dará
um ultimato em Bolsonaro: degole Gue-
des. Mas por que a bronca com o ministro?
Eleição. E não apenas em razão da econo-
mia do País. O Chicago Boy, ou Old, contro-
la os bancos públicos e não aceita entre-
gar diretorias a apadrinhados do grupo,
cargos capazes de colocar verba pública a
serviço de campanhas. Ciro Nogueira, por
exemplo, estaria de olho em indicações na
Caixa Econômica Federal. Aliás, Noguei-
ra tenta emplacar o novo chefe do Banco
do Nordeste, após a demissão de Romil-
do Rolim, em setembro. Rolim era apadri-
nhado do PL e perdeu o cargo após Bol-
sonaro procurar o presidente do partido,
Valdemar Costa Neto, para reclamar que
o banco firmara convênio de cerca de 600
milhões de reais com uma ONG suposta-
mente ligada ao PT.


A sessão da Câmara que convocou
Guedes foi presidida pelo vice-presiden-
te, Marcelo Ramos, do PL. Lira tinha via-
jado na véspera para Roma, de onde che-
gou na quarta-feira 13. Veja-se a visão de
Ramos sobre o Posto Ipiranga: “O gover-
no migra do negacionismo sanitário pa-
ra o negacionismo econômico”, enquan-
to se “agrava a pandemia do desemprego,
da fome, da inflação e dos juros”. Seu co-
lega de bancada Altineu Côrtes, chefe do
PL no Rio de Janeiro, mandou a colegas,
em agosto, um vídeo a pedir a cabeça de
Guedes: “Muita gente dentro do governo,
que quer o bem do governo Bolsonaro,
torce pro senhor sair. Eu acho que o se-
nhor finge que não sabe”.


E como torce. Entre ministros de Bol-
sonaro circulou um vídeo duro sobre Gue-
des e sua offshore, conforme o site Poder
360. O vídeo era de um dos fundadores
do banco de investimentos Brasil Plural,
Eduardo Moreira. Desse banco, registre-
-se, saiu o atual presidente da Caixa, Pe-
dro Guimarães. Segundo Moreira, uma
pessoa só guarda dinheiro em paraíso
fiscal por um de três motivos: “Ou ela quer
fugir dos impostos e não pagar em seu país.
Ou ela quer ocultar patrimônio, para que
ninguém saiba o que ela tem. Ou ela quer
se proteger de alguma ruptura econômica
que vai acontecer”. Qualquer uma das hi-
póteses, dizia Moreira, é “escandalosa”,
em se tratando do ministro da Economia.


Quem teria tido a iniciativa de distri-
buir o vídeo e sugerido pôr na vaga de Gue-
des o ex-secretário do Tesouro Nacional
Mansuetto Almeida? Algum general-mi-
nistro, desses que sopram à mídia no es-
curinho que Guedes é fraco e não apro-
va nada no Congresso? Ou seria um lu-
minar do Centrão? Quem sabe Ciro No-
gueira (Casa Civil), do PP? Ou Flávia Ar-
ruda (Secretaria de Governo), do PL? Ro-
gério Marinho (Desenvolvimento Regio-
nal), ex-PSDB, que Guedes chama de “mi-
nistro fura-teto”? Fábio Faria (Comunica-
ções), do PSD? Algumas horas após a Câ-
mara armar a arapuca, Guedes mandou a

Congresso um ofício com mimos ao Cen-
trão, baseado em um trabalho concluído
por sua equipe às 22h39 daquele dia. Coin-
cidência? Ou uma tentativa de desarmar
os ânimos? Dúvidas à parte, quem pagou
o pato foi um colega de governo, o minis-
tro da Ciência e Tecnologia, Marcos Pon-
tes. Um pato de 650 milhões de reais.


Em agosto, o governo propuse-
ra ao Congresso uma lei pa-
ra aumentar a verba de Pon-
tes neste ano em 650 mi-
lhões. O montante sairia do
Fundo Nacional de Ciência e Tecnologia,
recheado com mais de 5 bilhões de reais,
quantia bloqueada pela área econômica.
A lei liberava parte do fundo. De olho no
dinheiro extra, o CPNq lançara um edital
para distribuir 200 milhões de reais em fi-
nanciamento a projetos de pesquisa. Mais
de 30 mil interessados estavam inscritos
até 30 de setembro. O ofício de Guedes jo-
gou um balde de gelo na galera. Reformu-
lava o projeto para ratear os recursos com
outras áreas: 252 milhões para o Desen-
volvimento Regional, 120 milhões para a
Agricultura, 100 milhões para as Comuni-
cações e 28 milhões para a Cidadania, qua-
tro pastas controladas por indicados polí-
ticos do Centrão (Saúde, Educação e políti-
ca nuclear foram as outras contempladas).


O Congresso aprovou a lei no dia se-
guinte. Pontes estrebuchou em público.
Disse que não sabia de nada e fora “pe-
go de surpresa”, que aquilo era “falta de
consideração”, precisava ser “corrigido ur-
gentemente” e que até havia pensado em
se demitir. A Sociedade Brasileira para o
Progresso da Ciência aponta risco de “apa-
gão científico” no País e organizou mani-
festações para a sexta-feira 15, Dia do Pro-
fessor. Detalhe: de 2020 para 2021, o or-
çamento de Pontes perdera 3,3 bilhões.
Não foi a única lei em que a interferên-
cia de Guedes criou confusão. No dia 6,
Bolsonaro vetou um projeto que criava
um programa de distribuição gratuita de
absorventes para alunas da rede pública,
mulheres que moram nas ruas e presidi- 

árias. O projeto tinha sido apresentado
pela deputada Marília Arraes, do PT, em
2019, originalmente restrito às estudan-
tes. A Câmara aprovou-o em 26 de agosto
e o Senado, em 14 de setembro. Entre os
deputados estimava-se que 5,6 milhões
de mulheres seriam beneficiadas, com
oito absorventes por ano, ao custo de 84
milhões de reais, bancados pelo SUS e pe-
lo Fundo Penitenciário Nacional. Depois
de ouvir Guedes, o presidente vetou tre-
chos da lei, aqueles que tratavam dos re-
passes. Logo em seguida, a ministra da
Mulher e da Família, Damares Alves, saiu
em defesa do chefe: “A prioridade é vaci-
na ou absorvente?” A reação contra o go-
verno foi forte e Damares anunciou um
programa federal para substituir a pro-
posta legislativa. Será?


A situação econômica do
País, com desemprego
e inflação elevados, ali-
menta a hostilidade do
Centrão em relação a
Guedes. Nos últimos dois meses, a eco-
nomia superou a Covid-19 como princi-
pal problema apontado pelos brasileiros.
São 44% com essa opinião, ante 24% que
apontavam o Coronavírus, conforme pes-
quisa da consultoria Quaest. O otimismo
com o futuro encolheu (de 50% para 39%
desde agosto), ao mesmo tempo que pio-
rou o mal-estar sobre o que aconteceu de
um ano para cá (de 62% para 69%). Resul-
tado: 53% acham o governo ruim ou pés-
simo, só 20% pensam ser bom ou ótimo.
“O sentimento com a inflação está cor-
roendo a popularidade do presidente”,
afirma Felipe Nunes, cientista político da
UFMG e sócio da Quaest. A alta dos pre-
ços em setembro foi a maior desde 1994,
início do Plano Real, 1,1%. Em 12 meses,
chegou a 10,2%, a pior em cinco anos. Co-
mer ficou mais caro (34% de alta do boti-
jão de gás, 28% no frango, 15% na carne
e no ovo), idem assistir à tevê em casa (a
conta de luz subiu 28%) e sair de carro (o
etanol elevou-se 64% e a gasolina, 39%).


Em Washington, Guedes admitiu à
CNN e à Bloomberg que a inflação é um
“problema”, mas atribuiu-o a um fenôme-
no “no mundo todo” decorrente dos pre-
ços da comida e da energia. Meia verda-
de. Nos Estados Unidos, a inflação em 12
meses até setembro está em 5,4%, índice
que não se via por lá desde os anos 1990.
Ponto para Guedes. Contra o ministro jo-
ga, porém, a inação resultante da convic-
ção neoliberal. Exceto pelo aumento dos
juros do BC, o governo nada faz para se-
gurar a gasolina e os alimentos. Ao con-
trário, aceita que a petroleira siga o script
de uma companhia privada em busca de
lucro gordo. Ignora medidas de estoques
reguladores de alimentos. E deixa o dólar
subir à vontade, o que influencia o preço
final das commodities.


A inflação leva o BC a subir o juro, e es-
sa é uma das razões para o FMI ter baixa-
do de 1,9% para 1,5% sua previsão de cres-
cimento do Brasil em 2022. Uma projeção
otimista. O Itaú estima em 0,5%. As ven-
das do varejo em agosto dão razão aos cé-
ticos. Tombaram 3,1% em relação a julho,
sinal de que o segundo semestre do ano se-
rá pior do que se imaginava. “Tem algu-
ma ligação com o aumento da taxa de ju-
ros, mas certamente tem na alta da infla-
ção uma das maiores causas”, na visão do
economista Paulo Gala, do Banco Fator.
Na pesquisa Quaest, Bolsonaro é tido co-
mo totalmente ou muito culpado por mais
da metade da população (54%). Enquanto
Lula é tido como presidenciável mais ca-
paz de arrumar a casa econômica.


“A economia não é uma coisa difícil”,
disse o petista no dia 8 em Brasília, requer
“credibilidade” (que a população acredite
no governo) e “previsibilidade” (que não
seja surpreendida). “Só podia acreditar
no Guedes como economista quem queria
destruir o Estado brasileiro. Quem queria
vender a Eletrobras, a Radiobras, a Petro-
bras, vender refinaria. Ele já deu demons-
tração de que entende de qualquer coisa,
menos de economia, de economia social,
inclusive. Pobre não existe na vida dele,
trabalhador não existe na vida dele.”


Mas paraíso fiscal existe. E como. •

 

 

November 26, 2021

Stephen Sondheim, Titan of the American Musical, Is Dead at 91

 

 Stephen Sondheim in 1990. From his earliest successes in the late 1950s, when he wrote the lyrics for “West Side Story” and “Gypsy,” through the 1990s, when he wrote the music and lyrics for “Assassins” and “Passion,” he was a relentlessly innovative theatrical force.

Stephen Sondheim, one of Broadway history’s songwriting titans, whose music and lyrics raised and reset the artistic standard for the American stage musical, died early Friday at his home in Roxbury, Conn. He was 91.

His lawyer and friend, F. Richard Pappas, announced the death, which he described as sudden. The day before, Mr. Sondheim had celebrated Thanksgiving with a dinner with friends in Roxbury, Mr. Pappas said.

An intellectually rigorous artist who perpetually sought new creative paths, Mr. Sondheim was the theater’s most revered and influential composer-lyricist of the last half of the 20th century, if not its most popular.

His work melded words and music in a way that enhanced them both. From his earliest successes in the late 1950s, when he wrote the lyrics for “West Side Story” and “Gypsy,” through the 1990s, when he wrote the music and lyrics for two audacious musicals, “Assassins,” giving voice to the men and women who killed or tried to kill American presidents, and “Passion,” an operatic probe into the nature of true love, he was a relentlessly innovative theatrical force.

The first Broadway show for which Mr. Sondheim wrote both the words and music, the farcical 1962 comedy “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum,” won a Tony Award for best musical and went on to run for more than two years.

In the 1970s and 1980s, his most productive period, he turned out a series of strikingly original and varied works, including “Company” (1970), “Follies” (1971), “A Little Night Music” (1973), “Pacific Overtures” (1976), “Sweeney Todd” (1979), “Merrily We Roll Along” (1981), “Sunday in the Park With George” (1984) and “Into the Woods” (1987).


Mr. Sondheim at the piano and Leonard Bernstein, right, with cast members during a 1957 rehearsal for "West Side Story."
Credit...Friedman-Abeles/New York Public Library for the Performing Arts

In the history of the theater, only a handful could call Mr. Sondheim peer. The list of major theater composers who wrote words to accompany their own scores (and vice versa) is a short one — it includes Irving Berlin, Cole Porter, Frank Loesser, Jerry Herman and Noël Coward.

Though Mr. Sondheim spent long hours in solitary labor, usually late at night, when he was composing or writing, he often spoke lovingly of the collaborative nature of the theater. After the first decade of his career, he was never again a writer for hire, and his contribution to a show was always integral to its conception and execution. He chose collaborators — notably the producer and director Hal Prince, the orchestrator Jonathan Tunick and later the writer and director James Lapine — who shared his ambition to stretch the musical form beyond the bounds of only entertainment.

Mr. Sondheim’s music was always recognizable as his own, and yet he was dazzlingly versatile. His melodies could be deceptively, disarmingly simple — like the title song of the unsuccessful 1964 musical “Anyone Can Whistle,” “Our Time,” from “Merrily,” and the most famous of his individual songs, “Send In the Clowns,” from “Night Music” — or jaunty and whimsical, like “Everybody Ought to Have a Maid,” from “Forum.”

They could also be brassy and bitter, like “The Ladies Who Lunch,” from “Company,” or sweeping, like the grandly macabre waltz “A Little Priest,” from “Sweeney Todd.” And they could be exotic, like “Someone in a Tree” and “Pretty Lady,” both from “Pacific Overtures,” or desperately yearning, like the plaintive “I Read,” from “Passion.”

He wrote speechifying soliloquies, conversational duets and chattery trios and quartets. He exploited time signatures and forms; for “Night Music,” he wrote a waltz, two sarabandes, two mazurkas, a polonaise, an étude and a gigue — nearly an entire score written in permutations of triple time.

Over all, he wrote both the music and the lyrics for a dozen Broadway shows — not including compendium revues like “Side by Side by Sondheim,” “Putting It Together” and the autobiographical “Sondheim on Sondheim.” Five of them won Tony Awards for best musical, and six won for best original score. A show that won neither of those, “Sunday in the Park,” took the 1985 Pulitzer Prize for drama.

Of the many revivals of his shows, three won Tonys, including “Assassins” in 2004, even though it had not previously been on Broadway. (It was presented Off Broadway in 1990.)

A scene from “West Side Story” in 1957. It became one of Broadway’s most beloved and celebrated shows.
Credit...Hank Walker/The LIFE Picture Collection, via Getty Images

In 1993, Mr. Sondheim received the Kennedy Center Honors for lifetime achievement, and in 2015 he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom by President Barack Obama. In 2008, he was given a Tony Award for lifetime achievement, and in 2010, in perhaps the ultimate show business accolade, a Broadway house on West 43rd Street, Henry Miller’s Theater, was renamed in his honor.

For his 90th birthday in March 2020, a Broadway revival of “Company” was planned, with a woman in the central role of Bobby, but it was postponed because of the coronavirus pandemic. The New York Times published a special section devoted to him, and a virtual concert, “Take Me to the World: A Sondheim 90th Birthday Celebration,” was streamed on the Broadway.com YouTube channel, featuring Broadway performers singing his songs.

Mr. Sondheim, who also maintained a home in Manhattan, a townhouse on East 49th Street, had been spending most of his time in Roxbury during the pandemic.

But he returned to New York this month to attend revivals of two of his musicals: on Nov. 14, for the opening night of “Assassins,” at the Classic Stage Company in Lower Manhattan, and the next night for the long-delayed first preview of “Company,” at the Bernard B. Jacobs Theater.

Mr. Sondheim was “extremely” pleased by both productions, Mr. Pappas, his lawyer, said.

In addition to his theater work, Mr. Sondheim wrote occasional music for films, including the score for “Stavisky,” Alain Renais’s 1974 movie about a French financier and embezzler, and his song “Sooner or Later (I Always Get My Man)” for Warren Beatty’s “Dick Tracy” won an Academy Award in 1991. Six cast albums from his shows won Grammy Awards, and “Send In the Clowns” won the Grammy for song of the year in 1975.

With the exception perhaps of “Forum,” Mr. Sondheim’s shows had hefty ambitions in subject matter, form or both. “Company,” which was built from vignettes featuring several couples and their mutual single male friend, was a bittersweet reflection on marriage. “Pacific Overtures” told the story of the modernization of Japan from the Japanese perspective. “Sweeney Todd,” a bloody tale about a vengeful barber in 19th-century London, approached Grand Guignol in tone and opera in staging and scoring. “The Frogs,” which was first performed in the Yale University swimming pool in 1974 (with Meryl Streep in the cast) before it was revised for Broadway in 2004, blended the Greek comedy of Aristophanes with present-day political commenta

Jenna Russell and Daniel Evans appeared in "Sunday in the Park with George" at Studio 54 in 2008.
Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

Mr. Sondheim liked to think of himself less as a songwriter than as a playwright, albeit one who wrote very short plays and set them to music. His lyrics, scrupulously literate and resonant with complex ideas or emotional ambivalence, were often impossibly clever but rarely only clever; his language was sometimes erudite but seldom purple. He was a world-class rhyming gymnast, not just at the ends of lines but within them — one of the baked dishes on the ghoulish menu in “Sweeney Todd” was “shepherd’s pie peppered with actual shepherd” — and he upheld the highest standards for acceptable wordplay, or at least tried to.

His 2010 artistic memoir, “Finishing the Hat” (the name was taken from a song title in “Sunday in the Park”; a follow-up, “Look, I Made a Hat,” came out in 2011), was in many ways a primer on the craft of lyric writing. In it, he took himself to task for numerous sins, including things like adding unnecessary adjectives to fill out lines rhythmically and paying insufficient attention to a melodic line. In the song “Somewhere” from “West Side Story,” for example, the highest note in the opening phrase is on the second beat, which means that in the well-known lyric — “There’s a place for us” — the emphasis is on the word “a.”

“The most unimportant word in the opening line is the one that gets the most important note,” he wrote.

In another example from “West Side Story,” he complained about a stanza from “America,” which was sung by a chorus of young Puerto Rican women.

“Words must sit on music in order to become clear to the audience,” he said to his biographer Meryle Secrest for her 1998 book, “Stephen Sondheim: A Life.” “You don’t get a chance to hear the lyric twice, and if it doesn’t sit and bounce when the music bounces and rise when the music rises, the audience becomes confused.”

In “America,” he added, “I had this wonderful quatrain that went: ‘I like to be in America/OK by me in America/Everything free in America/For a small fee in America.’ The little ‘for a small fee’ was my zinger — except that the ‘for’ is accented and ‘small fee’ is impossible to say that fast, so it went ‘For a smafee in America.’ Nobody knew what it meant!”

What most distinguished Mr. Sondheim’s lyrics, however, was that they were by and large character-driven, often probing explorations into a psyche that expressed emotional ambivalence, anguish or deeply felt conflict. In “Send In the Clowns,” for example, he couched the famous plaint about missed romantic chances largely in the language of the theater, because the character singing it is an aging actress:

Just when I’d stopped opening doors,

Finally knowing the one that I wanted was yours,

Making my entrance again with my usual flair,

Sure of my lines,

No one is there.

Donna Murphy in a scene from a concert version of  “Anyone Can Whistle” in 2010. Many people theorized that the musical’s title song was a cri de coeur by the author, though Mr. Sondheim denied it.
Credit...Chad Batka for The New York Times

In the title song for “Anyone Can Whistle,” he wrote from the point of view of a woman who found it hard to love:

Anyone can whistle,

That’s what they say —

Easy.

Anyone can whistle,

Any old day —

Easy.

It’s all so simple:

Relax, let go, let fly.

So someone tell me why

Can’t I?

I can dance a tango

I can read Greek —

Easy.

I can slay a dragon

Any old week —

Easy.

What’s hard is simple,

What’s natural comes hard.

Maybe you could show me

How to let go

Lower my guard.

Learn to be free.

Maybe if you whistle,

Whistle for me.

Over the years, many people theorized that “Anyone Can Whistle” was a cri de coeur by the author, though Mr. Sondheim denied it. “To believe that ‘Anyone Can Whistle’ is my credo is to believe that I’m the prototypical Repressed Intellectual and that explains everything about me,” he wrote in “Finishing the Hat.”

Still, it’s true that he lived a largely solitary romantic life for many years.

“I always thought that song would be Steve’s epitaph,” the playwright and director Arthur Laurents, who wrote the book for “Anyone Can Whistle,” as well as “West Side Story,” “Gypsy” and “Do I Hear a Waltz?,” told Ms. Secrest.

For a time in his 60s, Mr. Sondheim shared his Manhattan townhouse with a young songwriter, Peter Jones, and in 2017 he married Jeffrey Romley, who survives him, along with a half brother, Walter Sondheim.

NEW YORK TIMES

Image
Mr. Sondheim’s shows, though mostly received with critical accolades, were almost never popular hits. “I certainly feel out of the mainstream because what’s happened in musicals is corporate and cookie-cutter stuff,” he once said. “And if I’m out of fashion, I’m out of fashion.”
Credit...Chester Higgins Jr./The New York Times

For all these reasons — the high-minded ambition, the seriousness of subject matter, the melodic experimentation, the emotional discord — Mr. Sondheim’s shows, though mostly received with critical accolades, were almost never popular hits. He suffered from a reputation that he didn’t write hummable tunes and that his outlook was austere, if not grim. For some of the same reasons, not all performers were suited to his shows, though over the years several well-known singers became his stalwart interpreters, among them Elaine Stritch, Angela Lansbury, Barbara Cook and Bernadette Peters.

Mr. Sondheim rarely gave audiences the fizzy, feel-good musical experience or the happily resolved narrative that the shows of his predecessors conditioned them to expect. He also didn’t give them the opulent spectacle, the anthemic score or the melodramatic storytelling that became the dominant musical theater style of the 1980s and ’90s with the arrival from Britain of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s megahits “Cats” and “Phantom of the Opera,” and Alain Boublil and Claude-Michel Schönberg’s “Les Misérables” and “Miss Saigon,” followed by the corporate productions of Disney.

Of the shows for which Mr. Sondheim wrote both music and lyrics, his first, “Forum,” had the longest Broadway run at 964 performances; his second, “Anyone Can Whistle,” lasted nine. “Merrily We Roll Along,” a famously problematic adaptation of the Kaufman and Hart reverse-chronology play about how idealistic young artists grow cynical as they age, closed after just 16. But even his successes were barely successful. Most of his Broadway shows, in their initial runs, failed to earn back the money it cost to put them on.

Image
From left, Nathan Lane, Mark Linn-Baker, Ernie Sabella and Lewis J. Stadlen in “A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum” at the St. James Theater in 1996.
Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

“I have always conscientiously tried not to do the same thing twice,” Mr. Sondheim said, reflecting on his career in an interview with The New York Times Magazine in 2000, when he turned 70. “If you’re broken-field running, they can’t hit you with so many tomatoes. I certainly feel out of the mainstream because what’s happened in musicals is corporate and cookie-cutter stuff. And if I’m out of fashion, I’m out of fashion. Being a maverick isn’t just about being different. It’s about having your vision of the way a show might be.”

Stephen Joshua Sondheim was born on March 22, 1930, in Manhattan, and lived first on the Upper West Side. Herbert Sondheim, his father, was the owner of a dressmaking company; his mother, the former Etta Janet Fox, known as Foxy, worked for her husband as a designer until he left her, when Stephen was 10. He was sent for a time to military school, and later to the George School in Pennsylvania, but until he was 16 Stephen, her only child, lived mostly with his mother, with whom he had a troubled relationship throughout his life. (His father remarried and had two more sons.)

In the years following his parents’ separation, Mr. Sondheim recalled for his biography, his mother treated him precisely as she had her husband: flirting with him sexually on the one hand, belittling him on the other. As an adult, Mr. Sondheim supported her financially; nonetheless, in the 1970s, the night before she was to have heart surgery, she wrote a letter to her son and had it hand delivered. It read, in part, “The only regret I have in life is giving you birth.”

His mother was, nonetheless, responsible for the most formative relationship of her son’s life. She was a friend of Dorothy Hammerstein, whose husband was the lyricist Oscar Hammerstein II; their son Jamie became friends with young Steve, and when the Hammersteins moved to a Pennsylvania farm, Stephen, who had begun playing the piano at 7, went for a visit and stayed for the summer.

His mother subsequently bought a home nearby, and Stephen was so often at the Hammersteins’ that he was thought of as a family member. Hammerstein himself became a surrogate father and mentor — “It was because of my teenage admiration for him that I became a songwriter,” Mr. Sondheim wrote in “Finishing the Hat,” although he later assessed Hammerstein as a lyricist of soaring ability but often flawed work. Hammerstein brutally criticized the boy’s first musical, written at the George School, as “the worst thing I’ve ever read,” adding: “I didn’t say that it was untalented, I said it was terrible. And if you want to know why it’s terrible, I’ll tell you.”

Image
Mr. Sondheim and the writer and director James Lapine in 1985, after they won a Pulitzer Prize for “Sunday in the Park with George.” 
Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

An afternoon-long tutorial followed, teaching him, by Mr. Sondheim’s account, more about the craft than most songwriters learn in a lifetime. Hammerstein laid out a path of writing exercises for him: Adapt a good play into a musical; adapt a flawed play into a musical; adapt a story from another medium into a musical; and, finally, write a musical from your own original story. This the young Mr. Sondheim did, a project that carried him through his graduation from Williams College in Massachusetts, where he complemented his theater work with serious composition study under Robert Barrow, an intellectually rigorous specialist in harmony, from whom Mr. Sondheim gleaned the lesson, as he put it, “that art is work and not inspiration, that invention comes with craft.” Mr. Sondheim would later study independently with Milton Babbitt, the avant-garde composer.

Mr. Sondheim’s first professional show business job was not in the theater at all; through the agency representing Hammerstein, he was hired to write for a 1950s television comedy, “Topper,” about a fussbudget banker haunted by a pair of urbane ghosts. (Much later, Mr. Sondheim wrote a whodunit film script, “The Last of Sheila,” with the actor Anthony Perkins; it was produced in 1973 and directed by Herbert Ross.) By the ’50s he had become a connoisseur of word games and puzzles, and an inventor of elaborate games. From 1968 to 1969, he created cryptic crosswords for New York magazine.

His affinity for theatrical misdirection and mystery was acknowledged by his friend, the playwright Anthony Shaffer, who based the cunningly vengeful cuckold in his play “Sleuth” partly on Mr. Sondheim. (The play was once tentatively titled “Who’s Afraid of Stephen Sondheim?”)

Mr. Sondheim was in his early 20s when he wrote his first professional show, a musical called “Saturday Night,” which was an adaptation of “Front Porch in Flatbush,” a play by Philip G. and Julius J. Epstein. He got the job, to write both words and music, after the composer Frank Loesser turned it down. The show was scheduled to be presented in 1955, but the producer, Lemuel Ayers, died before he had completed raising the money for it, and the production came to a halt. The show was not presented until 1997, by a small company in London; it subsequently appeared in Chicago and finally had its New York premiere in 2000, Off Broadway at the Second Stage Theater.

Mr. Sondheim was loath to take either of his first Broadway gigs, “West Side Story” and “Gypsy,” because he felt he was a composer, not only a lyricist — “I enjoy writing music much more than lyrics,” he confessed in “Finishing the Hat.” But he agreed to both on the advice of Hammerstein, who told him that he would benefit from working with the likes of Bernstein; Laurents, (who wrote the book) and the director Jerome Robbins, in the first instance, and from writing for a star like Ethel Merman in the second, even though it was she who had wanted a more experienced Broadway hand, Jule Styne, as the composer.

Only once after “Gypsy” would Mr. Sondheim write lyrics for another composer: an unhappy collaboration with Richard Rodgers, “Do I Hear a Waltz?,” based on Laurents’s play “The Time of the Cuckoo.”

Image
Bernadette Peters as Rose in the 2003 revival of "Gypsy." Mr. Sondheim’s lyrics were scrupulously literate and resonant with complex ideas or emotional ambivalence. He was also a world-class rhyming gymnast.
Credit...Sara Krulwich/The New York Times

Mr. Sondheim was asked to take the job by Laurents and by Mary Rodgers, Richard’s elder daughter, whom he had met as a teenager at the Hammersteins’ and for whom he had complicated feelings over many years. However, the two men proved antagonistic as writing partners — years later Mr. Sondheim was quoted as saying that Hammerstein was “a man of limited talent and infinite soul” and Rodgers the reverse — and though the show ran for 220 performances in 1965, it never had a Broadway revival, and neither man considered it a success.

The period of Mr. Sondheim’s greatest work began when Harold Prince became his director. They were old friends, having been introduced by Ms. Rodgers in the late 1940s or early ’50s, and Mr. Prince had been the producer of “West Side Story.” He had proved his chops as a director as well, with musical successes like “She Loves Me” (1963) and “Cabaret” (1966).

Mr. Prince would direct five Sondheim musicals in the 1970s — “Company,” “Follies,” “A Little Night Music,” “Pacific Overtures” and “Sweeney Todd’’ — and though not all were commercially successful, they were all innovative, the product of two supremely talented artists whose individually authoritative visions were, for the most part, complementary. As Mr. Prince naturally saw a show’s big picture, its look and its pace, Mr. Sondheim, who had inherited the Rodgers and Hammerstein belief that the songs are critical elements of the play, pushed the idea further — not merely integrating the words and music but imbuing the songs with the concerns of a playwright; that is, providing singers with the material to deepen their character portrayals, and in rehearsals concentrating on their delivery and diction.

The partnership foundered on “Merrily We Roll Along,” a show that was hampered in part by the youth of its cast members, who had to play not only young characters but also the disillusioned adults they become, and by Mr. Prince’s acknowledged failure to find an appropriate look for the show as a whole.

“I never knew how to direct it because I work so much from ‘What is it going to look like?’ ” Mr. Prince told Ms. Secrest for her Sondheim biography. “That becomes the motor of the show. I never could figure it out.”

“Merrily” has had several lives since then, Off Broadway, in regional theater and overseas, as producers and directors have tried to solve its problems and showcase what is generally acknowledged to be a vivid and poignant score.

In any case, the two men parted creative company for more than two decades, not working together again until they hammered out a version of a much-revised musical about a pair of entrepreneurial American brothers in the early 20th century that in other incarnations, before and after, was variously titled “Gold,” “Wise Guys” and “Road Show.” Under Mr. Prince, it was called “Bounce,” and it was produced in 2003 at the Goodman Theater in Chicago and the Kennedy Center in Washington.

During Mr. Prince’s absence from his creative life, Mr. Sondheim teamed up with a younger collaborator, James Lapine, and together they created the most cerebral works of Mr. Sondheim’s career. These included “Into the Woods,” which reimagined familiar children’s fairy tales into darker adult fables; “Passion,” a nearly operatic meditation on the nature of love; and “Sunday in the Park With George,” a work whose first act ingeniously creates the artistic process of the painter Georges Seurat as he produces his masterpiece, “A Sunday Afternoon on the Island of La Grande Jatte,” and whose second act jumps ahead a century to illustrate how a contemporary artist makes art in a more consumer-conscious age.

With no dancing and a slim plot, there was little of musical theater convention in the show, but, as Frank Rich wrote in The Times, it was startlingly original and deeply satisfying. “It’s anyone’s guess whether the public will be shocked or delighted by ‘Sunday in the Park,’ ” Mr. Rich wrote. “What I do know is that Mr. Sondheim and Mr. Lapine have created an audacious, haunting and, in its own intensely personal way, touching work.”

Image
Mr. Sondheim in his Manhattan home in 2009. In the history of the theater, only a handful could call him peer.
Credit...Piotr Redlinski for The New York Times

It was one of Mr. Sondheim’s most critically admired shows, running for 604 performances. And many critics and other Sondheim-ophiles found in it his most personal statement, as if he had used Seurat’s view of the artist’s life as a surrogate for his own. In the show’s signature song, “Finishing the Hat,” faced with the loss of the woman he loves because his devotion to painting has superseded his devotion to her, Seurat offers a sad but forceful paean to the joy of bringing original beauty into the world. It ends:

And when the woman that you wanted goes,

You can say to yourself, “Well, I give what I give.”

But the woman who won’t wait for you knows

That, however you live,

There’s a part of you always standing by,

Mapping out the sky,

Finishing a hat

Starting on a hat

Finishing a hat

Look, I made a hat

Where there never was a hat.

William McDonald contributed reporting.

November 22, 2021

The Enduring Appeal of “Dune” as an Adolescent Power Fantasy


 


By
Ed Park

The New Yorker

Pressed inside an old book of mine is a gray sheet of paper, folded in uneven quarters, titled “Dune Terminology.” On it, there are thirty-seven words and phrases, including a baffling array of place names (Giedi Prime, pronounced “Gee-dee”), machinery (ornithopter, a “small aircraft capable of sustained wing-beat flight in the manner of birds”), and rituals (kanly, a “formal feud or vendetta under the rules of the Great Convention”). Moviegoers with tickets to David Lynch’s “Dune,” which premièred December 14, 1984—I saw it on opening weekend at a mall, in suburban Buffalo—would have picked up the glossary from a stack as they entered the theatre, though the guide was unreadable in the dark, and it contained more than a few spoilers. To the novice, it must have looked like homework. It must have looked like no fun at all.

I didn’t need the cheat sheet—at fourteen, I was conversant with the “Dune”-iverse, having already read Frank Herbert’s best-selling science-fiction novel. By 1984, the book had sold over ten million copies and spawned four sequels. Focussing on the fifteen-year-old hero Paul Atreides, the story unfolds twenty thousand years in the future, on the desert planet of Arrakis, home to sandworms as big as spaceships, a group of guerrilla survivalists called the Fremen, and the coveted spice known as melange, which allows its users to “fold space”—a necessity for interstellar travel—and which colors the entirety of their eyes blue. “Dune” mesmerized me. I scribbled the Fremen rallying cry, “Ya hya chouhada,” in the margins of my notebooks and studied the vibrant cover painting, with its dozens of tiny people fleeing a rampant sandworm, its maw lit up like a jet engine. The movie couldn’t arrive fast enough.

Lynch’s adaptation, alas, was faithful yet disappointing. The corridors of power looked hypnotically ornate, but the outdoor scenes and battle sequences felt flattened and rushed. Sting—then the superstar frontman of the Police, riding high on “Synchronicity” and prominently featured in the film’s marketing—sneered for lack of lines. Linda Hunt stole one scene and then died. Max von Sydow had to say, “Remember to breathe in through your mouth and out through this nose tube.” Kyle MacLachlan, making his screen début as Paul Atreides, was definitely not fifteen. I folded up the sheet of “Dune Terminology,” a dispiriting souvenir, and exited into the cold night.

Herbert’s “Dune” was originally serialized in the science-fiction magazine Analog, and first produced in book form in 1965 by Chilton, a publisher better known for automotive manuals. The novel eventually entered the late-sixties Zeitgeist for its ecological, anti-imperialist overtones; the trippy properties of melange made it a drug story, too. In the preface of my chunky paperback edition, Herbert recalls his grand ambitions. “It was to be a story exploring the myth of the Messiah,” he writes, one that would “penetrate the interlocked workings of politics and economics.” He imagined an eco-fiction, in which “potable water was to be an analog for oil and water itself, a substance whose supply diminishes each day.” (The author was wary of charismatic leaders, with a particular disdain for John F. Kennedy and the cult of Camelot; in the fifties, Herbert had worked as a speechwriter for various Republican candidates.)

“Dune” is the epitome of world-building, packed with invented history, complex new-old religions (the Zensunni faith seems to meld Islam with Buddhism), and names and phrases informed by a slew of languages, most notably Arabic. The setting is so unforgiving that you can taste it; Fremen wear “stillsuits,” which recycle body waste into drinkable water. But what really hooked me—and countless teen-age boys before and since—from the very first chapter was Paul Atreides, the book’s messiah-in-waiting, whose family relocates to Arrakis from their lush home world of Caladan under imperial orders. Trained in combat by his father’s henchmen and in mental witchery by his mother, Lady Jessica, Paul masters his harsh surroundings and survives attempts on his life. His role as the chosen one is thrillingly realized, and by the book’s end he’s the most powerful figure in the universe. As an adolescent power fantasy, it doesn’t get much better than “Dune.”

Denis Villeneuve’s new, propulsive adaptation, fortunately, doesn’t need a glossary. The French-Canadian director has already revamped recent science-fiction cinema, interpreting worlds that originated with two of the genre’s best authors, in “Arrival” (based on a cerebral Ted Chiang story) and “Blade Runner 2049” (a sequel to Ridley Scott’s indelible imagining of Philip K. Dick). Those films are brooding and immaculately lit, with sparse plots. The storytelling in “Dune” is much denser but lucid at every turn; the dazzling, deadly sandscape is a character in itself. The omnipresent heat and arid, embattled vistas are at once prophecies of climate change and, inevitably, evocations of “Star Wars,” another series in which a young hero on a desert planet is tapped by a quasi-mystical sect to fulfill his revolutionary destiny. When Paul and his mother escape into the stillness of the desert, you half expect them to encounter Jawas, not Fremen. (David Lynch turned down the chance to direct “Return of the Jedi” and, in making his “Dune,” was determined not to shoot anything that would resemble the George Lucas rendition of outer space.)

Unlike Lynch or Alejandro Jodorowsky—the Chilean-French filmmaker who planned and failed to make a hallucinogenic twelve-hour version of “Dune” in the seventies—Villeneuve was a “Dune” fan from childhood, having come to the book at age thirteen. His connection to the material shows. The melancholy atmospheres of the alien-contact tale “Arrival” and the dystopian “Blade Runner” sequel are transmuted into a sort of interstellar emo, so that the dreams, fears, and ambitions of Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet) become as central to the film as the special effects and political skulduggery. Chalamet is twenty-five—the same age that Kyle MacLachlan was when Lynch’s “Dune” came out—but slighter, more vulnerable, closer to the “stringy whipcord of a youth” that Herbert describes.

Chalamet and Villeneuve bring verve and terror to the confrontation that opens the novel: a primal scene of teen-age powerlessness in the face of what appears to be arbitrary adult wickedness. The Reverend Mother of the Bene Gesserit, a notoriously strong, mostly female religious sect, commands Paul to place his hand in a strange box. When he asks what is inside the box, she replies, “Pain.” He complies with her command, while she holds a gom jabbar—a needle tipped with “meta-cyanide”—by his neck, ready to fatally stab him if he withdraws his hand. He’s in agony, imagining the flesh burning off his fingers. In the book, Paul resists the urge to withdraw by contemplating a Bene Gesserit saying that his mother taught him: “I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer.” (In Villeneuve’s staging, it’s Lady Jessica, played by Rebecca Ferguson, waiting anxiously outside the locked room, who murmurs the incantation.) When you’re a teen-ager, it can seem like authority figures are forcing you to do pointless, excruciating things all the time. The gom jabbar scene pushes this dynamic to an Expressionist extreme, turning up the volume all the way on both the indignity and the eventual victory.

A sad irony of Herbert’s life is that, for all his attunement to adolescent yearnings and worries, he was often a terrible father to his two sons. In “Dreamer of Dune,” a mostly proud but occasionally bitter 2003 biography, by Herbert’s elder son, Brian, the novelist is shown to have little understanding of children, which Brian attributes to his father’s own difficult childhood—as the son of two alcoholics, Herbert had to be self-reliant from an early age. At times, Herbert locked Brian and his brother Bruce out of the house so that their noise wouldn’t distract him from his writing. A stickler for language, he flew into a rage when they used the word “try,” just as House Atreides’s “warmaster,” Gurney Halleck, scoffs when Paul says that he’s not in “the mood” for sparring. In another colossal failure of parenting, Herbert would use a U.S. Navy lie detector on his sons “if anything came up, such as an item missing from his desk or questions about where I had been after school,” Brian writes.

Brian sees this practice reflected in the gom jabbar scene. It’s as if Herbert, the parent, couldn’t recognize the anguish he caused his sons—but Herbert’s fiction could, sublimating and allegorizing it. Paul’s triumphant emergence—the hand unscathed, his life spared—is a rebuke to the father-interrogator. Paul’s ability to face down the gom jabbar is a rite of passage into the world of adults, which can be cruel and mysterious even if you’re not the Kwisatz Haderach.

Villeneuve’s version renders this world as emotionally warmer than in past iterations. A moving early scene between Paul and his father, Duke Leto (Oscar Isaac), has a just-be-yourself vibe that is a far cry from the businesslike tête-à-tête of the novel. The duke’s right-hand men—Halleck (Josh Brolin), the swordmaster Duncan Idaho (Jason Momoa), and the security head Thufir Hawat (Stephen McKinley Henderson)—all serve as surrogate fathers to Paul. But the most important adult in Paul’s life is his mother, Lady Jessica. In Lynch’s version, she was a snooty cipher; in the new film, Ferguson makes her a true maternal presence and literal copilot—a concerned parent helping her teen-age son navigate his problems, albeit ones involving the fate of the universe. (Their interactions are at once fantastical and real, as when Paul throws a tantrum of the timeless I-didn’t-ask-to-be-born genre over the pressure he feels from the Bene Gesserit; later, before a big duel, Jessica blurts out that her son has never killed someone before.) Villeneuve and all of his players intuitively understand why “Dune” has remained so resonant for generations—they deliver a maximal teen-age power trip, made more believable by all-too-human details.