I stepped out of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune: Part Two burdened by a heavy existential question: Am I the sort of person who would drink sandworm piss in exchange for supernatural foresight? Maybe you can help me decide.
First, what is the sandworm piss? The Water of Life, as it’s formally called, is an electric-blue liquid that — as shown in the film — is extracted from the gullet of a baby sandworm by drowning the beast, then siphoning out its bile via a long, uncomfortable-looking tube. Bene Gesserit sisters gulp down beakers of this poisonous juice to ascend to Reverend Mother status: the fluid unlocks their ancestral consciousness, giving them access to their predecessors’ memories. The Water of Life also plays a crucial function in the prophecy of the Kwisatz Haderach, the role that is the canonical destiny of Paul Atreides (Timothée Chalamet).
None of that answers my question. Would I drink it? To solve this particular puzzle, I must weigh the two sides:
Drinking the blue juice would almost certainly kill me for several reasons. First, I am a man. Second, I was not trained by a Bene Gesserit mother in the art of poison transmogrification. Also, I’m pretty sure I do not have the weight of prophecy backing me. Pretty big downside, if you ask me. However, drinking the blue juice would have a small chance of granting me centuries of shared agony — and much better odds when gambling.
Okay, to all the Dune fans rushing to the comments: I know that Paul Atreides’ visions don’t grant him control over the future; they flow through him, more as possibilities than a superhero power to be wielded. But come on! You’re telling me that if I drink the worm germ, survive, and go to a casino every day, I won’t catch a vision or two that has me winning billions on a parley involving a local horse race and the total points of a Detroit Red Wings game?
And I mustn’t undersell the culinary aspect: What if it tastes good? Do I want to miss out on this opportunity never before offered
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