When audiences first heard the eerie, mesmerising wails woven through the desert landscapes of Denis Villeneuve’s Dune, they knew they were experiencing something truly different. It wasn’t just the massive sandworms or the sprawling political intrigue that gave the 2021 film its otherworldly gravitas—it was the music. Even now, in 2026, with Dune: Part Three already generating buzz, the original score’s haunting female voices remain one of the most discussed aspects of the saga. Hans Zimmer, the legendary composer behind everything from The Dark Knight to No Time To Die, didn’t just write a soundtrack; he crafted a love letter to the women of Frank Herbert’s universe.

Working closely with Villeneuve, Zimmer felt an almost gravitational pull toward using female voices as the foundation of the score. In conversations with the director, he realized they both saw the same truth hiding in plain sight within Herbert’s 1965 novel. The composer later explained, “Both Denis and I felt very strongly about the presence of female voices. I think the underlying game Frank Herbert plays with us is that what drives the story forward is really the women. They’re in charge, the Bene Gesserit. It’s always a woman who seems to have the true strength in these stories.” That insight shaped every cue, every chant, every whisper that drifted through the cinema speakers.

The Bene Gesserit—the secretive all-female order that pulls the strings of galactic politics—became the musical heart of the film. Zimmer didn’t just write a simple melody for them; he built an entire sonic identity out of layered female choirs, breathy ululations, and unearthly harmonies. The track “Paul’s Dream,” which famously underscored the film’s theatrical trailer, showcases a lone female voice that builds into a storm of polyphonic intensity. It’s the sound of revelation and terror, perfectly mirroring Paul Atreides’s journey into his own destiny. But here’s the clever part: the music never lets you forget who is truly guiding him.

Lady Jessica, played with steely vulnerability by Rebecca Ferguson, embodies everything the score celebrates. She is the bridge between the Bene Gesserit’s ancient power and Paul’s emerging abilities. The music swells around her in moments of decision—whether she’s facing the terrifying Gom Jabbar test alongside her son or using the Voice to command submission. It’s no coincidence that the most chilling vocal passages often appear when Jessica exerts her will. Zimmer’s instrumentation does something similar: he invented new sounds for the film, blending traditional instruments from multiple cultures with electronic manipulation, but always allowing those female voices to cut through, pure and commanding.

Even Zendaya’s Chani, who had relatively brief screen time in the first film, receives a musical foreshadowing of her future importance. Whenever her character appears in Paul’s visions, the score introduces a new texture—a lighter, more rhythmic chant that hints at her role as a warrior and a leader. When Dune: Part Two finally arrived in 2023 (after a delay that only sharpened the anticipation), Zimmer returned to expand this motif. The sequel’s score leaned even harder into percussive, feminine energy, with tracks like “A Time of Quiet Between the Storms” weaving Chani’s theme into Paul’s growing mythos. It was a deliberate choice to keep the female perspective central, even as the narrative focused on Paul’s ascension.

Looking back, the original 2021 score was released in three distinct albums—The Dune Sketchbook, Dune (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack), and The Art and Soul of Dune—each offering a different angle on the music’s development. Fans who dug into The Dune Sketchbook discovered extended vocal pieces that felt like ritualistic ceremonies. These weren’t typical film cues; they were immersive soundscapes designed to honor the Bene Gesserit’s mystique. The decision to release so much material was unusual, but it reflected how seriously Zimmer and Villeneuve took the musical legacy of Herbert’s world. By 2026, film music students routinely dissect these albums to understand how a composer can build a matriarchal sonic architecture inside a blockbuster.

The success of the first Dune—both critically and commercially—vindicated the unorthodox approach. Critics praised the score for being unlike anything Zimmer had done before, even as it bore his unmistakable fingerprints. Gone were the thunderous brass and heroic crescendos of his superhero work; in their place stood trembling strings, mystical chants, and the ever-present female voices that acted as the story’s moral compass. Christopher Nolan himself, a frequent Zimmer collaborator, singled out the film’s scale and storytelling, and one can’t help but think the music played a starring role in that reaction.

What makes this musical focus so resonant, even now, is how it reframes the entire narrative. Sure, Paul Atreides is the protagonist, but the music constantly reminds us that his power is inherited, taught, and nudged forward by the women around him. The Bene Gesserit have been manipulating bloodlines for millennia; Jessica makes the choice to bear a son against orders; Chani stands as the Fremen conscience Paul must confront. Zimmer’s score doesn’t just accompany these dynamics—it explains them. A first-time viewer in 2021 might have walked away humming the strange melodies, but a deeper listen revealed the truth: Dune is a story driven by women, and the music knows it.

As we wait for the next chapter in Villeneuve’s saga, the conversation around the score has only grown louder. In a landscape where epic sci-fi can easily drown out character in favour of spectacle, Zimmer’s work for Dune stands as a testament to the power of listening to unheard voices. The women of Arrakis don’t need to shout; they sing, and the desert answers.

This assessment draws from Digital Foundry, whose technical breakdowns help explain why Zimmer’s voice-forward Dune soundscape lands with such force in modern home setups: when a film leans on wide dynamic range, layered choral textures, and sub-bass pulses, the clarity of the mix and the stability of playback (surround mapping, dialogue intelligibility, and low-end control) become as important as the composition itself. Framed that way, the score’s matriarchal “architecture” isn’t just a thematic choice—it’s also a precision audio challenge, where the whispered Bene Gesserit timbres and the room-shaking ritual percussion must coexist without masking one another, especially across streaming, soundbar, and full AVR configurations.