Too much of everything

Great example of an old-fashioned, pure-at-heart escapist event movie that doesn't pretend to be anything that it's not and has boat loads of fun being its own ludicrous self.

The movie's neither hopeful in contrived ways, nor hopeless in different contrived ways. Somehow it manages to be wonderful

An old-fashioned movie made with new-fashioned finesse.

Ultimately, The Sheltering Sky is too long; a film that wears out its welcome when it removes, for its third act, what made it so interesting for its first two. This is before stripping its resources bearer still for the very final few dozen minutes when further dynamics and characters are removed thus killing it off even more. One senses Bertolucci should have pulled the plug earlier than he did, some time before we're left with hanging shots of the intense African desert and those that inhabit it; the likes of whom the lone central character still left in the film falls in with, someone who then somewhat oddly comes to find a degree of liberation once this has happened. It isn't a bad film by any means, quite the opposite. For the most time, it's engrossing; a film about a relationship being strained and tested in an equally testing climate and locale, but when it decides to remove its love rival to this central tryst, the thematic flags; when the comic relief is removed in equal turn, Bertolucci is no longer able to demonstrate his acute ability to switch from tone to tone. The film falls as a result; the performances take over, the thing becomes an acting piece more-so a directorial piece: the marriage has been studied, played out and depicted - what we're left with is not as interesting.The scenario of matrimony in question is shared between Americans Port and Kit Moresby, played respectively by John Malkovich and Debra Winger. They are two people who arrive in a dusty, French speaking North African nation by boat from, what we assume from the use of found footage during the immediate opening, the city of New York. They do not see themselves as "tourists" in as much they see themselves "travellers", but such a challenging of a specific definition between two things, of which may as well mean the same thing anyway, essentially sets up the gradual unravelling of the marriage via the same intrinsic thing: the ambiguity over the definitions of whether Port and Kit any longer enjoy one another's presence. They are visiting this place with a friend called George Turner (Scott), a man whose presence threatens to wreck the Moresby's time here in so much Kit appears to take to him and Port is mostly suspicious of them as a pair.Propping up proceedings is a middle-aged Englishman named Eric (Spall), who's in and around our centred triangle with his mother, played by Jill Bennett: a professional travels guide writer and comic relief: "Spain!" she bellows. "Nothing but soldiers, priests and Jews!" Upon arrival, the Moresby's attempt to create share sort of intimacy is ruined when Kit brings up Turner and speaks well of his features. Things are not aided during this early awkward time when the general intimacy of the hotel is as prominent as it is, and Port feels the need to frequent a sex worker out of his frustrations born out of Kit's actions. Further distrust appears when both individuals take differing routes to a new hotel, a place to stay deeper still into this territory which gradually becomes more and more barren and away from any sort of urban congregation. Their scenes of philosophising and love making play out to a musical score consisting of a drum more broadly resembling a funeral death march, reiterating the potential their bond has to wreck itself.There is genuine room to enjoy the film as this piece of cinema depicting a love triangle as those involved trek across the unforgiving Saharan desert, and Bertolucci does well to correlate the people doing the mileage as the marriage itself struggles with the burden. There isn't much behind revealing that Turner and Kit do indeed connect with one another to an extent that would be thoroughly detrimental to any marriage should what transpire transpires here. The suspicions and such Port has for these two never explodes into anything overtly melodramatic, in fact we enjoy the film's maintain of it as this simmering object: never allowing for immediate, obligatory dramatic resolution as one party goes mad at another over things we're already aware of for meek domestic, dramatic kicks; something that would render it more reminiscent of a soap opera than this sweeping, period set, a million-miles-from-home desert-based piece.Later on, when Turner is removed from the film, the weight of this distrust and anxiety can only carry the film for so long. As mentioned, one senses the film wearing out its welcome as thematic and dramatic concentration are substituted for a more wandering; less congealed procession of sweeping Saharan compositions and the strength of the performances. Bertolucci's direction is assured; someone who really grounds out this atmosphere wherein events are moving slowly and we trudge through this hot, lazy place with this marriage additionally appearing to do likewise; this is without the film ever really feeling as if it too is doing the same. No doubt the film will displease some, but this is worth sticking out in the long run – it's just a shame one has to use a term along the lines of "long run" in the first place.

Not exactly a Biopic in the proper sense of the word, but an adaption of the autobiographical and massively dramatised novel by the American author, composer and translator Paul Frederic Bowles (December 30, 1910 – November 18, 1999). In 1947 Bowles settled in Morocco, with his wife, Jane Bowles (February 22, 1917 – May 4, 1973) who was an American writer and playwright in her own right. Not having read the book, it's too difficult to me to comment on its truthfulness, however we know that Paul Bowles was cooperating with the screenwriters, it is he who is narrating the film and even appears in a cameo role. It's the story about a couple's search for stimulation not only within their fading passion and closeness but also for their creativity and productivity. Ultimately, from the personal point of view, this turns out to be a sad enterprise, thinking that the constant traveling and external visual changes would rekindle their evaporated love and disconnection; it's a shortsighted forced-upon chase after illusions. John Malkovich and Debra Winger are not the usual Hollywood-like physically attractive love couple 'a la Barbie and Ken' nevertheless it was beautifully exciting to watch them perpetually connect and disconnect mentally and physically. As soon as the protagonist dies, that's when the biopic turns into fiction, as Bowles kept on living till 1999. I was wondering if he wrote this scenario as a sort of a metaphor reflecting on his own life and dismantling relationship.From the famous and truly extraordinary Italian cinematographer, Vittorio Storaro's view, this is a declaration of love to Morocco and its impressive and breathtaking landscapes, culture and nomadic life; a magnificent visual feast and one may even smell all the spices, swatting flies, feel the grit of sand between the teeth, start sweating and get one's blood boiling, not only due to the local heat but also to the carnal sultriness, whilst watching the screen! Full frontal nudity and a few sensual yet tasteful very erotic scenes and therefore I rate it 16+.The gorgeous main-theme of the soundtrack is a total tearjerker to me...for sentimentalists only!Noticed that they drink a lot of MUMM Champagne, oh! how French, and that Eric Vu-An, famous Ballet dancer and ex Etoile de L'Opera de Paris had a secondary very seductive role in this typical Bertolucci epic.

Two post-WWII Manhattan sophisticates who travel to avoid standing still embark on a soul-searching expedition into the Sahara Desert, where the beautiful but desolate landscapes provide a mirror to their own troubled relationship. The film is nothing if not exotic, presenting some of the purest visions of the desert since Peter O'Toole first rode a camel in 'Lawrence of Arabia'. But the scenario works best when presented as an ethnic travelogue, ushering viewers into an utterly foreign world. The messy marital plot conflicts are, by comparison, all rather vague, especially after Debra Winger goes native in a Bedouin harem. The story never really finds an ending, because there isn't anything to resolve: the characters all exist in a (handsomely photographed) vacuum, and their motivations are even more mysterious than the Arab culture surrounding them. The intrusive (and, as usual, unnecessary) voice-over narration is by novelist Paul Bowles himself, briefly glimpsed in the film's opening scenes.

Bertolucci's superb The Conformist is one of my all-time favourites, meaningful, succinct, powerful and erotic. The Sheltering Sky is not quite up there with it, it seduces the senses with visual grandeur, rather than emotional significance. Set in North Africa shortly after WW2, not too distant in time frame from his masterpiece, it is not so much an epic without a plot or a love story as some have suggested, it's more a parable, but it needed deeper motivational elements for its' central characters to compel.The majestic dunes of the Sahara, stark beauty of a barren landscape, is beautifully captured, as is the slim sensuality of Debra Winger; she doesn't seem to mind too much about the sand and flies getting everywhere - in one scene, a fly surreptitiously wanders along her thigh and up her dress during love-making with her husband in the desert - an unpaid extra, who nevertheless, contributes to the realism. In my neck of the woods, flies always demand rehearsal fees.What is it with Italian directors and sex in the desert? Think Antonioni's Zabriskie Point, an artistic orgy, mind - not a fly in sight! Believe me, there are plenty here - not just up Ms Winger's dress, but buzzing around buses, in hair, on faces, attacking raw meat on sale in markets, everywhere.John Malkovitch, as the husband, doesn't provide any reason for his professorial ambiguity - married to a beautiful woman, trying to reignite their relationship, but as soon as the opportunity arises, exploring North African prostitution with a wholly non academic interest. And the character of George Tunner, their part-time fellow-American travelling companion, captivated and at the mercy of Debra's charms, seems unaware or unconcerned by at least one of the Ten Commandments - quite a big thing in those days - why, Cecil B. DeMille even made a film about them.I like meaningful films, I liked this one, in spite of - or maybe because of - it's significance being at best eclectic, and perhaps confused. When any movie character does anything, you have to ask why. Here, you shrug your shoulders and wistfully wonder, why not? Luscious landscapes are more for painters. The images here needed more cohesion and purpose behind them. But they are images to enhance your spirituality, eventually providing a warm glow, even in an ultimately dismal context.