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.

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.

So what's it about ? Ahh, it's about how the world after WW2 is going to be without love. No. It's about the woman being treated unfairly in the west and the east. No. It's about the human being who can't find love yet; namely the desperate moment of living lonely whether with a dying educated who stopped making love, or a stud uncivilized who doesn't stop making love! At any rate, IT'S UNBEARABLE FILM. So it doesn't have the slightest ability to make me interest in whatever it says ! I didn't find anything interesting at all. I hated to see (Debra Winger), one of her generation's best actresses and beauties, in wasted time like this. The sufferance of her character was incredibly overmatched by ours during the watching. The pace is dead with nothing going on and long shots for the dark deserts. (Bernardo Bertolucci) fell in such a ridiculous love with the Arabian nights, shooting the moon from maybe 90 angles (these shots, great basis for tourist calendar, are really the only thing here to call perfect!). I bet he originally wanted to make a movie about the east's magic and vagueness (his east's magic and vagueness), however with the totally wrong material.I don't need to say that this is the meanest place to meet Arabian characters. They're all : pimps, thieves, whores, sex maniacs, mad women; it tells you a lot about who were the persons that the author went to meet in his trips for the east, if there was any !On the other hand the western characters are badly portrayed too. The old lady, her pathetically gay son, ..etc. But anyway, if this film wanted to show an ugly world then it did, but for what purpose ?!! If it was about the search for satisfaction as endless, then it's where I was eventually unsatisfied indeed ! There is something to be said, however it's shatteringly said. By the way, it has no end. I mean it's not good or bad, it's not even there. And yeah, the appearance of (Paul Bowles), the author of the book, at the end is one of the most embarrassing moments in the history of cinema; I believe the film didn't demand to be more surreal !Some might see that (Bertolucci) is a genius. After watching some of his works, I don't. In fact he's far from being one. There is lust and loss in his films, but mostly a lust for the loss of any good meaning or art along the way too !In general, a good story it ain't. A soft porn it strongly aspires after. An arty film about alienation it could be, yet so heavily done. Now, let me depose my objective alter ego to declare it frankly; whether it's (The Sheltering Sky), (Tea in the Desert), or even (The Sheltering Tea) it ended up as boring and worst of all pointless. It's not "I hate this film", rather "this is a film to hate" !P.S: While the film takes place in north of Africa during the 1940s, at one moment we hear in the streets an Arabian song by the great Egyptian composer/singer (Mohamed Abd El-Wahab), it's "Min Ger Leeh" or "Without Why" which actually belongs to the year of 1990, being the last one he ever sang!

Those who haven't read the novel will be left bewildered. A married American couple (John Malkovich and Debra Winger) travel through North Africa in search of themselves and the desert, and find their relationship threatened by the vastness of the strange landscapes - and by a lecherous companion.Director Bernardo Bertolucci captures the forbidding beauty of the Sahara quite stunningly, but while the film is utterly ravishing to look at, its characters are stiff, self-regarding and unlikable, their predicament is far from compelling, and the psychological drama of Paul Bowles's novel never quite surfaces.