John Malkovich was annoying in Deepwater Horizon and Dangerous Liaisons, but I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe it was just the roles, I reasoned. But no, he’s equally annoying and repulsive in this film too. I have an almost animal dislike of his voice, his face and even his walk.
It’s the 1940s. Kit Moresby (Debra Winger) and her husband Port (Malkovich) are travelling in northern Africa. They are accompanied by their friend Tunner (Campbell Scott) and repeatedly encounter an eccentric English mother and son (Jill Bennett and Timothy Spall), who add little to the narrative.
As various episodes unfold and relationships become strained, you wonder what the point of their trip is. The couple clearly get little pleasure from travelling or from each other, and this makes for a film that feels uncomfortably slow and unrewarding. As their situation worsens you begin to sympathise with Kit, but every scene feels ponderous. A crossing-the-desert-by-camel interlude is needlessly drawn out, possibly just as an excuse to show off the admittedly remarkable scenery. Period detail and local authenticity are repeatedly prioritised over pace or momentum.
It’s based on the classic novel by Paul Bowles, who awkwardly narrates some of the action (not even reading his lines very well) and who has a pointless cameo as an elderly man in a café. His part, like so many things about the film, just doesn’t work.
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