For the most part, the film is a clichéd train-wreck that proves that bloated misfires unite the entire world cinematically. Beyond the Clouds must be seen to be believed. It is the next frontier of camp—a hyper-self-serious meditation that stumbles time after time into laughably ponderous territory. If you are interested in new dimensions of badness then you won’t regret checking it out.
Beyond the Clouds, like Identification of a Woman before it, comes closer to pornography in its voyeurism than any of Antonioni’s earlier works, but paradoxically it also winds up finding desire even more erotic when it remains unfulfilled — if only because that leaves more imaginative options open.