A film review by Craig J. Koban September 29 , 2022

THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING

2022, R, 108 mins.

Tilda Swinton as Alithea Binnie  /  Idris Elba as Genie  /  Ece Yüksel as Gülten  /  Zerrin Tekindor as Kösem  /  Erdil Yaşaroğlu as Prof. Günhan  /  Kaan Guldur as Young Murad IV  /  David Collins as Jocular Storyteller  /  Alyla Browne as Young Alithea  /  Nicola Mouawad as King Solomon  /  Angie Tricker as Narratologist

George Miller's THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING - his first film since his multiple Oscar winning MAD MAX: FURY ROAD - is a wondrously ambitious, stylistically audacious, and dramatically potent romantic fantasy that taps into a story concerning love, myth, and the desire for connection.  The fact that Miller has made a film with an extraordinary visual density should come of no surprise whatsoever (his last MAD MAX sequel was arguably one of the finest engineered action blockbusters of all time), but what really surprised me here with THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING is that this is an ultra rare adult fantasy about troubled adult characters that's essentially made to cater to adult audiences.  That's something that the genre rarely, if ever, affords modern audiences these days.  On top of that, Miller's fantasy is infused with two memorably empowered performances by both Tilda Swinton and Idris Elba, who combine to give the film an enthralling dramatic pathos.   

Swinton plays Alithea Binnie, a depressed and lonely British scholar that specializes as a "narratologist", or a studier of mythological stories, fables, and legends.  She's a clear-cut expert in her field, and she commits to her profession with a steely eyed determination, but deep down she's a shy introvert that would rather not be around the company of people in general.  Early in the film she arrives in Istanbul for a prestigious conference, but during said conference she begins to experience some rather weird phenomenon.  Strange visions and ominous spirits begin popping into her line of sight, which causes her some momentary panic.  After brushing that off she decides to take in some of the local establishments and purchases a strange looking bottle at an antique dealership.  When she arrives back at her posh hotel room - which, incidentally, is the same room that Agatha Christie used to write DEATH ON THE NILE - she decides to more thoroughly inspect the bottle, and in no due time after rubbing it gently a massive genie - or djinn - emerges (Elba), whose ghostly form is so enormous that it literally fills up the room, even while in the crouched position.  For a decorated narratologist, having Djinn appear before her eyes is almost like a professional wish fulfillment fantasy, and when she quickly realizes that she's not hallucinating in any way and that Djinn is very much real, she decides to press him for information.  After communicating with him in his ancient language - and establishing English as their mutual form of correspondence - Alithea learns of Djinn's centuries old entombment in the bottle, and because she freed him she is now granted three wishes. 

It's at this point in THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING when audiences think they know exactly where the story and the relationship between Alithea and Djinn is going, that is until Miller and his co-screenwriter Augusta Gore (adapting the 1994 short story THE DJINN IN THE NIGHTINGALE'S EYE) pull the rug out from all of us.  Instead of Alithea immediately making her wishes, she opts - like all good scholars - to reach out to what has become the gold mine of subjects and press him for information: Who is he?  Where did he come from?  And more crucially, what's his story?  She wants to know everything.  Djinn, on the other hand, simply wants her to ask him for the three prescribed wishes (but only if they are her true heart's desire) so that he can be finally free of his imprisonment.  But because Alithea is the world's foremost authority on myth, she wisely understands the inherent pratfalls of making wishes in these types of narratives.  She would prefer not to make any wishes whatsoever, citing that if she did they would be selfishly inconsequential, but she's coaxed in a bit by Djinn's insistence that they can only be granted if they have passionate meaning.  Nevertheless, Alithea initially balks and decides to press her newfound friend for his backstory.  He begrudgingly, but politely acquiesces.   

Miller and Gore's script here is not only atypically refined and observant, but also patient and nurturing when it comes to developing this strange and beguiling relationship between the narratologist and Djinn.  Because of Alithea's profession, her pushing of Djinn for his origin particulars insatiably wets her appetite, and THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING delves into meta territory, in a way, for how it becomes a story about storytelling itself.  Or simply put, Djinn begins to relay multiple tales - divided up into multiple chapters in the film - that explore his pre-in-bottle existence, which Alithea believes is a necessity before she can even begin to ask this mystical being for any wishes.  Djinn narrates these individual stories of his time granting wishes to various people across various time periods and cultures, with the common thread being that of hubris and tragedy involving the wisher.  THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING becomes surprisingly and robustly philosophical in its outlook as we see Alithea and Djinn swapping stories about who they are and what meaning they've derived from life, but it becomes clear that Djinn's experiences are so incalculably dense and far reaching in perceived time that it makes Alithea's troubles seem inconsequential by comparison. 

With a lesser director at the helm, the notion of having a film that mostly involves a woman and a genie talking in a one-setting location - a hotel room - would seem endlessly dull and pedestrian, but because Miller is a bravura cinematic visualist he elevates THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING well above the simplicity of this premise in his re-creation of Djinn's stories in the past.  Many of the vignettes are masterpieces of arresting, dreamlike imagery and haunting dread.  The core, again, to many of these tales is the individual wisher's self-centeredness, which ends with the wishes themselves never really working out for the best (this is why Alithea is so guarded when it comes to asking for the wishes right from the get-go).  Some of these tales are also unexpectedly gruesome and violent, which is a rarity in the PG-13-ified landscape of contemporary movie fantasy genre.  I don't want to talk too much about Djinn's many narratives, other than to say that Miller is in complete command of his filmmaking prowess, combining staggering set-pieces, exquisite production and costume design, and some thanklessly fleshed out and robust VFX work (on a relatively small budget) that makes these stories simmer with so much immediacy and aesthetic authority.   And there's thematic weight and variety in Djinn's stories to match the film's eye popping visual tapestry.  Some dig deep into passion and others into jealous.  Some of them are more romantic and others dive into gluttony and pride.  THREE THOUSAND YEARS OF LONGING is not only a sumptuous feast for the senses, but it has something legitimately powerful to say about the stories themselves and the whole fine art of storytelling.   

Ultimately, Miller's fantasy is actually far less concerned with action and spectacle (even though it absolutely contains those elements), but is rather about the interaction between the lost soul that is Alithea and her unusual new companion, and as the story progresses both begin to gradually let their respective emotional guards down to each other.  It's also a film about an insatiably curiosity with the past and a cautionary morality play about how we can learn from it, albeit fine tuned through a fantastical lens.  I can't think of two better lead actors for this film than Swinton and Elba, with the former being pitch-perfectly cast as her fearlessly intelligent academic that's also uncomfortable within her own skin; she's really a sad and vulnerable being beneath her cold book smart facade.  And Elba continues to demonstrate time and time again how he can effortlessly tap into just about any role and any genre with relatively ease and without breaking a sweat in the process.  He gives Djinn the necessary imposing gravitas that's required from the role, but he also shows his immortal character as one that's world weary and melancholic to his core.  Like a Morgan Freeman before him, Elba has an ethereally smooth and commanding voice that can take charge of any film and serve as an instantly authoritative narrator that makes it easy for us to get lost in his words. 

And also consider this: Miller is 77-years-old, and he's making films with more life and vitality than many directors half his age.