Three Thousand Years of Longing

George Miller has had a hell of a career. Much of his film work has revolved around the Mad Max franchise, but he's done a variety of work such as Happy Feet and The Witches of Eastwick. It's an eclectic mix which has led to his most eclectic film yet, Three Thousand Years of Longing. Although it's not his best work, Three Thousand Years seems to be a deeply personal film.

There are many idiosyncratic choices throughout Three Thousand Years which mark it as a passion project; it wouldn't be surprising to learn that the film languished in development hell or lacked the proper budgeting for its globe trekking story. Whatever the case, the joy for the material is evident, alongside some extremely obtuse and unrelatable elements. It's a strange film full of strange choices, zippy enough to be enjoyed in the moment but too jumbled for satisfactory mental congealment after the fact.

The film follows Alithea, a narrative scholar who uncorks The Djinn, a mystical being who has been imprisoned multiple times over thousands of years. The Djinn recants his history to Alithea, detailing the many loves and tragedies he has catalyzed in three ancient societies. Alithea must choose her own three wishes to fulfill her soul's most inner desire and help free The Djinn for all time.

There's much to unpack and many varyingly effective elements, but Miller dooms himself from the start with an awkward and forced framing device. Although the bulk of the story is The Djinn's, the film forces Alithea's point of view early, kicking off with one of her scholarly lectures and mind-numbing narration. The perspective is ostensibly chosen to build her character, but it's so far removed from the meat of the film that the viewer is immediately jarred when the gears shift.

The crux of the Three Thousand Years takes place in flashback, until it shifts again from The Djinn's vantage to Alithea's contemporary life, which is just as unsatisfying as the opening act; firstly because The Djinn is a more interesting character in every regard, and secondly because there's no thematic or narrative foothold anchoring the audience. We're thrust in, taken out, and thrust in again without explanation or purpose. Additionally, I pray we're not slipping back into years just prior when nearly every film opened with narration. Narration can kick rocks.

Three Thousand Years opens and closes wobbly, but the majority of the film works because the narrative is taken out of Alithea's hands and placed into The Djinn's. Idris Elba's Djinn is a sympathetic and vulnerable figure. He's a perfect physical choice for the role, strong enough to give off an aura of invincibility and inherent strength, but compassionate and fragile enough to create a sense of danger and powerlessness. His deep, silky voice is also perfect, because the film is essentially a spoken word album with accompanying visuals.

Although narration should kick rocks, his perpetual monologue is necessary to keep Miller's intended pace, his dialogue isn't gratingly mystical or overwrought, and he tells his story in a controlled and relaxed manner. As far as narration goes, it's a reasonable middle ground.

There may be a cut of Three Thousand Years wherein the fat is eliminated, narration is removed, and we simply watch The Djinn's story unfold in a more natural and visual style...but there may also be a cut wherein the story is unchanged, the narration is removed, and the viewer never has a prayer of figuring out what the hell is going on. Again, this version is a reasonable middle ground.

Among the chief pleasures of Three Thousand Years' high points are the unpredictability of the tales and the ever-shifting dynamics of power through the ages. Period piece politics are always fun because viewers are treated to the many elaborate and savage methods ancient monarchs used to keep power before the iron rule of law. Watching the uncertainty, paranoia, betrayal, and succession of each era unfurl is a blast, and the vignettes possess a streamlined, concise quality which the film as a whole lacks. Throwing a Djinn into the cutthroat mix doesn't hurt the intrigue either.

Miller's direction is also assured and dynamic. There are a host of camera movements, some subtle, some not, which keep the viewer engaged and alert. There are dozens of stylized scene and shot transitions which broaden the scope of the film and aid in its impressive continuity.

For all the magic, mischief, and mayhem of the tales, the affair could've become deliriously ungrounded or unconvincing, like recent MCU films, but Miller knows (perhaps better than anyone) how to establish and accentuate atmosphere among utter madness. Editor Margaret Sixel also deserves praise for allowing the film to breathe.

The atmosphere of the film is laudable, and the costume and set designs are creatively amusing, but there is a visual nag throughout. The CGI here is plentiful and terrible. It's used for cobwebs, bottles, battles, and feet, among other things, and it's distractingly amateur every time. All of Miller's practical effects bravado from Mad Max: Fury Road is totally, glaringly absent here. In a film impressively managing to keep its artifice at bay through convincing mise-en-scene, the computer effects frequently threaten to crash the illusion. Do we really need CGI cobwebs?

Three Thousand Years is enjoyable in the theater, but its charm quickly dissipates after the projector flickers off. The story is glaringly disjointed on a micro and macro scale. Because the film never establishes a tone or context, the viewer is forced to create one, orienting themselves as the plot flies by - focus is nonexistent.

Motivations are also extremely hazy; Alithea's perspective and inclinations turn on a dime, jolting the film into its third act without rhyme or reason. Even much of The Djinn's story is cobbled together and somewhat rushed. The audience is given a plethora of details, but the eye and mind aren't drawn to anything in particular. Characters are hastily introduced and abandoned within The Djinn's tales and subplots are meticulously constructed for meager payoffs.

Overall, Three Thousand Years of Longing is a unique and simple idea stretched to and beyond its limitations. The film feels both overly developed and like a first draft, connecting several threads without creating intention or meaning. It's a bizarre, frustrating tradeoff. Miller's visual finesse is refreshing, and the relatively low stakes are a relief, but the story is monstrously cluttered.

The film is uncanny, even among Miller's uncanny filmography, and its strangeness may unfortunately turn off many in the general public. That's a shame, as this type of bold vision and passion for the craft should be celebrated and supported. If you have any interest in seeing something outside the box, give it a shot, because there's honestly no telling how you'll respond - a dwindling sentiment.