This is Miller’s first film since “Mad Max: Fury Road” (2015), which sucked the breath from the lungs of innumerable viewers and struck them as the very definition of an action flick. His lower limbs, like Pan’s, are goatishly hirsute. Brisk and bobbed, neither a wife nor a mother, she lives in London but is currently in Istanbul, delivering a lecture on “Adventures in Narratology.” (That could be an alternative title for the film.) The vessel, unstoppered in her hotel bathroom, releases a djinn (Idris Elba), who has a soothing manner and pointed ears, one of which has had a bite taken out of it, perhaps in a magical catfight. Her name is derived from the Greek for “truth”-a quiet joke, given the tallness of the tales that she prefers. Time is of the essence in George Miller’s new movie, “Three Thousand Years of Longing,” and the essence is kept in a bottle, which is found in a Turkish bazaar by Alithea (Tilda Swinton). “Ten thousand years will give you such a crick in the neck!” he cries, sprung at last from his lamp. The opening statement of Robin Williams’s genie, in “Aladdin” (1992), tells of a painful detention. What matters is that, once you’re in the job, you’re there for life, although be warned: that life may not be as freewheeling as you’d like. Maybe you get a MacArthur Genie Grant or something.

How you become a genie is anyone’s guess.

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