It seems that every once in a while, George Miller makes something other than the enormously successful and celebrated Mad Max action films. That’s when he turns to another kind of filmmaking he likes — gentle, humorous, dark-edged fables. When that goes well, you get Babe or its sequel Babe: Pig in the City. When it doesn’t go well, you get Three Thousand Years of Longing.

Not that the film isn’t well-crafted. It’s beautifully shot by cinematographer John Seale, there are some pleasantly fantastical CGI effects, and the lead actors Tilda Swinton and Idris Elba are brilliant as always. I’m sure there are people of refined sensibilities with tolerance for slow-going narratives who will really enjoy this movie. But as for me, I couldn’t wait to bolt out of the theater into the fresh air.

There’s a certain kind of leaden, high-culture whimsy that I can’t stand at any price, and Three Thousand Years of Longing is Exhibit A. It’s based on a 1994 novella called The Djinn in the Nightingale’s Eye by A. S. Byatt, and Byatt is one of those universally revered authors that people who know about good literature urge me to read. I have a queasy smile for these occasions, and a vague, dutiful reply such as, “I know, I really have to read some A. S. Byatt,” right before I sidle to the door and run away.