A Thousand and One Review: An Electrifying Depiction of the Indignities of a City

A.V. Rockwell’s poignant, perceptive, and emotionally knotty A Thousand and One opens in 1993 as 23-year-old Inez (Teyana Taylor) is released from Riker’s Island after serving 18 months. She’s a fiercely determined young woman, as is evident from the way she struts around her Harlem neighborhood for the first time since being locked up. Rockwell films her in a low-angle tracking shot as she walks in front of a bright red building, accentuating both her fortitude and unbridled intensity, in one of many vibrant glimpses of Harlem’s ever-changing landscape from the ’90s through to the mid-2000s.

When Inez spots her six-year-old son, Terry (Aaron Kingsley Adetola), on the street, she tells him that she’s finally going straight, but the boy has clearly heard this before and, bitter about being stuck in a foster home, refuses to even meet her gaze as she attempts to earn his forgiveness. It’s a setup that practically begs for a traditional redemption arc in which Inez makes up for lost time and proves herself the perfect loving, providing mother.

Rockwell, though, isn’t interested in peddling a pat, moralistic, or feel-good narrative. Instead, the first-time feature filmmaker sets out to grittily and vigilantly probe the harsh realities of keeping a family safe and together in a part of New York where social and political structures are, at best, indifferent to its residents, and, at worst, actively seeking to rip families apart.

After learning that Terry hurt himself jumping out of a window trying to escape his foster home, Inez visits him in the hospital, attempting to rebuild their shattered bond. Initially set to take things slow, Inez ultimately makes the rash decision to kidnap her son, who’s now technically a ward of the state, after he quietly and tearfully asks, “Why do you keep leaving me?” It’s the kind of reckless yet deeply humane decision that Inez makes time after time throughout the film as she tries to protect Terry from an unforgiving world, as well as make things work with her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Lucky (Will Catlett), after he’s eventually released from prison.

While there are moments of harmony in this makeshift family, A Thousand and One remains keenly aware of the turbulence that arises from Inez’s decision to illegally take back her child. Shortly after kidnapping him, Inez gets a fake ID for Terry, now going by Darrell—a decision whose ripple-like effects can be subtly felt later on in his almost crippling lack of self-confidence. Meanwhile, Lucky struggles with his new and undesired role as Terry’s de facto father, which causes a perpetual tension between he and Inez, even as he grows closer to Terry over the years.

Inez, inevitably, is left to carry the heavy load of raising Terry while Lucky splits for weeks at a time whenever she pushes him to be more supportive. But despite Lucky’s shortcomings, Rockwell resists villainizing him, and, indeed, the filmmaker is consistently forgiving and egalitarian in placing blame, presenting each member of the family as complex, contradictory, and uniquely damaged, with both their strengths and flaws on full display.

Further bolstering the film’s acutely observed depiction of familial strife and unprocessed trauma is the remarkable specificity with which it represents Harlem. Throughout A Thousand and One, Rockwell interjects audio montages of speeches by former New York City mayors Rudy Giuliani and Mike Bloomberg, most notably the former’s “quality of life” speech, which led to policing like stop-and-frisk that disproportionately targeted Black and Latino men, Rockwell creates an expansive backdrop within which her otherwise small-scale story takes place.

As Terry grows up—and is played by Aven Courtney at age 13 and Josiah Cross at 17—we see his immediate surroundings drastically change as well. Police presence becomes more common and confrontational while signs of gentrification slowly begin to appear as white residents begin moving into Inez’s run-down apartment building. In one particularly penetrating juxtaposition, we see her new, white landlord, Jerry (Mark Gessner), turn from amiable and helpful in one scene to condescending and predatory in the next after his repairmen leave her apartment without a functioning bathroom. A similar, and perhaps even more devastating, turn occurs with one of Terry’s mentors at school, further cementing the precariousness of Inez and Terry’s stability in their community, particularly as the latter begins to approach adulthood.

A Thousand and One, like its main character, remains attuned to the complex and often contradictory workings of race in this country. It’s certainly the primary reason that Inez has grown so fiercely protective of Terry, cordoning him and herself off from the very institutions supposedly designed to help them. And with her stellar, star-making performance, Taylor richly embodies all of Inez’s own contradictions, as well as her deep-seated anger, love, and frustrations with the struggles she faces. Through both the strength of this central performance, and the film’s dynamic depiction of a vibrant community, A Thousand and One brims with authenticity and the electrifying emotional intensity of the best melodramas.