Much like real life, the Weeknd was heavily anticipated, and then proved to be a disappointment. In the quasi-autobiographical Hurry Up Tomorrow, Abel Tesfaye “plays” pop superstar the Weeknd, a musician on the verge of a nervous breakdown, only to have it get even worse.
Oh, but we have to get there, and there is a long, angsty journey ahead. In order to do so, the film runs two parallel stories that we know will eventually intersect. The first is about the Weeknd, surrounded by hype-men, sycophants, and random fans all screaming their approval while the performer himself delves into a black hole of self-hatred stemming from a bad break-up.
Speaking of bad break-ups, the parallel story involves psycho-fan Anima (Jenna Ortega), who ended her last relationship by setting fire to a house. Initially, the film isn’t clear that Anima hasn’t just ended her relationship with the Weeknd; it lets us guess that she might just be the girl who made him cry. Is this foreshadowing? A look at the future? Eventually we see Anima as just another fan at his concert. So much for that speculation.
Of course, getting anything to happen in this film is a chore. Does the film exist simply to sell Hurry Up Tomorrow, the Weeknd’s newest album? I wouldn’t be surprised. This production has “vanity film” written all over it.
So how did (non-actor) the Weeknd do in this 
psychological thriller? I think the Weeknd did fine on his own. When asked to summon the infinite void of angst, pain, and self-pity, the Weeknd proved -more-or-less- up to the task. Bravo. When asked to play off someone else, however, the Weeknd proved unable to match. We can see seasoned professionals Barry Keoghan and Jenna Ortega trying desperately to get the necessary reaction and coming up empty. In more than one sense here it feels like everybody’s workin’ for the Weeknd.
It takes about an hour, maybe longer, to get to the femme fatale plot. If you’ve seen Misery or Play Misty for Me, you’ve seen a better version of the same material. And the cringe-worthy idea that the plot of this film is a self-accusatory revelation of the Weeknd’s biggest hits explained in the context of failed relationships? Kinda stomach turning, TBH. This is the cinematic equivalence of masturbation. Gee, let’s make an entire movie entitled “The Boss” where Bruce Springsteen (as The Boss) is forced by torture to tell us the inspiration for “Born in the USA.” Do you see how that doesn’t really work? Or even if it did, how stomach-turning the idea is?
♪I’ve been tryna leave
I’ve been sitting long enough
Maybe you show more previews, maybe
I’m going through popcorn
Maybe I have had too much
Now my stomach that I clutch, baby
I spot the exit
It’s time to make a dash
No one can call my actions rash
Would rather walk out and be gone
I said, ooh, I’m frightened by these sights
Who told the Weeknd he could have a film?
I said, ooh, I’m gpnna start a fight
If you don’t let me out right now
(Hey, hey, hey) ♫
Rated R, 105 Minutes
Director: Trey Edward Shults
Writer: Reza Fahim, Trey Edward Shults, The Weeknd
Genre: “I just wrote an album”
Type of being most likely to enjoy this film: Fans of the Weeknd
Type of being least likely to enjoy this film: Fans of movies
♪ Parody Inspired by “Blinding Lights”
