A global superstar experiencing an active downfall – whether physically or mentally – is a story that has been told a million times. Hurry Up Tomorrow makes it a million and one, and does nothing to warrant its inclusion in the high-potential subgenre. The 106-minute runtime acts as an examination of the addiction he has to fame and his natural tendencies to cure all potential problems with prescription pills, booze, and random sex but comes across as an aggravating, pompous, and self-congratulatory narrative about the singular nature of his fame and gifts; something that is already difficult for audiences to latch on to but is exacerbated by some of the strikingly awkward moments in the movie.
The Weeknd, now Abel Tesfaye, is no stranger to the limelight. He’s amassed over 79 billion total streams on Spotify with his nearly 15-year-long music career and has, in recent years, been indulging in his presence on the silver screen; firstly with his cameo in the Safdie Brothers’ Uncut Gems in 2019, then with his critically-maligned 2023 vanity project from Sam Levinson titled The Idol, and now most recently with his album tie-in film Hurry Up Tomorrow. The album, which came out in January of this year, reiterates themes that are nothing new to his music in loneliness, self-destruction, and agony. Themes that undoubtedly transfer to the Trey Edward Shults (an A24 constant with his projects Krisha, It Comes At Night, and most famously Waves) directed film, albeit in ways not flattering in the least.
The film opens with The Weeknd in the midst of a world tour, reeling from the ambiguous breakup of a former girlfriend who is ever so briefly voiced by Riley Keough through a single voicemail, and on the brink of literally losing his voice, but continues at the impassioned behest of his friend and manager Lee (Barry Keoghan), who can’t go two sentences without either calling him bro or praising his god-like musical talent.
Simultaneously, Jenna Ortega’s character, who douses what appears to be her family’s farmhouse in gasoline to kick off the movie, is an obsessed fan. The backstory to her character is aggravatingly hazy, and it isn’t clearly communicated until nearly an hour into the movie that she feels a deep personal connection to The Weeknd’s music based on her current troubled relationship with her mother.
In a Trap-esque sequence, she and The Weeknd find a connection, and the rest, well, happens. I’ll give credit where it is due. Ortega delivers a third-act turn that spices up the movie in nearly every aspect, and her manic energy pitted in front of a, however minor it may be, Daniel Lopatin (Uncut Gems) score makes me yearn for a movie that displayed that on a much more consistent basis. Their connection, ill-fated and toxic at its core, justifies some genuine thematic interest in the relationship between unattainable global superstars and those who want to be near them, but the script, penned by Trey Edward Shults, Reza Fahim, and The Weeknd himself, comes across as superficial and corny.
Even as a tie-in to the album Hurry Up Tomorrow (an album that I very much enjoy, by the way), the film is perplexing, confounding, and everything it fights against being: boring. Schulz and his A24-style cinematography are, at times, engaging and visually interesting, that is, until they are repeated over and over again for no discernible reason other than “vibes.” The Weeknd’s music is supposed to transport you and make you feel like you are at a club, as Ortega’s character, who hilariously embodies “Matt Smith dancing in Morbius” energy in one scene, so acutely describes it. Another cardinal mistake of the film is that it artlessly and obviously explains exactly how The Weeknd perceives his own fame and the power of his voice.
Hurry Up Tomorrow is a critical misfire on all cylinders, failing to interestingly explore the plight of a global phenom losing their talent and the parasitic relationship so many fans feel toward beacons of power and fame. Through both this and The Idol, it appears that The Weeknd’s interest in using lengthy visual projects as vehicles to deliver interest in his music is sputtering to a stop on a tank that is quickly running out of gas, and testing the patience of viewers at that. Even if it was an elongated music video, Hurry Up Tomorrow would have still left me muttering “Hurry Up Please” the entire time.
Review Courtesy of Ethan Simmie
Feature Image Credit to Lionsgate via Collider