After more than a decade spent topping charts and filling stadiums, The Weeknd, AKA Abel Tesfaye, has become the epitome of modern mainstream music. It would be natural to assume that Hurry Up Tomorrow, a cinematic companion piece to his album of the same name, would be equally as approachable, doubling down on all the themes he’s cultivated—angst, heartbreak, and self-destruction—in a way that rewards his bevy of longtime fans. But Hurry Up Tomorrow firmly goes against the grain, as an offbeat, esoteric experience that’s as anti-audience as a film can get—even boasting only a meagre selection of songs from its namesake album. It manifests as a mesmerizing descent into the tortured mindscape of an artist who, after teasing the destruction of the moniker that made him famous for so long, finally lights the match and walks away. That being said, it’s also a film that is as vapid as it is visually sumptuous.

Tesfaye’s attempt to bare his soul reveals a portrait that’s overstuffed with thematic concepts that are as surface-level as its threadbare characters. All style and no substance culminates in a navel-gazing vanity project that is so lacking in authenticity and originality, it becomes incredibly entertaining for all the reasons its creators didn’t plan. Hurry Up Tomorrow falls so short of its mark that it unearths an alternate, unintended vein of gold, as a gorgeous trainwreck that’s so unhinged and baffling, it has to be seen to be believed.

The narrative, if it can even be called that, centres on a fictionalized version of Tesfaye whose chaotic, hedonistic persona has pushed away yet another girlfriend (voiced by Riley Keough). The breakup looms over Tesfaye as he continues an exhausting world tour that pushes his mental state and his vocal cords to the limit. He drowns his sorrows in a wave of narcotics and sex, practically limping his way from gig to gig. The only person keeping him afloat is his manager Lee (Barry Keoghan), a manipulative presence who both cares for Tesfaye and adds to his misery.

At the same time, an enigmatic woman (Jenna Ortega) is on the run after setting her family’s ranch home ablaze. We know little about her, besides the fact that she seems a little unbalanced and is a huge fan of The Weeknd. When the two fatefully cross paths at the concert where Tesfaye’s voice finally breaks, their meeting jumpstarts a reckoning with his career and destructive life choices. It should also be noted that Ortega’s character is listed as “Anima” in the end credits, which in Jungian philosophy is dubbed the feminine part of man’s soul. Although at that point in the runtime, audiences will have understood that subtlety is not one of The Weeknd’s stronger suits.

The first half of Hurry Up Tomorrow, unlike its title, goes nowhere slowly, fixating on the same few destructive tendencies that landed Tesfaye in his mentally precarious situation. Simple ideas like heartbreak and self-destruction are stretched so far beyond their vanishing points that the original point is woefully lost. Although thematically hollow and messy, Hurry Up Tomorrow still manages to be completely mesmerizing. Trey Edward Shults’ twisting, 360-spinning direction keeps us transfixed, as it seamlessly shifts aspect ratios and glides across skylines before landing on Tesfaye’s sweat-beaded visage. If nothing else, Shults’ film is a visual feast that is only made more immersive by its breathtaking synth score, courtesy of Daniel Lopatin (AKA Oneohtrix Point Never, who famously produced Dawn FM and scored Uncut Gems).

When Ortega and Tesfaye finally collide in the film’s second half, Hurry Up Tomorrow becomes an entirely different film, upping its unintentional camp factor in a way that’s equal parts electrifying and hilarious. Ortega steals the spotlight, especially in a dance sequence that recalls the psychotic flair of Patrick Bateman and Stephen King’s Misery as she frantically dissects the impetus behind some of The Weeknd’s most iconic hits. It’s a bonkers sequence that practically justifies the price of entry alone.

While Hurry Up Tomorrow will undoubtedly go down as a flop in Tesfaye’s growing oeuvre, it makes us wish more artists could fail this spectacularly. In a roundabout way, Shults’ film makes the wait for Tesfaye’s next venture all the more exciting.

Hurry Up Tomorrow is in theatres now

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