Hurry Up Tomorrow

Abel Tesfaye aka The Weeknd is not much of an actor. But the Canadian singer/songwriter wields a strong screen presence, and upon this rock he and co-writer/editor/director Trey Edward Shults (Waves; It Comes at Night) build Hurry Up Tomorrow, a hypnotic examination of creativity, fame, fandom, paranoia, and mental health.

Wisely taking the 8 Mile approach of limiting musician dialogue, this visually rich showcase leans heavily on Shults’ technical prowess and trusts viewers to go along with its dark psychological look at an artist at his breaking point.

Though it’s clear from the jump that Tesfaye is playing an extremely popular pop star — who gets pumped up backstage by his manager Lee (Barry Keoghan, amusing as always) — it isn’t until he performs a Weeknd song in concert that it’s clear he’s playing a version of himself.

But live show footage — even extremely well-shot examples lensed by cinematographer Chayse Irvin (BlacKkKlansman; Blonde) — only holds so much appeal as the basis for a narrative film. And Tesfaye, Shults, and fellow co-writer Reza Fahim have the good sense to not only shift Hurry Up Tomorrow away from being a pseudo concert film interspersed with pretentious narrative asides, but pair it with a legitimately engaging parallel storyline.

Into the fray jumps pyromaniac and Weeknd superfan Anima (Jenna Ortega, Wednesday), who abandons an unfulfilling life somewhere in the rural west. With Abel stinging from the ambiguous actions that led to his love interest (Riley Keough) breaking up with hm via voicemail, he’s especially vulnerable, and once he locks eyes with Anima in the front row at his show, these two troubled souls embark on a brief but powerful adventure that will change them both forever.

Sort of. Maybe. It’s hard to say. (And that’s not a bad thing.)

The dreamlike pall that falls over Hurry Up Tomorrow after the pair link up grants the film an intoxicating air of freedom that mostly results in compelling, psychologically complex action. Though the energy lags when Abel’s worst impulses abruptly arise after an extended stretch of bliss, it’s soon followed by a jarring Lynchian scene that turns into an extended homage to Misery and produces Ortega’s most impressive turn yet from her young career.

In this wild climax, Shults’ film hits its twisted, highest heights and offers bracingly insightful commentary on the relationship between artist and fan. As far as vanity projects go, it’s a huge step up from the fairly embarrassing Metallica: Through the Never and should inspire other mega-stars to turn publicly introspective every once in a while.

Grade: B. Rated R. Now playing at AMC River Hills 10 and Regal Biltmore Grande.

(Photo: Andrew Cooper/Lionsgate)