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Everybody's Working for The Weeknd

There are times where I think The Weeknd -credited under his real name Abel Tesfaye- intends Hurry Up Tomorrow to be his Purple Rain. There are other times I think he intends it to be his Performance. And then there are times I just think he wants to put himself at the centre of a psychological thriller -and himself purely, not some character he is playing. Tesfaye has slowly been stepping into the acting space in recent years -first with the dramatic and scandal-ridden failure that was HBO’s The Idol, which he co-created with Sam Levinson. His performance was one of many things widely criticized about that show, and perhaps he took it to heart (as it appears he does everything) and stayed much closer to home for his next project, playing a version of himself for a movie designed to accompany a new album (that just released a few months ago). Trey Edward Shults of It Comes at Night and Waves edited, co-wrote, and directed the film, and is often it seems trying to salvage artistic merit where he can out of a very strange kind of vanity project for the Canadian pop star.
Slow and delirious, yet atmospheric, Hurry Up Tomorrow portrays The Weeknd in a rather formula fashion as both on top of the world in his fame and influence but cripplingly tortured inside -stemming apparently from a recent break-up, though the details beyond his anger and misery are not explored. What we do get a better sense of are the health issues to his singing voice born out of his frequent drug use that threatens to debilitate him on stage. At the same time a mysterious young arsonist and fan of his called Anima (Jenna Ortega) makes her way to one of his shows in Los Angeles and a seeming connection they share soon develops into an even greater spiral.
The degree of indulgent self-pity here is incredible. Tesfaye opens up his pain with visceral passion and portrays himself in an awful light -burnt out, abusing substances, and at one point leaving a scathingly bitter voicemail for his ex-girlfriend, whom the movie does have the good sense never to name (Riley Keough shows up as the voice and image in his phone) -much of it of course illustrated musically. It is a major act of soul-bearing, of exposing one's dark side, and there is clearly an intended honesty in that -perhaps too much so- its effect as Tesfaye relates it is very performative. The fact is that Tesfaye can't get away with this kind of self-dissection the way Prince could. A part of it is that, though supposedly the film is a fiction, he refuses to engage much with backstory as a way of providing context and cultivating investment in his potentially building himself up.  Prince straight-up invented his own tragedy to better manufacture pathos (but then he wasn't technically playing himself), yet after everything he has apparently gone through to bring this movie to fruition, Tesfaye is still much too guarded to attempt anything similar. Prince designed Purple Rain as an artistic, validating triumph, Tesfaye crafted Hurry Up Tomorrow as a bleak reckoning. And of course he doesn't have the charisma or even frankly nearly so strong a musical profile to pull off this kind of a move.
Perhaps nowhere is this more apparent than in his relationship with Anima, and as the devastated fan/stalker consistently revealing unexpected new layers Ortega is the best part of the movie (clearly she is having fun with a more extreme personality than she typically gets to play); even as she spends the last act simply cast as the manifestation of both Tesfaye's ego and self-loathing, litigating the meaning of his music and the faults of his personal life -vagaries about toxic relationships, codependency, and impostor syndrome mostly. Their connection is drawn initially as rote fantasy, merely instinctual in that saccharine romantic way -meeting outside the concert venue and spending a night frolicking around town in blissful enjoyment before settling back at a hotel and bonding over the beauty of art. Through none of this is there any chemistry formed, and though the beat of this part of the movie is to emphasize Tesfaye's craving for a normal -perhaps anonymous life- much as he may try to relate that it is not a convincing sentiment. And when the tables turn in a hostile direction, he is unable to match the intensity which leaves Ortega flailing a bit -and not just in her dancing to his music.
It is a very strange position to put himself in as well -the movie may not explore his history, but it is more revealing of his psychology than even he is aware of. That whole last act makes his self-torment literal as he all but begs for our sympathy over his past transgressions. Through Anima, his songs are analyzed (with special consideration for those that weren't as big as "Blinding Lights" but obviously deserved to be), and an epiphany brought to him about his personal failures, how they have both informed and held back his music; things he has been reluctant to address honestly -Anima keeps attacking him for not being honest. It is all a brazen metaphor and essentially a process of therapy for Tesfaye I think even his most dedicated fans would deem tiresome. And it only produces seemingly one new song, performed in the climax without any accompaniment. It does not feel properly earned.
Yet Shults is a good director of imagery, and there are a lot of evocative visual choices throughout the movie, much as they dilute the subjects of it and contribute to its sluggish pace (it takes ten minutes to get through the opening credits). And whatever you may think of The Weeknd’s music, it has an atmosphere to it reminiscent of synth acts of the 80s -proving on occasion to be a good melancholy score over contemplative or sensational beats illustrated in a dreamlike haze that would be rather nice to sit with if paired with something of substance -Ortega is especially flattered by these techniques. And Shults’s horror bona fides come into play as well in manifestations of the darkness within Tesfaye’s soul -one sequence involving a formless dark shadow is quite effective. But they are loose segments -the film lacking in structure by apparent design though to an enigmatic end. And though a resolute feel is communicated, it is hard to get past the considerable pretension of its purpose, especially once the full-on pity party is locked in. Which is a shame -the artistic calibre of the film is genuinely intriguing.
Hurry Up Tomorrow feels lacking as a companion to an album. It features maybe a small handful of new songs (one of which is unfinished), and is more than happy to play at least portions of The Weeknd’s past hits instead. But I suppose that is part of the reckoning he is performing on himself, the whole thing being meant as a rejuvenation of his brand through the suggestion that he has gone through fire and overcome his demons and personality flaws. It was a dubious sentiment in Better Man and is even more-so here. I don’t doubt some sincerity from Tesfaye, but he is way too ill-equipped to communicate it, and especially in the format chosen for this movie that only ratchets up the egotism and sorrowful self-indulgence. He has plenty of fans who will buy it, maybe that will be good enough for him.

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