The Weeknd’s cinematic leap, Hurry Up Tomorrow, strutted into theaters today, and it’s a dazzling, messy swirl of music and madness that’s got fans buzzing and skeptics shrugging. Directed by Trey Edward Shults, this psychological thriller stars Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye as a haunted pop star, with Jenna Ortega and Barry Keoghan rounding out a small but punchy cast. Tied to The Weeknd’s sixth studio album, the film aims for a $5–9 million opening weekend with a $15 million budget. It’s a bold, trippy dive into fame and identity, but does it hit the high notes or fall flat? Here’s our deep dive into the plot, performances, and why this one’s a beautiful letdown.
A Plot That Spins but Doesn’t Stick
Hurry Up Tomorrow centers on Abel (Tesfaye), a global pop star grappling with insomnia and a crumbling sense of self. After losing his voice mid-tour—a nod to Tesfaye’s real-life 2022 scare—he’s holed up in a creepy hotel, popping pills and dodging his pushy manager, Lee (Keoghan). Enter Anima (Ortega), a young fan who sneaks into his suite, claiming to be his ultimate supporter. What starts as a flirty, awkward meet-cute spirals into a nightmare when Anima reveals her obsession, holding Abel hostage in a warped bid to “save” him from his demons. The 105-minute story jumps between sweaty concert flashbacks, cryptic childhood memories, and a surreal showdown, all wrapped in a haze of trauma and fame’s dark side.
The setup screams potential: a pop star unraveling, a fan turned captor, and a psychological tug-of-war. It wants to be Misery meets Black Swan with a synth-pop pulse, digging into Abel’s guilt over an absent father and his fear of losing his art. But the plot’s a mess—it drags for the first hour, tossing in random visions (a creepy kid, a burning stage) that don’t quite connect. When Anima’s motives finally kick in, the film over-explains her backstory, killing the mystery. By the end, you’re left with a vague sense of Abel’s pain but no clear payoff. It’s like a killer song with half the lyrics missing.
Style Saves, Story Sinks
Shults, who wowed with indie hits like Waves, goes all-out on visuals, and it’s the film’s saving grace. Shot on 35mm, the movie’s got a gritty, dreamy look—think neon-soaked concerts and claustrophobic hotel rooms. The camera spins in dizzying 360-degree shots, flips aspect ratios, and lingers on Abel’s sweaty face, making you feel his panic. The music, pulled straight from the album, is a banger, with tracks like “São Paulo” and “I Can’t Fucking Sing” driving the mood. It’s a feast for the eyes and ears, especially in Dolby Cinema, where the sound hits like a live show.
But the story’s where it stumbles. The script, co-written by Shults, Tesfaye, and Reza Fahim, wants to juggle big ideas—fame’s toll, childhood wounds, the line between fan and stalker—but it never digs deep. Abel’s trauma feels like a checklist (dad issues, check; stage fright, check), and Anima’s shift from sweet to sinister lacks buildup. The pacing’s off, too—45 minutes of mopey vibes before the thriller kicks in, and even then, it’s more confusing than gripping. Fans might eat up the album tie-ins and nods to The Weeknd’s career (like a line about “blinding lights”), but casual viewers will likely zone out. It’s got the heart of a music video stretched too thin for a feature.
The film’s R-rating—language, drugs, violence, brief nudity—fits its dark tone, but it’s not as edgy as it thinks. Compared to The Idol, Tesfaye’s HBO flop, it’s a step up, with tighter direction and less cringe. Still, it feels like a therapy session for Tesfaye, reflecting his real pivot away from The Weeknd persona, but it doesn’t invite you in. It’s less a movie than a 90-minute mood board—gorgeous, vibey, but hollow.
Ortega Shines, Tesfaye Tries
Jenna Ortega is the film’s MVP as Anima. She nails the shift from starstruck fan to unhinged captor, bringing a mix of vulnerability and menace. Her big scene, where Anima traps Abel and rants about “fixing” him, is electric—she’s like a coiled spring, stealing every frame. Even when the script gives her cliched lines, Ortega’s eyes and jittery energy sell it. She’s the reason the third act pops, though it’s too late to save the slog.
Abel Tesfaye, playing a sad-sack version of himself, is tougher to judge. Fans will love his rawness—he’s pouring his real-life fears into Abel, from vocal loss to fame’s grind. In quiet moments, like when he stares blankly at a hotel mirror, you feel his pain. But his acting’s stiff, and he leans too hard on brooding. It’s hard to buy him as a character when the film keeps winking at his real-life stardom—characters even quote his lyrics. Compared to The Idol, he’s grown, but he’s not ready to carry a film.
Barry Keoghan, as the sleazy manager Lee, is criminally underused. He’s got maybe 15 minutes of screen time, but his manic energy—taunting Abel to get back on stage—adds a spark. You wish he had more to do, like a proper showdown with Anima. The supporting cast, including a few unnamed bit players as Abel’s crew, barely registers, leaving Ortega and Tesfaye to do the heavy lifting.
Fan Buzz vs. Reality
The buzz is all over the place. At a Phoenix screening, some fans called it a masterpiece, geeking out over the music and Tesfaye’s vulnerability. They love the Easter eggs, like references to his Dawn FM era. Others weren’t feeling it, calling it a self-indulgent mess that’s more about Tesfaye’s ego than telling a story. The divide’s clear: if you’re an XO stan, you might vibe with the album tie-ins and raw emotion. If not, the weak plot and slow burn could leave you cold.
A Swing That Doesn’t Quite Connect
Hurry Up Tomorrow wants to be a bold statement—part thriller, part pop-star confessional—but it’s too scattered to land. Shults’ visuals and The Weeknd’s music are a knockout, and Ortega’s a star, but the story’s too thin to hold it together. It’s not the disaster some feared after The Idol, but it’s not the slam dunk it could’ve been. Catch it in theaters for the big-screen vibes—crank the sound and let the visuals hit.
What’s Next?
Hurry Up Tomorrow opened today, May 16, 2025, alongside Final Destination: Bloodlines. Its $5–9 million debut is solid for a $15 million budget, and fan buzz could keep it going. It’ll stream on Apple TV later, or you can snag tickets at Cineworld.com. Is this The Weeknd’s big moment or just for the super fans? Share your thoughts in the comments!
