MOVIE REVIEW – Hurry Up Tomorrow is not merely a musician’s self-reflection but a visually stunning thriller that delves deep into identity crises and the psychology of fame. Tesfaye and Shults’s collaboration brings a unique perspective to modern cinema, blurring the lines between reality and dreams.

Hurry Up Tomorrow is a musical psychological thriller directed by Trey Edward Shults, starring Abel “The Weeknd” Tesfaye, Jenna Ortega (Wednesday), and Barry Keoghan. The film is closely tied to Tesfaye’s album of the same name, exploring themes of celebrity and self-identity. At its core is Abel, an insomniac musician who, after meeting a mysterious woman, uncovers deeper layers of his identity. The film is set to release in theaters on May 16 and is already generating significant buzz.

On the Edge of Reality and Dreams

The narrative revolves around Abel, an insomniac musician who, upon encountering the enigmatic Anima, begins to explore the deeper facets of his identity. Shults masterfully balances the realms of reality and dreams, taking viewers on a psychedelic journey. The film’s visual style evokes the haunting atmosphere of Silent Hill games, with dark and blurred imagery heightening the tension. Similar to Shults’s previous works like Krisha and It Comes at Night, the struggle with inner demons remains central. As the story progresses, the boundaries between reality and dreams increasingly blur, drawing the audience deeper into its psychedelic world. However, some mid-film scenes feel overly extended, resembling a prolonged music video where Tesfaye appears to linger excessively. Nonetheless, the film’s visual execution is mesmerizing, and the direction is outstanding.

Performances That Leave a Lasting Impact

Abel Tesfaye, stepping away from his The Weeknd persona, convincingly embodies Abel, a character in existential crisis. While his performance may lack technical polish at times, its intensity and emotional rawness are undeniably effective. Tesfaye particularly shines in silent scenes, where his weary gaze and trembling facial expressions convey more emotion than any narration could. Jenna Ortega, portraying Anima—the embodiment of Abel’s inner feminine side—injects new energy into the film with her presence. Her performance is sensitive and intuitive, oscillating between cool analysis and tender sincerity, often unsettling the viewer. Ortega serves not just as a counterpoint but as a mirror, resonating deeply within Abel’s psyche, prompting viewers to reflect on their own suppressed emotions.

Barry Keoghan’s role may initially seem peripheral, but he ultimately becomes one of the film’s most intense presences. As Lee, the manager, Keoghan portrays more than just a background figure; he embodies the raw, instinctual force determined to get Abel back on stage—even at the expense of his mental well-being. Passionate and nearly obsessive, every gesture and clipped sentence reveals his simmering frustration. Keoghan is simultaneously angry, persuasive, and ruthless, as if possessed by the spirit of fame. Not cold, but hot-headed and desperate, he perhaps believes in Abel more than Abel believes in himself. Keoghan’s Irish accent adds color and authenticity to the character, suggesting an outsider trying to intervene in the collapse of an American icon. The energy he brings maintains tension throughout the scenes, and his pressure ultimately threatens to crush Abel. He’s not a simple antagonist but the film’s most complex catalyst: mentor, adversary, and friend all at once.

Ortega and Tesfaye’s shared scenes form the emotional core of the film—not only does their chemistry work, but their dialogues vibrate with tension. Anima, as portrayed by Ortega, isn’t just a female supporting character; she represents Abel’s subconscious, the suppressed feminine side he has long neglected behind his career and identity masks. Ortega’s performance is both detached and intimate: Anima doesn’t seek to seduce but to hold up a mirror, awakening Abel to the depths of his self-avoidance. In an Empire interview, Ortega herself states: “He neglected his anima and has no idea what it means in his life because ever since he forced himself into this musician lifestyle, he felt he had to become someone else.” This quote perfectly encapsulates the weight of their shared scenes: Anima continually challenges Abel, drawing out his trauma and suppressed self with questions, provocations, and near-therapeutic sensitivity.

One of their most powerful scenes occurs when Ortega’s character watches Tesfaye’s performance from the audience—almost motionless, silent—as his voice breaks, leaving only suffering on stage. This is their sole silent scene together, yet it’s profoundly impactful, visually symbolizing how Anima confronts the collapsing Abel alter ego. All other interactions unfold through dialogue: language serves as both weapon and therapeutic tool. Ortega avoids overacting—instead, her precision and restraint ensure every line hits its mark. In her presence, Tesfaye gradually sheds the “The Weeknd” armor, becoming vulnerable. Their relationship oscillates between confrontation and healing but remains deep and symbolic. It’s not merely about romantic interest: Anima’s character catalyzes the reconstruction of the entire self-image; without their encounter, Abel would be lost in his cacophonous dream world.

Harmony of Music and Direction

Trey Edward Shults’s direction and Abel Tesfaye’s musical world exist in a unique, almost hypnotic symbiosis in this film. Hurry Up Tomorrow isn’t just an audiovisual experience but a state of consciousness—a slow-flowing psychological vision where music isn’t merely background but the emotional engine driving the story. Daniel Lopatin (Oneohtrix Point Never) and Tesfaye’s collaboration isn’t the kind of soundtrack you notice—it’s more like an internal, pulsating rhythm accompanying the protagonist’s mental decline. The electronic textures, drifting ambient layers, barely audible distortions, and metallic beats all suggest that something has long since fallen apart, with only the music holding the pieces together.

Shults, known for his previous films like It Comes at Night and Waves, has boldly drawn from the visual language of trauma. In Hurry Up Tomorrow, it’s as if all previous stylistic elements have been amplified. Dreamlike montages, long, sustained shots, otherworldly lighting, and unsettling symbolism create an atmosphere that occasionally borders on psychedelic horror. Viewers often can’t discern whether what they’re seeing is reality, a memory, or an internal vision—and this uncertainty becomes one of the film’s strongest directorial tools. Some scenes evoke the oppressive style of Midsommar or Us, while others feel like a depressive, reincarnated dream opera directed by Nicolas Winding Refn.

The film’s middle section may indeed be polarizing—where the narrative temporarily relinquishes all structural anchors, transitioning into a suggestive stream composed of images, sounds, and physical presence. Tesfaye appears not as an actor but as a moving symbol, seemingly wandering through his inner hell in an audiovisual purgatory. These segments sometimes verge on extended music videos—but if the viewer immerses themselves, these sequences become not only essential but indispensable to the full experience. They’re not easily digestible scenes, but precisely because of this, the film becomes much more than initially expected.

The production design and cinematography are impeccable—the visuals are simultaneously radiant and unsettling. The dimly lit, sometimes strobe-lit interiors, the otherworldly blues and reds, the handheld dream sequences all reinforce that this film is an internal journey, where every visual decision carries psychological weight. Most scenes unfold in a kind of floating timelessness—as if the characters aren’t moving through a linear story but within a mental space where every movement, every sound reflects the soul.

Thus, Hurry Up Tomorrow is, on both directorial and musical levels, a dense, atmospheric experience best described as a dark psychotrip. Shults and Tesfaye offer no handholds—instead, they construct a sensory labyrinth where the viewer can only navigate by letting go of traditional narrative structures. Those willing to embark on this journey will encounter a film experience not easily forgotten.

A Journey into the Depths of the Soul

Hurry Up Tomorrow is a unique and visually stunning film that delves deep into identity crises and the psychology of fame. Tesfaye and Shults’s collaboration brings a distinctive vision to modern cinema. While some parts of the film may feel overly extended, it ultimately offers a memorable experience for the viewer. The film’s psychological depth and visual style contribute to its standout status in contemporary filmmaking. The conclusion provides a form of catharsis, closing Abel’s journey and offering a new perspective to the audience.

– Herpai Gergely “BadSector”–