Hurry Up Tomorrow? Steven says 1/5

Hurry Up Tomorrow is a great title, not because it reflects the film’s message, but because it encapsulates the exact emotional journey of sitting through it. Every agonizing second of this indulgent, pseudo-artistic mess made me wish for the sweet release of the next calendar day, when I’d no longer be held hostage by The Weeknd’s self-congratulatory fever dream.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t a movie. It’s a 1-hour and 45-minute music video stitched together with vibes, vanity, and zero sense of narrative. It masquerades as a bold, psychological exploration of an entertainer’s inner world, but what it actually offers is an ego trip so inflated it deserves its own spot in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. The low point, for me personally, had to be Jenna Ortega's 10-minute sequence alternating between dancing to old songs by The Weeknd and rambling about their supposed emotional depth.

What’s truly baffling to me is that after the flaming wreckage that was The Idol, someone at a major studio still said, “Yeah, let’s give this man another shot.” What did they think he’d deliver? No plot, no progression, just endless shots of The Weeknd brooding in expensive lighting, waiting for the world to marvel at his torment. It’s as if he’s daring us to call him out, to see how far he can push the boundaries of self-indulgence.

Hurry Up Tomorrow is not a groundbreaking film or visual album. It’s not avant-garde. It’s a 105-minute dare. A test of your patience, your sanity, and your ability to differentiate between art and artistic cosplay.

In the end, Hurry Up Tomorrow isn’t deep — it’s desperate. And I, for one, am hurrying away from it as fast as I can.

Curious about what else Steven is into? Get updates on shelf.im/stevenmorea