The attractiveness of music stars to cinematize their success will never age, and movies, which need high vatition attractions as always, always seem to be ready to please. The last to enter that field is Abel Tesfaye, the artist known as The Weeknd, whose graphics bumps during the last decade have painted, in the colors of the club and through his sorcerer falsete, the ups and downs of a hedonistic interpreter.
However, it is a thing about the youth excess aftertaste at a dirty and fascinating dance rate, and another to attract the theme to a long long long one, that the turgid psychodrama “hastened tomorrow”, starring Tesfaye and directed by Trey Edward Shults, mainly not doing. But not because of the filmmaker “Waves” visually Vibey, who wrote the film with Tesfaye and Reza Fahim, and co -star Jenna Ortega and Barry Keoghan, came to play in the sand box of the Solipsism of the Nightmare solipsism.
The title also belongs to the last successful Tesfaye's album, launched this year, which the singer and composer has hinted in the press to be a kind of redemptive microphone dropper for his mysterious personality of sex weekly and drug. Whether I call the film a promotional piece of link or companion, it was filmed two years ago, before all the slopes of the album are recorded, it is still little more than a music dressing table project long, trying for importance, what you are looking for in Resonance.
A tightened frame in the youthful and anxious -looking of Tesfaye, the voice message of his angry girlfriend (“I used to think that you were a good person!”), And superficial pumping his manager (a Keoghan in Bro), makes us know that not everything is well on the stage of this musician on the first night of a great tour. On the other hand, a young woman distressed (Ortega) soaks the interior of a house with gasoline and turns on fire, then leads to a service station to fill her boat.
These tortured souls are the night when their discomfort of broken discomfort and broken heart triggers an intermediate performance, and she is there behind the stage to enclose her eyes and ask if she is fine. (It is not!) From there it is an escapist of aerial hockey, carnival walks and, once they settle in an elegant hotel room, sharing a new sensitive song.
However, at cold daylight, when its vulnerabilities rise to its intocability of restart That short duration of Yarn.
The germ of an avant -garde fantasy about the death of the ego of an isolated pop icon is swimming somewhere in “Drure Up Tomorrow” DNA, but has flattened at a superficial and stained shame party of tears. The Shults and photography director Chayse Irvin are manufacturers of gifted images, but they seem tigrumnos applying their bag of style tricks, different appearance proportions, multiple actions of films, 360 shots and rowing shots, to such a superficial and proud exercise. There is always something to look at but little that lights up.
As for Tesfaye, it is not uninteresting as a presence on the screen, but it is an embryonic magnetism, which needs richer material than a lot of first planes that culminate in a howl of a ballad. In the pseudo-biographical contours of the weak narrative, in particular the real life loss of the real life that he experienced on stage a few years ago, the parallels to what Prince sought to achieve with “purple rain” drawn in real life are understandable. But that film was a more Canna offer for the next level success, compensating for its corn of three acts with emotional stakes that led to a crescendo of the skill of their genius skill of the headline.
“Hurry tomorrow” is thinner and careless. He will not hit the door of the ambitions of Tesfaye films, but as an attempt to conquer the big screen, he is an unpleasant and look-looking flutter that deals with the power of cinema as a change of mid-concept costumes.
'Hurry tomorrow'
Qualification: R For language at all times, drug use, some bloody violence and brief nude
Execution time: 1 hour, 45 minutes
Playing: In broad release
