Hurry Up Tomorrow

A feature-length ego-stroke of monumental hubris that instantly assumes pole position in the race for year’s worst movie.

It is dragged down by a lack of emotional connection and the high-wire act of bridging reality and fiction in a way that feels truthful, as if the filmmakers' best intentions were blinded by the lights.

It’s not a perfect film, but it is one that questions, probes and challenges.

The nearly plot-free movie is self-indulgent, overly serious, and, worst of all, just plain dull.

An exciting vanity project with surrealist imagination but stiff writing, no stakes, limited emotional weight and an unclear narrative.

If the unbearable weight of massive talent is really so crazy-making, that unwieldy creativity should be set free, however messy. Or, if I can just say what I mean: making audiences feel nostalgic about Kanye West? In this cultural economy?

This incoherent vanity cesspool (about egos, fame, and trauma) proves that the movie's production money would've been better spent on more therapy for Abel Tesfaye, also known as The Weeknd. Ripping off ideas from the Oscar-winning Misery doesn't help.

It’s no Purple Rain, but it at least manages to find a handful of visually stimulating moments amid the vapidity.

... a glorified feature-length promotional video disguised as a brooding portrait of artistic reckoning. You half-expect a QR code to pop up in the corner of the screen.

Hurry Up Tomorrow falls so short of its mark that it unearths an alternate, unintended vein of gold, as a gorgeous trainwreck that’s so unhinged and baffling, it has to be seen to be believed.