The cross from Starboy, flails in burning red. The Weeknd carries the cross, using as a flashlight. He drives a car, splashed in squalid aqua neon. Someone opens a red body bag with The Weeknd inside it. A woman, streaked in a violet outline, turns her head.
He stops the car, with sky blue flames licking the sides of it. While he sings, he’s lit in crimson red, aqua blue and an emerald green. The cross, in flames, is in the background. His face is imposed on the cross, blurring with several different colors.
He gets out of the car and adjusts his jacket, walking on the chalky, crimson sand.
In crimson red, a woman, in a bikini, with multiple version of herself standing a few feet away, holds something in her hand, the crosses behind her. Another woman stands near the flames by the cross.
His eye pops out of head and then expands. In lavender, a haze of women lean and bend. He sits on a bed, waiting.
In the cross, he sings, with flames burning around it.
He walks in the street, the footage grainy. On television, a woman puts her arm around his neck. He watches a woman enter a room. In the cross, a woman rolls her head.
The windows of a hotel flash magenta as he enters. He stands in the blood red hallway as the woman wait for him to follow them.
In a hallway, lit with neon flames, the woman stand, vaporizing underneath the lights. He walks down the same hallway, observing.
Someone stirs a drink as the glass dissipates into the air. A woman holds onto a cross chain around her neck. Two women kiss, drenched in kelly green slime with traces of blood on their faces.
A cake decorated with Party Monster is on a table. A woman, her face lined with blood, stares hungrily at it. Two women dig their hands into the cake and rub it on their bodies. The women embrace a holographic image of a person.
With flames in the background, he grabs a woman by the neck, her eyes popping and turning orange. He speeds down the road, spins and then hangs onto the wheel.
On a television, a white panther jumps out of a television.
A woman waits for the Weekend in her car and then sprawls out on the hood.
He gets up from the bed as a white panther busts out from the black-and-white mold on the television, leaping towards him. He falls back onto the bed. Women float in green slime.
Underneath crimson red light, the women’s faces become distorted and grotesque. Part of The Weeknd’s face, lit in blue, the right side of his face oozes onto the floor.
He drives off a cliff.
The Weeknd lives in a sordid haze, stumbling from woman to woman, sleeping with them in fatalistic motels where bodies are found near the river about twice a month. The women know the men may want to kill them, out of either psychopathic desire or a drug-induced psychotic break. However, they don’t care. They have become cold towards society, considered forgotten and their basic needs ignored. They are feral creatures of the night now living without a conscience.
The Weeknd, though, battles to save his humanity. He prays and relies on faith but knows he slips each time he ingests a pill. Without emotion, he lets his demons take over and indulges in his worst instincts. The next morning, the self-loathing surfaces and he finds himself searching for the motel Bible placed in a drawer somewhere.
He believes there is one way out of the self-destructive cycle he loops through every evening. Half-drunk, his mind foggy from the high, he speeds towards a cliff and takes his life. Then, he can be at peace.
Director: BRTHR Year: 2017