The Weeknd stands against a black background and listens to the DJ (Jim Carrey) talking through a speaker somewhere in the building. A circle of white light shines on him and he shields his eyes with his arm. Lights flash as he lies on the ground. As he stands up, people in robes dance.
Two people in robes carry him to a wheel. His arms spread out, he watches as a twentysomething woman in scarlet red, approaches him. Multi-colored lights cover his face as he sings. A group of people in robes continue to dance as he’s on the wheel. He sings into a microphone with chains entwined around it. The spotlight sucks some life out of them. The twentysomething woman’s wrinkled hands and face disappear.
The Weeknd winces and rubs his shoulder. He could barely move it. Pulling up his sleeve, he watches the wrinkles wind through his arm. Discolored spots cover his face. He coughs and sits down, waiting for the illusion to pass. His bones crack as he gets up an hour later and sees his body remains old.
The twentysomething woman exhales some smoke from her lungs. It was good to be young again and not to care. The Weeknd had approached her to help her with her bags. He was such a kind gentleman. His quiet confidence hums throughout her body and she has the urge to take a road trip. She snaps her finger and the people in robes walk to her. She commands them to get her a car.
The Weeknd fumbles for a cane. He still had years to live. It was too soon. He was supposed to get married or have kids or travel the world. A thirtysomething woman opens the door for him. The Weeknd nods, unable to speak as he walks. He stops in the middle of the parking lot, sweat on his forehead. A car honks at him to move. A thirtysomething man links his arm with his and leads him to his car.
Director: Cliqua Year: 2022