HURRY UP TOMORROW appeared to have "future cult film"as its destiny: a strange, personal film from a musician going outside his lane, receiving a massive negative pile-on from critics and bombing at the box office. It's not exactly fun to watch this orgy of whiny self-pity, though. A few scenes suggest the dark comedy it might have been. Trey Shults' embarrassing over-direction is the final nail in the coffin. Abel Tesfaye is an infinitely better actor in his music videos than actual movies and TV.

Mean girls of all genders try to be witty but just come off as irritating jerks. Co-directors Warhol and Morrisey mingled softcore porn and screwball farce, with performances aimed as broadly as possible. By the end, it all gets numbing. According to Elizabeth Purcell, who programmed tonight's screening of L'AMOUR, it hasn't played New York since 1978, but it's not even close to the level of FLESH or HEAT, much less TRASH and WOMEN IN REVOLT.