In “Hurry Up Tomorrow,” the Grammy Award winning pop star The Weeknd takes another stab at screen stardom, playing a troubled and lonely version of himself who finds out — the hard way — how “personal” some of his fans experience his music.

The Michael Jackson-voiced Canadian who gave us “Blinding Lights” and “Can’t Feel My Face,” as well as an HBO series that had him showcasing the life of a pop idol (“The Idol”), commissioned the director of “It Comes at Night” and “Waves” and cast hot tickets Jenna Ortega and Barry Keoghan as co-stars for this star vehicle/vanity project in which he’s billed under his real name — Abel Tesfaye.

The movie that they conjured up is an assaultive, obscurant ego trip of deafening and impersonal concert sequences, murky, off-camera romantic trauma and a bit of a Stephen King ripoff.

Aside from that…

Trey Edward Shults, whose name is plastered on the credits like he’s Scorsese, Katherine Bigelow and Jordan Peele’s heir apparent, pummels the viewer and overwhelms an inconsequential script that only grudgingly ever gives us a dramatic thread, theme or moment to cling to. Endless, dizzying 360 degree pans, hand-held on-his-way-to-the-stage snippets and jolting, beads-of-sweat/strings-of-spit closeups and a cranked up score can’t hide the vacuity of it all.

“Hurry Up” is singularly excruciating to sit through. And I’ve seen “Glitter.”

The music, save for one plaintive, unaccompanied moment in the third act, is just as buried under over-production that might rightly be accused of overkill. The guy can sing and has turned out some good songs. But this mess is hardly a smart way to push his new record.

The “story” — a phone message from an unseen ex-in-the-making tells The Weeknd that “a good person wouldn’t have done that to someone they love.” And if there was any doubt, she adds “I’m done.”

A singer with his range on a grinding tour now has stress making its way to his vocal cords. He threatens to cancel shows, but his pal/manager (Keoghan) strokes his ego, gets him to a laryngoligist, a vocal cords doctor whose advice both can ignore, arranges the post-concert Escalade party tours and begs his meal ticket to “relax.”

“You’re not human,” Irish manager Lee preaches during the singer’s weightlifting/fist-jabbing psyche-up to showtime. “Get that through your head.”

But even superheroes have to protect their voices.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the wintry Badlands, a young woman (Ortega) is splashing gasoline all over somebody’s family farmstead and torching it as she steers her ancient Ford Bronco out of state.

We can’t help but notice that the petite miss brings that hefty give gallon metal gas can with her.

As Abel/The Weeknd leaves messages and tries to get his lover to pick up, his manager tries to keep him on task and on stage.

The use’em-and-lose’em singer and the impulsive fiery fangirl — we’ve seen her “Weeknd” concert ticket — are destined to lock eyes and souls during an LA show, and make some sort of LA connection as the narrative teeters towards almost being about something.

This or that song? “I feel like it’s about me,” she confesses. The way our pop star absorbs this suggests he hears this a lot, and frets about the consequences of being “that personal” to that many fans.

The story is music video simplistic and dumb, and no amount of Trey Edward Shults camera calisthenics can hide that.

Tesfaye isn’t green in front of the camera any more. But it’s hard to fake “interesting,” and this version of himself or someone in his position is just dull.

Ortega’s best moment may be an unchoreographed bounce-dance to Weeknd’s music, which she plays to him off her cell phone as she deconstructs the “meaning” and psychoanalyzes him via his songs.

Keoghan’s the class of the cast, in terms of acting chops. He’s got nothing to play but a thinly-sketched-in “type,” with trite “get that through your head” dialogue to boot.

Tesfaye’s tunes have been part of the sonic fabric of world pop culture these past few years. But at this level of fame, it’s just too easy to become Mariah or Robbie Williams or J. Lo diva delusional about how “easy” and “necessary” it is to convert your experience of pop stardom into a story anybody’d want to see.

That’s why Robbie Williams imagined himself as a sometimes out-of-control trained “monkey” in this world. The Weeknd? He’s so big he figures he didn’t need that gimmick. But he needed something more than this. A self confessed “cinefile,” the dude needed to watch “Purple Rain”  a few more times.

Rating: R, bloody violence, drug abuse, a hint of nudity, profanity

Cast: Abel Tesfaye (The Weeknd), Jenna Ortega and Barry Keoghan.

Credits: Directed by Trey Edward Shults, scripted by Reza Fahim, Trey Edwards Shults and Abel Tesfaye.  ALionsgate release.

Running time: 1:45