Drum Boogie.

Rating: 6/10 (11 July 2016)

Damien Chazelle directed this story of a talented young drummer (Miles Teller) at an elite music school in New York who is browbeaten mercilessly by his instructor (Dr. Emil Skoda, I mean J. K. Simmons). As unpromising as the material sounds, and as autobiographical, it's better than I'd expected.
In the third act, Hamlet has this to say:
"So again good night. I must be cruel only to be kind. Thus bad begins and worse remains behind."
It applies, not just here but in all training camp films, whether it's the Marine Corps, the Army, the Coast Guard, Navy Flight School, or Harvard Law School. It answers the question: What torture did you go through in order to be successful.
It's not often we see a drummer boy put through the wringer. And, man, does Simmons put Teller through the wringer, one organ at a time. Teller practices until he bleeds over the snare drum. And THAT'S not good enough.
The typical arc of a story like this has the resentful tyro becoming more mature, tempered like steel, proud and manly, winding up with both the admiration of his mentor and the pretty girl he's been diddling on the side. Sometimes the mentor must die, as John Wayne did in "Sands of Iwo Jima."
Not here, though. It's the Big Night, the finale, at Carnegie Hall or the Hippodrome or La Scale or someplace. Teller proves his worth -- MORE than proves it -- and Simmons finally gives him the okay, a big French kiss on the lips. No, no, just kidding. Simmons only smiles at Teller after the drummer's stunning performance.
One of the best things about the movie is Teller's relationship with his girl, the earnest and sweet Melissa Benoist, a student at Fordham. They get along quite well, but then Teller calls it off because in his pursuit of perfection there is no room in his life for a woman's demands. What an ass. Yet it's an original touch, because when he's achieved success (or given up) he calls her to renew the relationship but she has to check with her boyfriend.
Teller's default position is "put upon." He looks doubtful, sad, mournful even, without a real ability to project anger -- and the script gives him plenty of opportunity.
J. K. Simmons makes the picture. He seems to have taken lessons from R. Lee Ermey in "Full Metal Jacket." He's abrasive throughout, foul mouthed and in your face. Nothing you do satisfied him. "That's not my tempo!" After he's booted out of Julliard or whatever it's called here, he bumps into Teller and explains why he was so nasty.
He claims he was always looking for the next Charlie Parker, a legendary alto saxophonist, somebody who could absorb insults and humiliation and keep on charging ahead, just like Bird did when he started out. You can be pushed beyond your limits and become a genius or you can settle for having done satisfactory work, says Simmons over drinks. "The worst words in the world are 'Good job.'" The climax proves him right.
Yet, what a dumb perspective, a hubristic paean to Narcissus. As the proverb says, the perfect is the enemy of the good enough. How much should be sacrificed in the search for perfection? Charlie Parker died of drink and drugs at an early age, and for every Charlie Parker there are one hundred thousand guys who are good enough at their jobs.
The music we hear isn't classical or pop. Otherwise we'd constantly be hearing "O, Fortuna" (Ka-boom). Since drums are the featured instrument it must be jazz. And the jazz isn't really inspired either, I hate to say. It's certainly fast and LOUD enough but it's as if every member of the school band were aiming for Maynard Ferguson's excess. I don't claim to know much about music. I'm less familiar with diminished sevenths than I am with diminished fifths, but I know what I like.