Not quite my tempo

Rating: 8/10 (10 June 2015)

Musicans and teachers alike will probably shy away from the methods which Terence Fletcher employ in Whiplash in the search for the next Charlie Parker. But it's fiction, and in that vein every single moment of the film is of course exaggerated for heightened tension. Oscar winner JK Simmons gives the performance of a lifetime as the brutal, cruel and authoritative jazz instructor who pushes his students to the limit and then some. It's a truly chilling character who gets equal parts of assistance and obstruction from the screenplay. Fletcher's frightful tirades are punctuated with moments of genuine kindness and humanity: playful anecdotes, saying hello to a little girl, playing soft jazz piano. Even more important is his reaction to one of his star pupil's deaths; a chilling realisation at the twist of the cause paints him in a very different light. But this stop start characterisation just sets up the audience for the inevitable foul-mouthed blow-up as contrivance after contrivance sees Andrew fail.
Andrew, played by the ever impressive Miles Teller is at first a meek first year percussion student with big aspirations and even bigger dreams. He looks up to drumming legends and hopes to emulate their success; thus scoffing at his extended families' bragging of small time football achievements. While others are dismissive and his father ever supportive, Fletcher shares his goal. It's not the inspiring tale that some make it out to be; Fletcher is as petty as he is sadistic, pulling a fast one on Andrew in the final scene and getting his revenge for being fired from Schaffer. Andrew is just the first person to ever join him in his madness, to ever go beyond that limit and achieve true greatness at any cost. There's hurried montages of frenzied drumming which result in a bloodied and bandaged plunged into ice water - these are played out like aggressive training montages from a sports movie.
It's a film which is intensely focused on the central two. Most secondary characters are given less significance; a symptom of Andrew's increasing desire and drive. One of these casualties is Nicole, the remarkably normal crush who gets swept aside when practice becomes more important. Melissa Benoist plays the part with touches of nervousness, awkward mannerisms and authenticity but it's suggestively a binary opposite just to show how motivated and obsessed Andrew is. This is very evident in his performance and the minimal costume and make-up which give him the withered, exhausted and bloodied look. Nicole enters and leaves his life like a shallow plot device used only to further push him into Fletcher territory. Another casualty is his father (Reiser), the supportive and kind single parent. The crux of Andrew's desire is to rise above the sympathetic hug with his father after his initial humiliation in the final scene. His father will always be there to say "good enough" or "good job", which is truly the bane of people like Fletcher and Andrew. For a moment he is humiliated and distraught, the steadicam switched for a shaky hand-held until he decides to walk back onto stage. The hand-held is not seen again.
Whiplash's message is of course not for everyone. The bloody perseverance and alienation which comes at the cost of Andrew's musical greatness is not something many would be able to stomach. And beneath the passion of Terence Fletcher is a abusive and manipulative man who drives students to the brink. The final scene lavishes in their communal madness. There's a stark difference between the harsh and cold lighting of the very first drumming scene to here as he is bathed in warm light and a dizzy and shallow-focus close up shows every bead of sweat and every drop of blood that is the result of his work. He mouths a silent "f*ck you" at Fletcher and launches into the intro for Caravan while each significant beat of the snare equates to a cut to another perspective of Carnegie Hall. Tom Cross deserves every amount of praise for his editing. It's contempt that slowly grows into approval as the camera swings rapidly from conductor to drummer, building momentum. There are truly only two people on the stage even as a series of rapid cuts shows various instruments.
But Andrew goes beyond into a drum solo which stretches the limits of both him and Fletcher. If there were only two people on stage before, now there are only two people in the entire world. The audience is not seen again in the film. There's a fervid moment where Chazelle chooses silence over the intense beats of the drum; everything is slowed down, we get extreme close ups of ears, drums, sticks and of Andrew's face, clenched in concentration. Andrew smashes his cymbal so hard that Fletcher has to hurriedly fix it, nodding his head in admiration. They work together, they slow down, then they build. Silence is used again right before the end. Andrew looks up for that final nod, and we get a cut-off shot of half of Fletcher's face as he crinkles up in a smile. And with a last fanfare the film abruptly cuts to an end.
Whiplash conjures a storm of desire, passion and tension between teacher and student. Other characters are left in the dust both metaphorically and literally in the frame as they finally combine to achieve greatness in the jazz world. Chazelle shoots with great emotion and frenzy which combines with the diegetic sound to produce one of the most dizzying and potent endings of recent times. Neither man cares about half measures or secondary prizes. It's paradoxically inspiring and downbeat at the same time yet never encourages the regime which the pair endure, or even lust for. Most will not shrug off real life consequences and physical barriers like a car crash. Most are just another Sean Casey.