The Most Exhilarating Film About Music

Rating: 9/10 (8 November 2014)

Rash ambition has been quite the popular theme to explore this year with just last week's Nightcrawler considerably raising expectations on the honesty and depth we can witness from such commentary. Our culture —the dog-eat-dog system—grooms us to be such ferocious competitors and through it, we lose more and more of our humanity. We lose sight of the people and the objects around us, and all focus is concentrated on one single objective like a cheetah menacingly sighting its prey.
Well, it's Andrew Neyman's (Miles Teller) first year at the (fictional) best music school in the country, Schaffer Conservatory, and he wants to make something extraordinary out of it. Playing drums from a very young age, he has reached the point of maturity in which he wants to excel beyond "cute" talent that family simply compliments and prove himself in front of true professionals. Unfortunately, it's going to exhaust his soul and really test his endurance to reach that level. The jazz orchestra's conductor, Terence Fletcher (J.K. Simmons), who's promising that end goal of potential success and fame, is an abrasive, foul-mouthed, and mercilessly strict nightmare who puts his students through torture before they can even hope to perform in front of a large crowd or make it into serious competitions.
To merely survive his class is to be one of the absolute best. Andrew has no idea what he's in for though, but when he starts getting slapped around and coarsely yelled at because his drum beats were rushing (and in other moments, dragging) by "just a hair," the lengths he'll have to reach for in order to ultimately prove himself become clearer. His hands already bleeding and his face heavily perspiring, how much harder and faster can he pound those drums to reach that paramount level?
Competition out in the world is undoubtedly fierce, and after barely tolerating days after days of soul-crushing insults that can send anyone's self-esteem into oblivion, an even greater, desperate drive begins to consume Andrew. Realizing that becoming one of the greats is going to require hard confidence and unrelenting ambition, Andrew's attitude suddenly begins to take on an utterly smug, egocentric nature as he loudly proclaims that he's far superior to any of his peers and is very well on his way to becoming the next Buddy Rich. At this point, he doesn't even bother making superficial friends or attempting to please all the people around that are essentially meaningless in his climb to prosperity.
Whiplash certainly remains tense throughout its entire duration as we see Andrew suffering, pounding the drums at an unbelievably rapid rate, (literally) with blood, sweat, and tears, which only gradually increases from there with every practice session and every vile rant from his teacher. Thrillingly immersive close-up shots of the snares and the pedals and the drumsticks—the whole intricate process is edited with such intensity that anyone in the audience, regardless of whether or not they have a musical background, feels the rush and taps their feet along to the ceaselessly energetic drum solos as Andrew only beats at it harder and harder.
Of course, definitely one of the crucial elements of this picture is its two central performances from Miles Teller and J.K. Simmons, which are completely revelatory in their excellence—the emotional roller-coaster between student and teacher with the former's hope/assurance slowly draining away—yet desperation totally escalating— and the latter's uncompromising brutality pushing his students beyond capability and expectancy. What we have is a relationship that culminates in a compellingly angry battle of egos.
The screenplay/dialogue moves along with such a sassy, swift pace— obviously complementing the hasty beat of the jazz music that it represents—but also implements a surprising amount of hilarious dry humor beneath all the emotional and philosophical darkness. Right from the very first shot as the film opens up to a long murky corridor with Andrew at the end of it practicing and practicing on his drums, you can tell how gloomy Whiplash is going to become by its prevalent darkened color. Everything (from the crowded streets of New York City to the haunting classroom) is presented with a transparent shade to these environments that would otherwise be brighter.
However, by the end, Whiplash's thematic intentions become somewhat ambiguous—is it meant to be a dark critique on impossible ambition (because then its consequences and negative impact are not satisfyingly underlined) or is it an inspiring crowd-pleaser as some critics are pointing out (which is terribly frightening)? The actions and logic of the narrative do eventually begin to reach a troubling level in believability as the film nears its end, but the story isn't meant to be taken absolutely literally. The overall package is more or less a stark metaphor on the dangerous attitude that leads to final triumph but also destroys one's character and relationships in the meantime. "There are no two words in the English language that are more harmful than good job," Terrence claims. A man will never be as definitively great in his craft if he's not pushed to the absolute limit, okay, but what/when exactly is that limit?