4 perfect-scores out of 4
At the core of writer-director Damien Chazelle’s story about a student and his perfection-obsessed mentor is deception. Every scene, every line, every moment oozes with innuendo, doublespeak, and misdirection. This is a movie founded on the simple principle that the easiest way to maintain an audience’s attention is by lying to them about what they’re seeing. To Chazelle’s credit, Whiplash is a stunning work that speaks to the fears, dreams, and insecurities in every person and every musician. That the film’s subtle nuances make a point of constantly deceiving is simply an enjoyable note in a symphony of spectacle.
The film opens with a long shot of Miles Teller’s Andrew Neiman, a jazz student at a prestigious university, practicing his drumming. The camera slowly closes in on Neiman as he begins his rhythm work, immediately informing the audience that this kid is important. Moments into the performance, conductor Terence Fletcher bursts into the room to critique Neiman’s work. As the door flies open, an imposing, fit, muscular man dressed in black fills the room with his booming voice. Neiman stops playing, and Chazelle sets the tone for what will be a harrowing look at perfection and the quest for genius.
Fletcher – played by character-actor J.K. Simmons – simply desires the best in his students. Owning an admirable quality, Fletcher goes to any and all lengths to ensure that his young recruits leave his classroom having learned everything there is to know about all that jazz. When Simmons firsts enters the film, he verbally berates Neiman as a sign of confidence and expectation. Chazelle’s script introduces the character as a strict-but-caring mentor – the confident coach whose team is the best, and whose rough exterior belies a kind inner core bursting with compassion.
Simmons’ first scene sets the stage for the film’s most grand and visceral deception.
Fletcher is a sociopath – he’s a violent dictator hellbent on extracting imperfection, weakness, and ineptitude, and burning them to the ground. He tortures his students specifically in order to create a culture of fear in his classroom. Band practice with Fletcher is not a lesson in musical etiquette, it’s football practice in the NFL. Some reviewers have likened Simmons’ performance in Whiplash to R. Lee Ermey’s performance as Gunnery Sergeant Hartman in Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket; some viewers may also make the astute observation that this movie about jazz mimics basic training.
Whiplash, however, is a cult movie. Fletcher is a cult leader and Neiman is an uninitiated prospect. Whiplash is a deal-with-the-devil movie. Fletcher is Satan and Neiman is Dr. Faustus. Whiplash is hell. Fletcher burns everything he touches and Neiman is a poor sinner who’s in way over his head.
Simply put, Chazelle’s obvious talent lies in his writing. Far be it from me to ignore incredible camera-work or clever, sophisticated cinematography and editing, but Chazelle’s film absolutely succeeds because of its tight script – and its lead actors. Simmons and Teller are, at times, simultaneously believable and unbelievable in their roles. Their characters are bloated and over-the-top, but the quest for perfection – the unmitigated desire to become a legend – causes individuals to lose themselves in the process.
Through his dialogue, Fletcher’s berates, beats, and bullies Neiman, but Chazelle somehow manages to ground both characters in an oddly accurate reflection of reality. At times, I found myself chuckling during tense scenes because I was unable to rationalize that any one person could be so cruel. Instantly, I’d realize that, to achieve Neiman’s dream of being one of the greats, Fletcher isn’t being cruel enough. If there’s anything to take away from the film, it’s Fletcher’s ubiquitous belief that there are no two words more harmful in the English language than, “Good job.” He might be a raving sociopath, but Fletcher’s not wrong. Not entirely, anyway.
On a note regarding Fletcher’s jazz in this film: Fletcher’s insistence on crushing Neiman leads to a lie about a song in a repertoire. Neiman doesn’t have the sheet music, which means he’s going to have to improvise. The boy can’t improvise, so he walks offstage, only to return and absolutely blow away Fletcher by playing an incredibly challenging piece referenced earlier in the film.
If we consider Chazelle’s film to be about jazz – a genre of music specifically rooted in improvisation – we must suspend our disbelief that the talented Neiman is unable to come up with the right beat. However, we realize that Fletcher’s style of teaching removes improvisation from a musician’s abilities. Neiman can’t improvise because he never learned jazz – he was indoctrinated into a cult-of-personality built to worship a madman and a charlatan masquerading as a music teacher.