Whiplash

Courtesy of Sony Pictures Classics, Sierra/Affinity, Bold Films, Blumhouse Productions, Right of Way Films

                Director and screenwriter Damien Chazelle has a unique voice that speaks in tempo, which is a strange development in the world of cinema. His past film “Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench” revolved around the romance between two musicians in the form of a musical. While his last film looked at the ardor of the thirties musical scene, this film looks at its raw underbelly. Looking at the abusive, often violent influences of musical instructors at top tier universities and schools, Chazelle has tapped into a reserve of pain and talent that so often isn’t seen. The pressure of striving to be the best often ruins people’s lives, and yet renders them living legends.

            There is not enough praise in the world that I can heap onto J.K. Simmons for his mind numbingly brash performance as music instructor Terence Fletcher. While the story follows Andrew (Teller), and Teller is in every single scene, it’s just as much a story of Fletcher’s disconsolate demeanor and abusive tactics in shaping young minds.

            The story is one that has been told before, but it has never felt so tense. Teller portrays a single minded musician who wants to “die drunk, broke at 34 and have people at a dinner table talk about him than live to be rich and sober at 90 and nobody remembered who he was.” Andrew remains indeterminably selfish throughout the entire film. He believes that his family’s accomplishments aren’t worth the conversation they fodder. He looks at his father as a disgrace who didn’t run after his dreams the way Andrew strives to. He dumps a girl he actually likes, all because she will potentially keep his mind off of his passion. He is spoiled, petty, and thinks highly of himself, even after Fletcher tries to break him.

            Fletcher and Andrew’s relationship forms the crux of the film. It’s a power dynamic that is completely unique. Fletcher feeds Andrew’s drive to be a better musician, but Fletcher doesn’t deter him in his belief that he will be one of the greats. Though he is abusive, Fletcher’s doesn’t always have a hold on Andrew, or so he thinks. Their toxic interchanges makes for some very tense, graphic, heated moments onscreen, and shows the intensity and drive that Fletcher is asking from his students. Just as important, is our knowledge that Fletcher cares most about perfection, even more than people. Having a prodigy is much less important than having a perfect, seamless jazz ensemble.

            In the last minutes of the film we finally see what Andrew wants us to see: him as a success. (Him as a performer, a legend, a musician). While Fletcher gets the best of him on several occasions, he still rises high in his narcissism. This fantastical ending relies on magical realism, and yet its amazing conclusion feels so tangible it hurts. It’s remarkably satisfying, and rightly so. Of all the Oscar nominated films this year, this was the only one that sparked something, that inspired and cajoled a response with its abrasiveness and its seduction, wrapped around each other in earnest.