Recent Posts
- Are You Ready for Spirit Week 2024?!?! BY ISABELLA CAROLOW
- Extra Schoolwork During Advisory??? Perspectives from Students and Teachers on SAT Prep BY SAMUEL HIERS
- Embracing Perspective: Finding Beauty in the Ordinary and Extraordinary BY SAMANTHA MIGNANELLI
- The Taylor Swift “Thing” BY KEELY SULLIVAN
- CHS Renovations BY HAZEL DUROSS
Recent Comments
- Maureen Couture on Quality Education Comes in Many Forms BY Justin Curran
- Gwen Schumacher on Quality Education Comes in Many Forms BY Justin Curran
- chakal on How to Prepare for Final Exams BY Mrs. Murgida (from CHS Guidance)
- MAJ P. on The Healthy Benefits of Music that is Surely “Pop” for the Soul! BY Samuel Hiers
- MAJ P. on Planning for a Life in the U.S. Military BY Matthew Capwell
Archives
- March 2024
- February 2024
- January 2024
- December 2023
- October 2023
- September 2023
- June 2023
- April 2023
- March 2023
- February 2023
- December 2022
- November 2022
- October 2022
- May 2022
- April 2022
- March 2022
- December 2021
- November 2021
- May 2021
- March 2021
- May 2020
- February 2020
- November 2019
- October 2019
- September 2019
- June 2019
- May 2019
- April 2019
- March 2019
- February 2019
- December 2018
- October 2018
- September 2018
- June 2018
- May 2018
- March 2018
- February 2018
- December 2017
- November 2017
- October 2017
- May 2017
- March 2017
- December 2016
- November 2016
- October 2016
- June 2016
- May 2016
- April 2016
- March 2016
- February 2016
- January 2016
- November 2015
- October 2015
- June 2015
- May 2015
- April 2015
- March 2015
- February 2015
- January 2015
- November 2014
- October 2014
A Conversation About Whiplash By Olivia Fung
Whiplash is very possibly one of the best movies I’ve seen in my limited time on this earth. I can’t tell if you're going to love it, but if you’re anything like me, you’ll be in awe. It’s not something you enjoy, it’s something you appreciate. It’s art.
Whiplash (2014), written and directed by Damien Chazelle, stars Miles Teller and J. K. Simmons. It is the striking story of a young drummer, pushed to the brink by a narcissistic and abusive band director.
Protagonist Andrew Neiman, a young student at the Shaffer Conservatory, gets promoted out of the lower band, and into the elusive ensemble band. Terrence Fletcher, the feared and fiercely respected band director, recruits Neiman himself. He tells Neiman to show up for practice on his first day at six a.m. Oversleeping and rushing, Neiman barely makes it one time, only to find that practice begins at nine. Eventually, the other band members arrive, older and cooler and with nicer sticks and instruments. Neiman has been recruited as an alternate, a lesser but still important position. Then Fletcher arrives. He arrives in slow and assured movements, and at the general precision and silence he commands, the audience can feel the presence of a long beaten routine. This particular set piece, for me, and the scene or two that follows is one of the most important of the whole film. While it isn’t the first time we meet Fletcher, it’s the first time we see him outside of his contact with Neiman. What the audience at first perceived perhaps as his “true” self. A more vulnerable, softer self. As practice goes on, Fletcher ridicules a musician for being out of tune, calling him names and profanities, publicly humiliating him. The man runs out, crying. Fletcher notes the fact that he wasn’t out of tune at all, but he didn’t know it, and that was much worse. Fletcher now finally allows Neiman to play with the band, putting him on the drums. Here Neiman struggles to be with Fletcher’s tempo, in a long, painful-to-watch, acute piece that culminates with Fletcher throwing a cymbal at Neiman’s head. Neiman cries, and once again Fletcher, for the first time, tears down the psyche of one of his musicians.
This all happens in about fifteen minutes. It’s so important to the film and sends Neiman down the road to obsession and isolation with his drums. Although Neiman hates Fletcher, and for very, very good reason, he’ll always be devoted to him. Later on in the film, there’s a sense of connection, some sort of divine thing between the two of them. Much of this is by and part to Fletcher’s manipulation, he had created himself into something to which Neiman would always come back. Even after he quits the Shaffer Conservatory, after he tries to move on with his life, he still goes to see his old teacher at the jazz club. Neiman became so obsessive, so consumed to make this madman proud, to be one of his frequent and aforementioned greats, he goes to extreme lengths. He tests the limits of his personhood, practicing until his hands bleed, submerging them in ice water, slapping on a band-aid, and continuing to play. He isolates himself from his family, breaks up with his girlfriend. He crawls out of a crashed car, head bleeding, likely concussed, to make a concert on time. This is what I’m saying about Whiplash feeling like something you don’t want to see, but can’t tear your eyes away from. Throughout the film, we follow Andrew through his obsession, his sickness. It all culminates in a moment of actual cinematic glory. It’s honestly not something I can describe, but I’ll try anyway. Andrew is humiliated again by Fletcher, given a piece to play onstage that he does not know. Overcome, Andrew leaves. But then. Andrew bursts back onstage, surprising Fletcher, and begins playing one of the most difficult numbers of their set. Caravan. It contains a series of insanely fast drum fills that not only Andrew, three drummers, were put through hell to get through earlier. Andrew plays his stupid little heart out and Fletcher is screaming at him, but it’s all drowned out by this grand big band jazz. It’s genuinely one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. And it’s so much more intense than I could ever put to words. There’s a point where the framing cuts a certain way, and we can barely, just barely, see Fletcher smiling. Pan back to Andrew. Cut to black. And then it’s gone.
The way I felt at the end of Whiplash is different than how I felt at the end of any film. It’s a manic, sharp, cold-sweat inducing one hundred and six minutes. I physically shook during a lot of it. There’s a sort of sense of relief, a comfort in knowing that Andrew can’t suffer any longer. There’s so much to Whiplash that I can’t quite explain if you haven’t seen it yourself. It’s disastrously beautiful, akin to careening to your death in a boat falling off of a waterfall but the only thing you can bring yourself to think is, how beautiful is this water today? It has the mark of fantastic research, hard work, and personal experience. The framing, and the cinematography, the scoring and composition is gorgeous and stands beyond anything I could ever say about it. It’s such a consuming piece. I spoke before about how we go through the motions with Andrew, but it’s so much more than that. In a way, we become him. In the last set piece, the dramatic end chord, Andrew has been beaten and humiliated, manipulated and abused, time and time again. We have, too. That first moment Fletcher starts to smile, there’s a tangible emotion there. Felt by Andrew, Fletcher, and the audience. It’s pride, almost. I felt it while watching, it’s so long fought and that bleeds through the screen so wonderfully. Andrew, (us, too) should have absolutely no reason to care about what Fletcher thinks, he’s one of the most irredeemable villains possible, but in the end, we’re all still human. The claws of gaslighting and emotional abuse hold tight. It’s a childish, stick-it-to-the-man, guilty kind of pride. It is done so effectively and is one of the best reactions a film has ever gotten out of me. Whiplash chews you up, spits you out, shakes you to your core, and I and just about every movie nerd I know will still say thank you.
Whiplash occupies a very particular place in my own personal catalog. I’ve never been the person to suffer through a film purely for art or because I feel like I have to because something is a ‘classic’. God forbid, but I actually like enjoying the things I watch. I’m a big fan of romantic comedies, which is for another time. But why even bring up my preferences for this? Whiplash is not something you enjoy, at least not necessarily. The very story is disgusting and flawed, uncomfortable, and gives you a feeling that you need to turn your head, that you’re seeing something you shouldn’t be. The very setting of an exclusive select band at a selective music school adds to this, giving an air of privy. This is private. Whatever goes on behind closed doors and in the pit is not your business. The other musicians see the abuse perpetrated by Fletcher, and sit by and watch. This kind of look-the-other-way behavior, in my mind, speaks quite truly to the exclusivity of these kinds of communities. Billionaires commit all kinds of crimes, all the time and other rich people look the other way for them. Terrence Fletcher, as Shaffer is concerned, as Andrew is concerned, is that billionaire. Whiplash, is in many ways, a horror movie. Director and writer Damien Chazelle have talked about this in a number of his interviews, and it’s this approach to Whiplash that makes it what it is. It’s a perfect little smoothie of things I do not quite like. Horror movies (I know, sue me), and ‘cinema’ movies. The idea of movies versus cinema and film is very present in our culture. I think a lot of people are at a disadvantage just limiting themselves to “I like movies” and “I only watch films, not movies.”. It’s not exactly mutually exclusive. Not to mention, so many ‘cinema films’ are so hard to get through! Three hours? No thank you! I barely have the attention span for long Tik Toks! The gatekeeping in the film community is something I’m eager to see gone. Also, this kind of thinking (at least I’ve found) is a lot more present in men than it is in women. I’ll ask, why is it that when I express my love for movies I’m immediately interrogated by every Scorsese and Tarantino film possible? Oh, you like Marvel? Please explain this minor character’s very specific backstory. Misogyny is embedded in every part of our culture, especially in media. Returning to my point, Whiplash has so many things that make it easy to say “I don’t like it” and look the other way. But it’s deeper than that. It’s instinctual. It’s funny, and a little gruesome. It’s done a lot for me, and I hope the same for you.
In conclusion, Whiplash is very possibly one of the best movies I’ve seen in my limited time on this earth. I can’t tell if you’re going to love it, but if you’re anything like me, you’ll be in awe. It’s not something you enjoy, it’s something you appreciate. It’s art. All the best watching wishes to you,
All the love,
Olivia J. Fung