"Better a fallen rocket than never a burst of light."
~ Tom Stoppard, The Invention of Love

Tuesday, March 3, 2015

Whiplash (2013, R)

This movie came out on DVD two days after the Oscars (‘cause it’s convenient like that,) so I finally had the chance to see it.  I see exactly why it won the awards it did (J.K. Simmons for supporting actor, sound mixing, and film editing,) and while it’s an excellent movie, I also see why it didn’t win the other ones it was up for (best picture and adapted screenplay.)  It’s just not the sort of movie that wins those sorts of awards.  However, it is a great film, and I’m happy it wasn’t just a seat-filler nomination.

Whiplash tells the story of Andrew, a first-year drummer at a highly-prestigious, highly-competitive music conservatory.  He thinks he’s hit the jackpot when Dr. Fletcher, an esteemed professor, plucks him out of obscurity to join Fletcher’s elite jazz band.  Under the dictatorial Fletcher, it turns out, dreams come true are both hard-earned and crushingly fleeting.  Andrew’s life becomes a pressure cooker of verbal abuse, nonstop practicing, and rewards that are constantly in danger of being yanked away.  It’s not so much a matter of success as it is one of survival.

Naturally, much of the movie’s greatness owes its thanks to J.K. Simmons’s brilliant performance as Fletcher, as well as the fine material he has to work with.  This character is just remarkably exciting to watch, because he has so many weapons in his arsenal.  Sometimes he rages at his musicians, hurling litanies of abuse (and, occasionally, chairs) at them.  Sometimes he goes frighteningly quiet, murmuring threats in their ears or commenting on their deepest vulnerabilities with nary a thought.  Sometimes the anger begins slowly, starting off reasonably, almost reassuringly, and gradually descending into white-hot fury.  Sometimes he’s all encouragement and smiles, lulling them into a false sense of safety while getting them to open up about the insecurities he’ll throw back in their faces later.  And worst of all, sometimes he makes these kids feel fantastic:  when he’s in Fletcher’s favor, it’s clear that Andrew feels like a jazz-drumming stud, on top of the world, and he subjects himself to endless ugliness, humiliation, and pain just to get those scraps of Fletcher’s praise.  The true menace of Fletcher isn’t his insults or intimidation – it’s the way you can see exactly why Andrew keeps chasing his approval.

And oh boy, does he chase it.  The expression “play until your fingers bleed” isn’t the least bit figurative here, and there are numerous moments throughout the film when I weighed the various likelihoods of Andrew killing himself, killing Fletcher, dropping out of school, or dropping dead of a heart attack onstage.  The tight storytelling and claustrophobic framing add to the tension, which puts you right at the kit with Andrew and makes this movie more edge-of-your-seat than plenty of action blockbusters out there.  It’s a film that feels more like an experience than a viewing, because it immerses you so wholly into Andrew’s high-pressure world.

Warnings

Copious language and verbal abuse (including homophobic slurs and the R-word,) sexual references, a little violence, and disturbing elements.

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