Whiplash
There are no two words in the English language more harmful than “good job”.
- Terence Fletcher
I put off watching Whiplash for a very long time, partly because I didn’t want to see my own obsessive tendencies reflected back at me. But I needn’t have worried. I’m nowhere near Andrew Neiman’s level, for better or worse. I wanted to focus more on abuse and obsession in art than the review of the film. So here are some quick words on the film itself: The film is precise, sharp, and at times violent and brutal, with superb performances from both Miles Teller and J.K. Simmons. The brilliant editing gave it a breathless quality, charged with intensity and moments of reprieve that carries all the way to the climax. (Here’s a very good analysis of the editing of the ending scene). It’s a masterpiece in both storytelling and filmmaking.
The story centers around Andrew Neiman, a talented and intense jazz drummer studying his craft at an elite music conservatory. He is handpicked by Terence Not-Quite-My-Tempo Fletcher, a much feared and respected faculty member to join the studio band. What ensued was a journey of discovery, abuse, destruction, breakthrough…
The film interrogates both Andrew’s obsession and Fletcher's abuse. Each on its own would have been destructive enough. But the way they feed off of each others’ energy was raw and at times painful to watch. Fletcher manipulates Andrew psychologically, abuses him verbally and physically, and takes advantage of his ambition and obsessive tendencies to, in his mind, push him to greatness. Andrew challenges Fletcher’s authority, but in a way, vindicates his abuse by eventually rising up to his standards and achieving a breakthrough. Andrew’s tenacity and obsession are rewarded by a faint smile of recognition and even pride from Fletcher. But neither has changed as a person. If this performance isn’t the last of their collaboration, this won’t be the last of their conflict. So long as Fletcher remains self-righteous and Andrew remains obsessive, they will continue to clash.
I’ve never been scared of some fictional character the way I was scared of Fletcher. The responses his behaviors elicit were visceral. I felt as though I was sitting at the drum kit being humiliated and abused in front of the whole band. J.K. Simmons gave Fletcher a contained and restrained physicality that makes the moment of the outbursts more sudden and explosive.
Fletcher is not entirely wrong in believing that coddling young artists and protecting their egos at all costs is in no way helping them improve. I have had gentle and kind teachers who told me “good job” when I manifestly hadn’t done a good job. If I couldn’t distinguish polite encouragements from real compliments, I would have become complacent. But this is no justification for abuse. Abuse does not produce brilliant art or artists. Part of becoming a mature artist is learning to strip your ego away and evaluate your performance as objectively as possible. This includes knowing both when people offer praises you don’t wholly deserve and when they provide criticisms that aren’t constructive.
For any artist, practice is absolutely crucial regardless of how much talent one has. There were many montages of Andrew practicing till his hands bled. While this is a cinematic and dramatic device to emphasize his dedication and obsession, such behavior does exist more than you would expect. I have practiced till my fingers cramp or my voice is hoarse but frankly to such kind of extreme, I was no longer honing my craft. I was venting my frustration by hurting myself.
I have also witnessed this kind of punishing obsession in others. When I was working with the Metropolitan Opera National Council Audition, we had a singer whose voice cracked for a second during her aria. After her audition is over, instead of leaving, she went back to the practice room. After a while I went to check on her. Through the doors I could hear her repeating that one phrase over and over again. She was punishing herself for that one second of mishap.
One last comment I would like to make is on Andrew’s choice to let music consume his life. By rejecting his budding relationship with Nicole, he symbolically rejects everything in life that doesn’t serve drumming. One could argue that such single-minded dedication is necessary for an artist. All great artists do share in this kind of focus and intensity. However, if an artist is wholly consumed by their art and neglects to live their life, what do they really have to give? What is it that they can express when they are detached from the life that inspired the art in the first place? Art is about so much more than dazzling techniques. It is what you communicate, what you make others feel and contemplate. Obsession may make one a brilliant technician but it could never make one a worthy artist.
