Whiplash

They say to budding authors to write about what you know and first time writer / director Damien Chazelle has done just that for his mesmerising film debut, telling the story of student jazz drummer Andrew Neiman (Miles Teller) and his combustible relationship with volcanic teacher Terrance Fletcher (J.K. Simmons). Plot wise that’s pretty much it, but Chazelle’s film doesn’t need to venture much further than that basic premise as it’s locked in place by two barnstorming performances by its leads, a tight script, economic direction and, as you’d expect, a foot tapping score. The battle between Neiman and Fletcher is what drives the entire film. From Neiman’s innocence and naivety in response to Fletcher’s early friendly putting him at ease encouragement, up to the scenes of physical and mental abuse, it’s a contest between the two that, crucially, is mainly controlled by Fletcher as he holds the keys to Neiman’s Kingdom. The two leads are an interesting mix. Teller has plenty of films under his belt already, though nothing to suggest he has the talent he shows here. Simmons on the other hand is great in everything he is in, but has never had that one standout performance. They’re both utterly superb here. Teller’s Neiman is in every single scene of the film, meaning that Simmons’ Fletcher is more of an enigma. The approach works though, as Fletcher is already the more (if flawed) rounded character, but Neiman has still to choose his path. I mentioned earlier that the film doesn’t stray far from the head to head between the two leads, but when it does Chazelle quickly and efficiently shows us what we need to know with the minimal of fuss and we move on. To wit – Neiman’s family and relationships. Though Paul Reiser appears sporadically as Neiman’s father, the whole family dynamic is explained away in a quick dinner table scene, which also includes the films best one-liner. It’s a proficient approach that in other film makers hands would have taken all day to explain. Any love interest for Neiman is dealt with in a similar fashion. He has a meet-cute which is expanded out into one date scene, before all is abruptly finished when he dumps her as he claims he won’t have time for her anymore due to his drumming. It’s brutality as honesty from Neiman, but it isn’t even the total truth. In reality Neiman feels she will impact on his quest to be one of the greatest of all time. Chazelle makes it clear to the viewer that nothing will get in Neiman’s way – hence the full blown horn locking that develops with Fletcher. Lets move on to Chazelle himself. As mentioned at the start, Chazelle wrote this based on his own personal experience of being a jazz drummer in a high school band. So the fact he knows his floor-tom from his hi-hat is hardly a surprise. He’s clearly a clever cookie though as, a novice director he may be, but he knows the basic rule of cinema and follows it to the letter – that being you only include scenes that move the storyline along and / or progress characterisation. The best TV drama’s have been doing that to a tee for the last decade (which explains why we’re in such a purple patch for unmissable idiot-box viewing), but so many films ignore this standard for fear of not having a bloody two hour plus running time. Whiplash is as lean as it comes and there’s zero fat here. OK, I slightly twisted it when I said this is Chazelle’s debut feature, but only the most factious would count his non-mainstream released micro budget effort Guy and Madeline on a Park Bench from 2009 as a feature film (however, that film was also a study in jazz, so the teeth cutting had already begun). Throw in the fact that this was shot in only nineteen days, it’s clear that Chazelle knows how to portray his vision. Plus, just to make us all feel worthless as well – he was only 29 years old when he shot this. Though the triumphal triumvirate of Chazelle, Teller and Simmons is what makes this one of the best films in recent memory, huge kudos must go to the films editor Tom Cross as well. Aptly named, he cross-cuts to such spectacular effect (especially during the musical numbers) that it was only on a second viewing of the film that I made a conscious decision to look at just how many edits there are. There are loads, but instead of getting a Tony Scott inspired headache, Chazelle and Cross have approached it in such a manner that you actually believe you are watching seamless panning. OK, that’s a bit arty I know, but films like this don’t come along very often so they deserve a wider analysis. All this and I haven’t even mentioned the sound. It’s a not quite a requirement on par with something like Berberian Sound Studio, but make sure you see this in a cinema with a decent (and loud) speaker system so you can get the full effect, from the gentle thump of the snare drum that subtly underscores the minimalistic title screen to the breath-taking mayhem of the drum solo that underpins the final scene. Some negative comments have come the way of this in respect of Fletcher’s bullying and crude and coarse insults, but such talk can only described as idiotic. He’s a character in a film. Plus, it’s hardly a plot spoiler to point out that Fletcher isn’t awarded the teacher of the year award come the denouement. Now – that ending. It’s an odd comparison, but it reminded me in a roundabout way of Juan José Campanella’s The Secret In Their Eyes in regards to each film having a narrative that twists and turns over a short period of screen time with the audience having no idea how it’s going to play out. In Whiplash its urgent, dizzying and compelling as the upper hand switches between Neiman and Fletcher minute by minute, until the killer sign off that’ll have you punching the air in response to the music in a manner unseen since the barnstorming climax of Radu Mihaileanu’s The Concert. I think I’ve typed enough now, so I’ll leave the final summation to film critic Robbie Collin who encapsulates the entire film perfectly when he says, “However genius may flourish, you know it when you see it, and Whiplash is it”. Rating: 10/10.