Whiplash (2014)

This review captures pretty well why "Whiplash" is not accurate to jazz or art in general. Playing the standards over and over is not a way to become a great artist; further, the idea that a great artist is predicated on trauma is only fit for superhero movies.

But Brody's review only amuses, it does not illuminate. From the get-go it's quite clear "Whiplash" is not really about jazz or art. This is clear from the first scene of the film. What captures your eye the most? Neiman's drumming, or his passion to be a drummer perhaps? Is he working on an original composition? The film begins immediately with Neiman drumming and Fletcher opening that door. The next few minutes are seized - seized is the right word - by their dialogue.

"Whiplash" is simply about these two characters. As far as jazz goes, the music is the only thing "Whiplash" gets right. It's quite clear Charlie Parker did not get a cymbal thrown at his head, he was merely mocked on-stage. (For the larger-than-life Bird, perhaps this is sufficient enough to make him reflect on his flaws.) Furthermore, claiming exclusively pre-Civil Rights era musicians embody jazz is, well, silly. But when you think upon these facts, your thought process does not detract from the film; rather, it becomes clear who the characters of the film are. They are fanatics.

The characters are fanatics who seek acclaim, but not transcendence, from art; the characters use and need art to be distinguished from the rest of society, as is demonstrated by two crucial scenes at dinner and in the bar. Of course the artist's separation from society is a critical theme in the artist's personal story, but usually it involves some fundamental change in how the artist perceives the world - this is a critical part of Charlie Parker's own story, where, rather than start a toxic, parasitic, overly macho relationship with a bully, he spent a significant amount of time - apparently 16 hours a day - woodshedding, merely practicing. (Though this may have also been a result of the physical debilities resulting from his car accident.)

Neiman and Fletcher are on their way to becoming fine career musicians, as well as social nightshade. Neither seem to be victims of abuse - rather, they are victims of their egos. "Whiplash" is an excellent film about people whose egos feed on one another - that of the teacher who needs to prove his mean-spiritedness is justified by creating fictional jazz personalities and of a student who himself wants to be a fictional jazz personality and yet has no idea how to achieve it (which is the genuine struggle every artist faces, whose solution Neiman decides is to ignore it). They are both worshippers at the altar of the "antisocial jazz genius", antisocial because he thinks differently, justified because he is a genius; and just like any false god, the worshippers focus on their deity's external qualities, rather than seriously contemplate and wrestle with what actually constructs the genius, intellectually and spiritually.

But that is the fate of all artists: Rich is a bully, Miles is a wife-beater, Coltrane had an epiphany, Bird loved drugs and the Duke...well, the Duke is the Duke. So we say: It's too hard to study the music itself...it's easier to Freud our favorites. Not my tempo.

The film just works

The film needs someone like Neiman: someone singularly obsessed with musicians from 100 years ago. The film needs someone like Fletcher, who at a moment can throw a chair at a person. The film needs Fletcher to coincidentally find someone like Neiman practicing by himself. The film needs someone like Fletcher to wield omnipotence within his band (which is quite plausible). The film needs Fletcher to fixate, for whatever reason, on tempo. The film needs one or two drummers who are somewhere on par with Neiman (though, going by the director's comments, it seems Fletcher didn't mind tanking the band with a bad drummer, if only to needle Neiman). The film needs Neiman to be late, by the coincidence of a flat tire and no access to taxis. The film needs Neiman to forget his drumsticks. The film needs Neiman to coincidentally come across Fletcher playing in a bar. The film needs Fletcher to be heading another band, with another festival in schedule.

The film needs Fletcher to fixate on Neiman specifically (though, as a friend pointed out, he may have been picking on other students outside of the frame). The film needs Neiman to exceed at the end (though it is possible that what happens is Neiman's dream).

Some of the film's coincidences are part of the premise; that is acceptable. But some coincidences are too coincidental, and some results could have gone another way. It was extremely odd to see Fletcher let a wounded, bleeding Neiman walk past him, knowing all too well that playing music is a physical performance. It was even odder that there were no spare drumsticks for Neiman - as a friend commented again, drumsticks are very cheap, compared to the cost of the rest of the equipment.

The film works on two blessings: tight focus on the subject of the artist and his art, and J. K. Simmons' performance. I can't think of the film working without Simmons, honestly. When Simmons walks into a room, the audience is not sure what he will do. He does not look kind and yet he does not look mean either. His voice and his stature is perfect for going from 0 to 100, calm to a frothing rage. Simmons shouts insults like he had heard them shouted at himself at one point in his life. When Simmons yells, we somehow have a connection with him as well as with the person he is victimizing. I really can't think of anyone else in that role.

The other blessing is ironic - a film about fanatics has the director fanatically zeroing in on his subject matter. The coincidences can be forgiven because the journey of the film lies in the psychological adventure going through the minds of our "heroes". That purity and clarity of intent arrests the audience's attention such that we don't mind the actual material world of the film.

And what is interesting is that we know the director bristles at the subject matter. He does not seem to like talking about the real life inspirations for the film all too much. Connected to his subsequent films, "La La Land" and "First Man", there is a fantastical, sentimental element to Chazelle's films. But in "Whiplash", the fantasy serves our darker faces. We see the divide between fantasy and reality very clearly; we may indulge in the fantasy, but at some point we must jump over to the reality and be horrified. I think Chazelle has balked from exploring the darkness of "Whiplash", which, given the material, is a sane choice; but that adds to the "once in a lifetime" quality to the film.

The coincidences still exist. And so "Whiplash" may not be a perfect film - but, when watching its scenes breathlessly, one does come to think it is a classic of sorts.