2014
Directed by Damiel Chazelle
Starring Miles Teller, J. K. Simmons
Warning: Mild Spoilers
I want to take a step back, and take the heaps of praise already bestowed on Whiplash as granted. You'd be hard pressed to find a more seamless fusion of editing, rhythm, sound, and style than this film. Regardless of ones personal feelings regarding the choice of music, the motivations and actions of the characters, what many have called a stark misrepresentation of the world of contemporary jazz, and so on, there is no denying that the final ensemble of all of these elements come together in an enthralling way.
To that point, I won't drag on about the masterful performance by J. K. Simmons, or the fantastically frenetic pace of the edit. My contribution to those discussions would be redundant. Instead, I'd like to explore some of the 'unsettled' aspects of the movie, namely the function of the music in relation to the dominant themes of passion, mastery, and legacy.
Before I make any claims, however, I want to be clear on the context from which I see this film. I play guitar, and I've had some jazz training. Never played in the high school jazz band, never played jazz with anyone other than myself. I wouldn't even call myself a 'jazz musician', lest I insult the people that actually dedicate time to the genre. On the wide spectrum of Interest in Jazz, I'd place myself a rung above most people, but still standing in the shadow of many more. I don't say this to try to establish some weird jazz-snobbery index, but to establish that I'm viewing this film from the lens of someone with an active interest in this particular genre, and some minutia of technical knowledge. It's minimal, but better than nothing.
All that being said, Whiplash is not necessarily about the music. Ostensibly, yes, the drumming is the central plot element that drives the story forward, and the (excellent) soundtrack is manicured to complement the visual story perfectly well. Consider, however, if the medium was changed. Instead of drumming, it's painting, or football, or a debate team, or the military, or whatever. Does the fundamental shape of the story change if instead it's about the third-string quarterback trying to become the starter and win a national championship? Ignoring the fact that that movie sounds atrociously boring and passe, it's easy to see the generally transcendent plot points of Whiplash independent of the music: a jaded teacher and an eager student, building up and tearing each other down until some mutual respect is formed. I'm far from the first to think this, but it's worth reiterating as a more interesting way to frame the movie than as "Karate Kid for Big Boys, with Drums!"
What does that leave us with? I would argue that it is not a film about overcoming adversity or expressing oneself despite external pressures, or anything else of the 'inspirational' variety. As many would agree, neither Neiman nor Fletcher are characters are particularly admirable.
Neiman comes across as anti-social and condescending. I'd go so far as to say that his singular positive trait, his dedication to his craft, is actually a tool he's manufactured to deal with personal, internal problems.
Case in point: we are given no real insight into the motivations of Neiman outside of this singular line delivered in the first half: "I'd rather die drunk, broke, at 34, and have people at a dinner table talk about me, than live to be rich and sober at 90 and nobody remember who I was."
During that same scene (though before the clip above), he makes a passing remark that jazz is not a subjective, but an objective art.
I draw a couple of things out of this scene. For one, we learn that Neiman isn't trying to become great for the sake of the music. He's not even trying to achieve greatness for the sake of greatness. His primary motivation is quite simply a fear of being forgotten.
Second, there's a certain humor and irony in Neiman calling jazz objective. We catch another glimpse into his mind from this one-off remark: he see's his music as a straight line he must walk down, at the end of which lies the safety of greatness. Of course, jazz is notorious for being free-form and improvised (at times, not always!), so we might conclude that Neiman knows something fundamental and basic about the nature of jazz that we the viewers don't that makes it an objective art.
I don't believe that's all there is to it. Instead, I'd venture that Neiman doesn't actually think of jazz as an art outside of the most strictly utilitarian sense, and it all returns to that fear of being forgotten, and having no legacy to be carried on by. This is a fear shared by Fletcher, hinted at in conversations between the two, and in particular from what we know of his former student, and his avid distaste of the phrase "Good job."
As a final point, before what was supposed to be a short review with some talking points turns into an essay, I want to offer some thoughts on the final, climactic scene. In particular, I think the implied smile Fletcher gives Neiman as he's about to cue the band back in is cathartic in more ways than one.
We see the establishment of mutual respect, at least to a higher level than what existed before. We see recognition between the two that they have finally started the journey they both were waiting for, to achieve a greatness that had long since died. And perhaps most of all, it's a release from the grip of fear that had before guided their actions; now the real work begins.