Sweat and blood

Films about drummers are a rare thing in cinema. More so, unless probably you're a die-hard music aficionado, such films would likely arouse little interest from the viewers. One thing that drew me to "Whiplash", the Grand Jury Prize winner (U.S. Dramatic) in this year's Sundance Film Festival, written and directed by 29-year-old Damien Chazelle, was that, uhm, I was a frustrated drummer some time back. I was somehow able to join just a few gigs as a "substitute" drummer for some struggling bands playing at some second-rate night watering holes. Probably hard to believe, but I did that not for the money (which was really just a mere sum) but only for the heck of it (experience and exposure, such things you know). But then the hard truth: sticks and cymbals were not really that kind to me. I wasn't just cut out for it, so to speak. It was high time to stop fooling myself. And after seeing "Whiplash", the realization that I was a musical idiot came back and was even more strengthened. Ah, the follies of youth!

"Whiplash" is, simply put, an absolute stunner. The film's trailer merely hints at how stunning it is. On my notes on "The Raid 2", I mentioned there that one indication for me to tell how great is a film is when, while watching it, I just felt how wonderful cinema as an art form is in regards to what I am watching - a kind of eureka, like a wondrous knowledge bestowed from above. I felt it then with "The Raid 2", I felt it again with "Whiplash". Some critics may have noted it already, but let me say that the film is not your conventional student-teacher story. It's not some goody-goody inspirational and uplifting mentorship tale ala-"The Blind Side". Rather, it's as ferocious, as punishing and as shattering as it can get. Half-way through the film, we're just merely bruised. By the time the film ends, we're already battered, with our souls nearly crushed. Who wouldn't? In the prestigious Sheffer Conservatory of Music, under the mentorship of Mr. Fletcher (portrayed by J. K. Simmons), a jazz music teacher who wouldn't settle for anything less than great, a student is "pushed beyond what is expected of him", so that he would strive to excel in his given talents, rather than being contented with mediocrity and the blandly comforting "good job" phrase. 

Even if it means shouting out expletives right in front of a student's face, or giving him a hard slap, or hurling instruments at him, so be it, if that would be the best way to drive him to excellence. A student just have to "earn" his place in the musical world, even if it would cost him sweat and blood - literally. That's the hard lesson that 19-year-old drummer Andrew (portrayed by Miles Teller) has come to learn. It's not enough to know that you have a talent;you need to push yourself to the limit in order to hone and master it. The way Chazelle depicts the nature of drive, ambition, talent and mentorship, and the student-teacher relationship dynamics just crawls on your skin: his close-ups of the instruments at play, of the musical sheets, of the notes written on them, of the hands that sift through the pages or touch the instruments, of the actors' faces. There's a certain kind of Bressonian intimacy in them - the difference is that, rather than divinity, they are bathed in feral energy. It's really close to assaulting our senses, in the same way as Fletcher "assaults" his students or, for that matter, Andrew. It likewise shows in how the young filmmaker is unafraid in "bending" the audience's feelings, particularly those positive feelings in regards certain plot turns, especially those relating to Andrew being able to move forward with his musical pursuit or get the favor of his fierce and exacting teacher. 

Just when we are feeling high with elation at Andrew's success in one scene, in the next scene it will all come crashing down when Fletcher blares into the young man's face his failure and unworthiness. Just like that: from an ecstatic high, it will all fall down with a loud thud. Chazelle proves that he's no different from Fletcher - a sadist. 

Aside from the feral filmmaking, "Whiplash" also boasts of one of the year's best performances. Both Teller and Simmons act up a storm here. If it would do any justice, their portrayals should be accorded a nomination, if not a win itself, by the award-giving bodies early next year. Teller as the jazz drummer Andrew is both vulnerable and fiery, fully accepting a near-surreal challenge to drive himself to the limit in order to prove to everyone that he's worthy of his natural gift, literally making it a life-and-death situation. Simmons as the music teacher Mr. Fletcher overflows with fearsome authoritativeness and brutal efficiency, his exacting teaching methods may be degrading to his students but he demonstrates them in such a way that we start to root for those methods and for the guy himself - Fletcher is such an adorable monster. These two actors simply spit brimstone and fire and drip blood and sweat in their scenes. 

At the film's start, we see Andrew, just new at the conservatory and playing with evident gusto the drum set that he chances upon in one of the classrooms, with the camera slowly closing in on him. That's also the first time that he's seen by Fletcher. By the film's end, we once again see the young drummer playing the instrument, but now in an entirely different context, a maelstrom of strong emotions as the camera captures him and his sticks, cymbals and drums in close-up. He's once again being watched by Fletcher, but now in a completely different light, if only reinforcing what he initially saw in the drummer. And as the camera fades out on Andrew's ferociously sweaty face, it's not only the filmic audience who will give this guy a deserving big hand. 

(Damien Chazelle's "Whiplash": Realizing one's dreams like it's a matter of life and death.)