Whiplash

Directed by Damien Chazelle.

2014. Rated R, 107 minutes.

Cast:

Miles Teller

J.K. Simmons

Paul Reiser

Melissa Benoist

Austin Stowell

Nate Lang

Chris Mulkey

Before I even get started, I'll just put it out there. If constant banging on drums bothers you, stay far away from this movie. A rather large portion of Whiplash is spent listening to people practice playing the drums. I mean, just the drums. No other instruments, just some dude beating the crap out of a set of skins. There's usually another dude yelling at the one playing the drums while he's playing them. Said dude then yells at him some more after he's finished playing. This is Whiplash. I just want you to be prepared for it, in case you haven't seen it. The question: is it any good?

The answer to that question, lies within the two dudes I've been referencing. Our little drummer boy is Andrew Neiman (Teller), a first year student at a famed music conservatory. We learn immediately that he's quite gifted with the sticks. While practicing, duh, he comes to the attention of big, bad conductor Terence Fletcher (Simmons), the yeller. He then invites Neiman to join the school's studio band as an alternate, a very big deal. He accepts, soon ascends to being named the band's core drummer, and has to fight tooth and nail to keep his spot. Fletcher seems bound and determined to give it to someone else. He certainly points out every mistake Neiman makes whether it's minor or major. In either case, he does so at the top of his lungs. The relationship between the two is akin to that of a drill sergeant and a private.

For most of the run time, there is no subplot to speak of. There is only a battle of wills between two men. We watch the constant back-and-forth between them and wonder which one of them will give in. We see Neiman's determination. We see him play past the point of exhaustion to the point where he is quite literally leaving something of himself on the drums. We know he wants badly to be one of the greats. Doing that starts by proving himself, here. We just don't know how much a human soul can take before it breaks. On the other end of things, we wonder how much Fletcher has to see that soul take before he stops trying to break it. While not a lot is actually going on, it is truly compelling to watch what amounts to a pissing contest between the two men. It starts with Miles Teller, whom we completely buy as a young guy trying to take full advantage of the shot he's been given and refusing to give up. He is a performer I haven't had much use for in the few things I've seen him in, but I'll admit he's impressed twice in a relatively short span. I recently watched, and thought he was quite good in, The Spectacular Now. In that case, I thought he was far better than the actual movie. Thankfully, that's not the case this time around.

If our enjoyment of Whiplash starts with Miles Teller, it endures because of J.K. Simmons. What he does as Terence Fletcher is scenery chewing done to perfection. He creates such a raging monster we can't help but hate him. He's like the villainous creature in a Godzilla movie stomping through the city with reckless abandon. Instead of skyscrapers, musicians are crumbling in his wake. Simmons is an actor I've loved in everything I've seen him whether I liked the movie, or not. His performances are perfect just about every time out. He is often the best part of whatever he's in. This includes lesser seen comedies such as Extract and big budget action flicks such as Sam Raimi's Spider-man trilogy where his J. Jonah Jameson is perhaps the most literal translation of a comic book character to the screen in the history of moving pictures. The late great Roger Ebert called Simmons invaluable. He proves to be just that in Whiplash. He commands the screen and dares anyone else to even get in the shot with him. It's a magnificent piece of work.

Eventually, there is another element introduced to the story. It's not so much a subplot as it is something else to fuel the war between Neiman and Fletcher. Because, we get a glimpse at the softer side of both men, for only a moment. During this time, motivations are revealed and we almost come to sympathize with Fletcher, whom we've only seen as a raving lunatic to this point. Soon enough, the two are back to locking horns. Shortly after that, we get to the most dissatisfying part of Whiplash: the end. One of them gives in, or so it's implied. The way it happens is so quick that it's not believable. It feels less like an acceptable conclusion than an abrupt abortion of the mission. It's like director Damien Chazelle realized that this really could go on forever and gave up on it rather than taking time to develop an ending. It feels like one of them merely won a round of sparring with much more to come, but it's played like a knockout blow was delivered. Whiplash is still an excellent movie, so this hardly sinks it. However, the rushed finale does subtract from it.