Brief Synopsis: Andrew Neiman (Miles Teller) is an emotionally vulnerable, ambitious first-year drummer at the prestigious Shaffer Conservatory with dreams of becoming the next great musician, the next Charlie Parker. Terence Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) is an abusive, manipulative conductor whose sole mission in life is to find the next Charlie Parker. What could go wrong? As Andrew plays to the beat of Fletcher’s drum, Andrew’s life reaches a crossroads: sacrifice everything for a dream or be discouraged from drumming forever.

Whiplash is a demented kind of entertainment because I spent the whole movie waiting to see what fresh new hell Fletcher will inflict on Andrew. The most memorable moments might be Fletcher throwing a chair at Andrew’s head or slapping Andrew’s face in tempo to the music (which I know sounds weird when I write it out), but the film is a powerful character study on fear and motivation. As the story progresses, our frustration increases with Andrew’s increasing desire to be respected in the eyes of his abusive mentor. Honestly, the best outcome might have been for Andrew’s father to conduct an intervention and force Andrew to take a long vacation somewhere in the English countryside where he doesn’t have to breathe the same air as Fletcher — but I suppose then we wouldn’t have a movie.

Andrew and Fletcher’s relationship is like watching a danger act douse themselves in kerosene while motorcycling through a ring of fire over a pit of cobra snakes… and a saboteur has cut the fuel line before the show. It’s a lose-lose situation for Andrew because if he molds himself into the kind of singular-minded musician Fletcher wants him to be, then he destroys a piece of himself, but if he gives up drumming, then he’s wasted his entire life chasing a pointless dream.

Whiplash is a masterstroke at building those stakes higher and higher. Fletcher’s teaching philosophy is based on the idea that the next Charlie Parker “will never be discouraged,” and so for him, physical and psychological warfare on his students weeds out the weak-hearted. Every act of cruelty is a test to see how committed Andrew is to become a world-class drummer; therefore, the longer Andrew sticks with the Studio Band, the more intense Fletcher becomes. It’s a vicious cycle: Andrew disappoints Fletcher, Fletcher punishes Andrew, Andrew is motivated to meet Fletcher’s expectations, Fletcher rewards Andrew, Andrew feels confident that he’s gotten the approval of Fletcher, Fletcher takes his abuse a step further to test Andrew. Cycle repeats. (For those who’ve seen the film, I want to say there are six cycles total — opening scene, the first Studio Band rehearsal, the missing folder incident, the all-night rehearsal, Andrew’s mad rush to retrieve his drumsticks, and the final concert.) 

What makes Whiplash so brilliant is each cycle layers on top of each other. With every cycle, Andrew burns another bridge or loses a piece of who he is  — splintering relationships, long nights of bleeding knuckles dunked in ice buckets, drug addiction, animosity towards his fellow musicians — which means that if he surrenders to being “discouraged,” he can’t regain what he has lost. (On a separate note, that’s also what makes Andrew’s father’s unconditional love in this movie much more meaningful.) Whiplash is filled with memorable lines and iconic scenes, completely uprooting the common feel-good narrative of a mentor and their student. Miles Teller and J.K. Simmons deliver unbelievable performances, and leave a lasting impression on the meaning of “doing your best.”