What is success? Is it being wealthy? Having a spouse and children? Being highly respected? Or . . .?
Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash is an occasionally invigorating thriller about a jazz drummer who is pushed to his physical and emotional limits by his abusive, unorthodox instructor in order to become the best he can be, at the expense of relationships and everything else in his life. The film presents a young man, Andrew (brilliantly played by Miles Teller), who would do anything to achieve prestige. But is this real success, and does it matter how he gets it?
Mediocrity is profusely encouraged and raw talent isn’t developed into something monumental in Andrew’s society. His father is an unremarkable high school teacher and those in his extended family are praised for their role in a third division college football team. Andrew directly contrasts these characters as he is enrolled in the superlative music school in the United States where the feared and respected Fletcher teaches the studio jazz band.
Andrew wants to be something special, so he ignores his family, rudely drops a love interest, and doesn’t pursue friendships. He is achieving what many would consider success, but shows no hint that he enjoys his craft or does it for love’s sake. He’s talented and driven, but we are never given a glimpse of him getting fulfillment or happiness from his drumming. Near the end, Andrew is a better and more refined player, but he has also allowed his ego and devotion to his craft destroy the environment and relationships which would have made it worthwhile. Is this success?
Chazelle directs his movie like a thriller, with Andrew’s action (accompanied by sweat and blood) of crashing snares and cymbals to the conductor’s precise tempo overlaid with being screamed at to stay in time. The editing and other stylistic choices are precise and calculated, as the use of handheld cinematography and powerful close-ups of the wickedly talented actors amplify the tension (J.K. Simmons is an explosive scene-stealer as Fletcher). The storytelling diverges from clichés and plays with the archetypal idea of a teacher as a mentor.
Yet Whiplash does not fully succeed beyond being like a good drum solo; you leave impressed at the artist’s talent and precision, but really there is little to ponder. The director is hitting the skins as hard as he can while keeping an entertaining pace, but forgetting the depth of sound that would have made the film unforgettable. Whiplash lacks profundity and sympathetic characters. We admire Andrew’s skill, but for the most part he’s one dimensional and acts deplorably. I understand that this is the point, but by consequence, Whiplash is about as successful as Andrew.
As I ponder Andrew and what it took for him to achieve prestige and climb above the mediocrity, I can hear that haunting question: what is success?
