An Overly Personal Reflection on Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash

I wrote this a little while ago, after a lecture and film screening on Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash. My second or third viewing of the film since I first saw it when it came out, it really affected me and I wrote the following that evening. It’s quite personal and goes into some of my own mental health history and thoughts on it but I thought it’d be worth putting up here for posterity’s sake.

When Whiplash came out in 2014, I was only just beginning to become more involved in film and care about films more deeply. At the same time, I was starting to realise some things about myself and struggle with an increasingly toxic mental state, one that I thought would solve my perceived problems but likely propagated them and caused further complications. The thoughts I had were deeply concerned with my level of self-discipline and my apparent inability to improve myself as a person. These thoughts caused and had been caused by a multitude of separate events that just so happened to culminate in a level of depression and anxiety. It was my understanding, however, that if I were able to push myself to do more and become a better person, the feelings would go away. This is to say that I believed the cause of my difficulties to be a flaw in my character. I worked harder than I had ever before at school, tried to push myself to pursue more extra-curricular activities and used the gym as a crutch to flood myself with endorphins whenever a negative thought pattern approached. On the surface it appeared that I was doing better, but I soon found my routines and emotional repression to be unsustainable; I reached deeper lows in private than I had ever before. I was not a perfect student – I surrounded myself with individuals who could far more accurately claim such a title – and that got to me. The issues I had grew and my need to push myself beyond my capacities grew with it. Each day, getting out of bed became harder, but I continued to lament my own lack of discipline. Even writing this now, I find it hard to believe that I ever had any issues beyond said lack of discipline and work ethic. By now it may be apparent that what I was struggling with was not in fact a deep lack in character – I was and still am a pretty average individual in all respects – but issues with my image of myself and a simple lack of excitement for what I was doing.

In pushing myself, I made some progress. I was improving my grades at least somewhat. I became a writer for my sixth form newspaper. At one point I even agreed to speak in front of the entirety of year 11 about mindfulness, having attempted to use it to control my depressive symptoms. That was (and still is, albeit to a lesser extent) a nightmare scenario for me, but I pushed myself to do it. What I took from the brief explanation of my experience with mindfulness was not however that I had been brave for standing in front of a room full of strangers who I knew didn’t want to be there and revealing my mental struggles, but rather that I had stammered numerous times in doing so. I would find a next time and I would do it better; there was no reprieve, I was still broken, there was no improvement.

During this period of my life, where I was only just starting to confront myself, Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash came out. I won’t pretend that the film had a profound effect on me, but I watched it a couple of times, being a novice drummer. What I saw in Miles Teller’s Andrew Neiman was a new standard to hold myself to. Just as one might feel after viewing Rocky, I was invigorated with a new level of determination. My thoughts were somewhat confirmed. I agreed with J.K. Simmons’ leering Fletcher that ‘there are no two words in the English language more harmful than “good job”’ and I believed it wholeheartedly. It appeared to me that to reach greatness, I had to kill who I was. What I saw was a young man overcoming his physical pain and emotional drawbacks and succeeding. In the climactic finale, where Neiman turns from his comforting father and re-enters the stage to deliver an immense performance, apparently overcoming the obstacle of Fletcher, I saw triumph. I desired that triumph.

Until earlier this term, I seemed to have managed to entirely avoid re-watching the film. Here and there I’ve picked up clips and retrodden Teller’s impressive solos but I’ve never recontextualised the imagery, his struggle; I’ve never had to reassess what I took away from Chazelle’s narrative. This being said, for my class in Film Criticism, I did have to sit and re-watch the film and I came to a realisation about my original reading and, further, my growth as an individual from that self-hating, antisocial, depressive, ignorant, slightly misunderstood, anxious, brave young man to a slightly less self-hating, less antisocial, less depressive, less ignorant, misunderstood, and anxious but stronger young man. I think I understand Chazelle’s film a lot more now. I think I can read that final emergence of individual excellence from complete torment for what it is and what I believe Chazelle intended it to be all along – wholly sinister. I do not believe Whiplash to be a glorification of the rise of the likes of Charlie Parker and I believe that in order to take that from the film one must neglect a greater part of the narrative.

From the beginning of the film, Andrew Neiman wishes to be a drummer and a good one at that. He is obviously already talented enough to be attending the fictional, yet implicitly prestigious Shaffer Conservatory, but he still has a dream to be greater. In the conductor Terence Fletcher and his Studio Band, Neiman sees the once in a lifetime opportunity to pursue this greatness and understandably does so. This is Neiman’s first objective in the film, our first goal we expect and hope to see Neiman strive for and achieve. Neiman is still in control when he practices harder to attain a greater prize. Things are perhaps uncertain for him, but he still has hope for his future, if he just meets this first objective of his, he’s on his way – and he does meet this goal. At first, the Studio Band seems to be high-stakes and a little intense but Fletcher, for all his harshness, appears a mere caricature. Yes, he upset Neiman a little when he suddenly left him playing, but the scene was funny – it was outrageous and absurd, but that’s what made it funny. Before his first rehearsal with the Studio Band, Fletcher takes Neiman aside and reassures him, calms him down. He asks about his family and Neiman shares a little of his history, expressing a hint of fragility when he mentions his absent mother and some shame at his father being a teacher and not a writer. It is only when Fletcher stops Neiman, hurls a chair at his head and utilises the information he’s gleaned on Neiman’s weak-points to verbally abuse him before the rest of the band that Fletcher becomes more than a caricature and we begin to see the film’s true intentions. Fletcher leaves Neiman with some parting advice: ‘start practicing harder.’

After this encounter, Neiman rushes home to be by himself. His father calls, but Neiman ignores it. This is our second glimpse, after his disclosure to Fletcher, at what Neiman’s father is to him: comfort, contentment and love, but also compromise and disappointment. In this moment, Neiman decides on how he will respond to Fletcher’s advice. He will rise to it; he will pick himself up and become great. This is his opportunity. Neiman’s rejection of his father in this scene is mirrored clearly in the final one, where Neiman is defeated by Fletcher and consoled by his father before he turns away – much to his father’s anguish. For now, though, Neiman is on an upwards trajectory. In conjunction with his renewed determination to improve his drumming, Neiman also starts seeing a girl, who points out that up until this point, his eyes have been glued to the floor whenever she’s seen him. On the surface, Neiman is starting his journey to traditional success. He is no longer shy, he is going to become successful – or, at least, more successful.

From here, when he loses the folder holding the sheet music the core drummer needs to play, Neiman steps up, knowing the music by heart, and impresses Fletcher. Neiman apparently takes over his colleague’s position. He is being fed hope for the future, but Fletcher is starting to gain control. Drawing Neiman in, Fletcher appears to him harsh but fair. Fletcher embodies the traditional path to success. If we just work harder and push ourselves, we get what we deserve. Pull yourself up by your bootstraps. Neiman’s given a shot and nails it, earning his position, and there’s no reason for him to believe that this cause-and-effect pattern won’t continue into the future.

At the same time, Fletcher is feeding Neiman the ingredients to reform his psychology to be more aligned with his own. The story of Charlie Parker becoming Bird when a cymbal is thrown at his head is used twice in the film to illustrate Fletcher’s mythologization of the determined individual. I will touch on Charlie Parker again and in a different context, but right now, this mythologization is key. It is taken as a given that Charlie Parker was the best and that he should be admired. When this notion is challenged by Neiman’s family, who refuse to acknowledge Neiman’s achievements thus far, Neiman tears them and their conceptions of success down not with ease, but with dismissal. He explicates that since they, who do not personally know Parker, are talking about him – he is a household name – he is the embodiment of success and success is what determines value. Neiman’s relatives do not understand the scope of what Neiman is pursuing and he takes that to mean that their views are invalid. When a cousin brings up the point that music is subjective, so it seems redundant to be in the best jazz orchestra in America, Neiman simply tells him that ‘no, the music is not subjective.’ Obviously music is at least somewhat subjective, but Neiman is also quite clearly technically gifted at playing the drums. What Neiman has been coaxed into thinking, however, fed in part by Fletcher’s mythology and in part by his own admiration for Buddy Rich, is that the path to success is entirely linear and is simple. Practice harder. I do not believe this to be an oversight of the film or a mark against it, the film is not concerned with philosophy but psychology. Neiman and his descent into internal destruction is at the film’s core. Neiman is in the clutches of Fletcher now, and to Fletcher, traditional success and being remembered is absolute. It doesn’t matter to Neiman that Fletcher never explains himself, the success of Parker is a given, the success of Rich is emotional and intertwined in Neiman’s own reasons for playing. It is thus that Fletcher gains his hold over Neiman. Fletcher draws him in by preying on his hope, his ambition, his given mythologization and notions of success. He bends his psychology, positioning himself as the arbiter of Neiman’s success, aligns Neiman’s thinking to his.

Ultimately, once Neiman has fully bought into Fletcher’s way of thinking, he sustains this relationship by physical and verbal abuse, which infects and twists Neiman’s own psychology further. Crucially, where initially Neiman’s rise to Fletcher’s sudden challenge is instigated by Fletcher’s own advice, all Fletcher needs to later do is demonstrate Neiman’s lack of value to him. Since Neiman’s sense of value is now defined by Fletcher, Fletcher holds ultimate power over him. When Neiman doesn’t receive Fletcher’s satisfaction, he’s objectively not good enough so he practices harder – it worked last time, right? In a particularly powerful scene, Neiman fails to bring his tempo of playing up to Fletcher’s (which seems to interminably increase with every rehearsal). Neiman is competing with the other two drummers in the Studio Band, the original core and his happy-go-lucky friend from the orchestra from which he graduated. After an excruciatingly long period, Neiman successfully gains the part – he “earns” the part – but he realises he must push himself harder to meet Fletcher’s standards, which are now his own. He then breaks up with the girl he’s dating. What he initially did for himself with the confidence afforded in gaining the part in Studio Band no longer interests him because it is not conducive to his success. Neiman then practices harder than ever, preparing ice for his hands, knowing the physical pain will come. He fails to reach Fletcher’s tempo, but now, he’s regulating himself and abuses himself, taking over Fletcher’s role; “fucking piece of shit! Fuck you! Fuck!” But then, Fletcher’s satisfaction never comes and nor will it ever. Ultimately, neither will Neiman’s if he pursues this path. Fletcher has become internalised, a part of his psychological make-up and value system.

This abuse is likely the same way in which Fletcher gained a hold over those who preceded Neiman, including both the core drummer he replaces and Sean Casey, a prior student of Fletcher’s. Before one rehearsal, Fletcher enters, visibly upset. He informs the Studio Band of Casey’s passing and, crucially, his respect for him as a player and a man. To the Band, Casey represents what they want, Fletcher’s admiration and by extension his absolute mark of approval. The hope is kept alive. It is not until later, though, that Neiman finds out the truth about the circumstances of Casey’s death. After a lapse, Neiman forgets his sticks on the way to an important performance. In scrambling to retrieve them, Neiman literally almost kills himself attempting to speed back to the concert hall and getting t-boned by a truck. He survives the collision and makes it back just in time but when there, due to the injuries he’s sustained, Neiman is physically unable to play the pieces. Not angry but disappointed, Fletcher ejects him from the band. Neiman lashes out at Fletcher and is removed from Shaffer. At this point, Neiman is introduced to a lawyer hoping to bring charges against Fletcher and Shaffer. The lawyer reveals to Neiman that the aforementioned Sean Casey did not die in a car accident, as Fletcher described, but killed himself after succumbing to his anxiety and depression – which she explains stemmed from Fletcher’s abusiveness towards him during his time at Shaffer.

Finally, it appears that Neiman is free of Fletcher’s influence and he returns to live with his father for a while, attempting to recover some kind of mental stability and happiness. Neiman packs away his drums and his jazz memorabilia. He can’t bear to be reminded of his perceived failure. He’s done with what was initially a childhood passion for him. The pursuit has been corrupted – if he can’t be the best, if he’s a failure, then why bother? Neiman joins the rest of the world and starts to stabilise himself, starts to return to the mental state from before he experienced Fletcher. He returns to the comfort of being with his father, but still, there’s something missing. Moreover, he wishes to contact Nicole, whom he had dated prior, but she’s moved on. He can’t go back, Fletcher has happened, he lingers in Neiman’s mind. This abuse he has received has conditioned his thoughts beyond his control, he needs help, but cannot reach out for it because he is trapped within Fletcher’s paradigm.

Neiman soon reconnects with Fletcher on safer ground, away from Shaffer, in a casual jazz club. Here, Fletcher poses less of an immediate threat, this is the real world, not Fletcher’s. This is where Neiman has come to live. We learn that Fletcher was ousted from his elevated position at Shaffer after someone testified against him. More importantly, though, we learn more about Fletcher’s ethos when it comes to pursuing success. In a safer setting, Fletcher is able to explicate his ideology once more to Neiman and everything he says is confirmed by Neiman’s experiences – having been creations of Fletcher’s, themselves. Fletcher necessitates his own abuse to Neiman by suggesting that to act in any way other than to push individuals with talent such as Neiman’s beyond themselves is to deprive the world of greatness; a travesty. We return to his mythology once again and Neiman wishes to become a part of it.

Though I don’t feel the film needs to focus on it, I do feel an explanation of Fletcher’s ideology is required to determine my own reading of the film. Fletcher’s views, to my understanding, are deeply traditional and hierarchical in their understanding of the world but they’re fatally flawed. As mentioned, Fletcher thinks the existence of great individuals necessitates the circumstances by which they’re born, the reason being that to deprive the world of their greatness would be a tragedy. However, in order to pursue this greatness, we need to weed out the weak – those who cannot “hack it.” If you can’t get by without a “good job” you’re not good enough for Fletcher and you’re not good enough for the tip of the hierarchy. Regardless of the potential ignorance Fletcher has of the exact circumstances by which great individuals are born, we can understand the paradox at work here. If we were to base our overriding philosophy regarding self-improvement and social hierarchy on weeding out the weak in order to give back singular greatness to the world, then we’d lose a lot more than we’d gain. We’d be creating widespread pain, misery and fatality, in Sean Casey and many other’s cases, in order to accommodate for the talented. Moreover, the psychology underpinning the perpetuation of this philosophy is necessarily contradictory: it is impersonal but hinges on appearing entirely personal. When engaging in such a mentality myself, I did not assume that I would attempt to touch greatness just to fall, I assumed I would pursue said greatness until I reached it, no matter what. When I first watched Whiplash, I was Neiman; I wasn’t Casey, I wasn’t the core that Neiman replaces. But life doesn’t work that way, not everyone can be perfect by Fletcher’s definition. Now, I almost think that no one alive could. ‘The greats’ themselves were not perfect; Charlie Parker struggled immensely with mental health issues and drug abuse himself. When I fell short, there was no, “you’ll get them next time,” all there was was a greater sense of self-hatred, which in turn raised my standards, and diminished my mental capacity and endurance. The self-abuse that the pursuit of perfection necessitated wasn’t a crucible for greatness, it was a crucible for pain.

In the climactic final scene, Fletcher has invited Neiman to play once more for a performance with his new band. Of course, Neiman accepts. Fletcher perpetuates Neiman’s self-hatred, Neiman’s self-hatred perpetuates Neiman’s pain, Neiman’s pain perpetuates his desire to follow Fletcher, who is success. Fletcher perpetuates Fletcher. And Fletcher is a downwards spiral (down is not up). When Neiman arrives, Fletcher reveals that he knows Neiman was the one to testify against him. The performance is a set-up for Neiman to fail – in Fletcher’s terms. Unfortunately, though, Fletcher’s terms are all that matters to Neiman now. He fails once more, but again rejects the comfort of his father and returns to Fletcher. Just as he had done to earn a place in the studio band, Neiman succeeds in this one objective, but the scene is not a glorification of Neiman’s final success in pleasing Fletcher because as we have seen throughout the film this is precisely how Fletcher operates. The cycle of abuse perpetuates itself and forces the abused to internalise the oppressor’s philosophy to survive and this is what has occurred to Neiman. Fletcher is pleased with Neiman, or leads him to believe so, in order to drag him along. He may not say good job, but he gives Neiman milestones before tearing them away from him to perpetuate his control over him. The film has been a constant downwards spiral for Neiman regardless of his increasing talent – why would we ever believe it to change after this new victory? And where do we think Neiman’s philosophy and psychology will lead him?

The reason I felt the need to write this analysis – or whatever it is – was because this film touched me in a way a small number of films have the capacity of doing for every individual. This pursuit of ours is artistic and to my thinking, art is created with the intention of improving and enriching our lives. It may augment perceptions of the world, it may open new perspectives on issues, it may also allow emotional reflection on past experiences. What Whiplash has helped me understand is that Neiman is not an individual to glorify but one to mourn and to attempt to understand. He is a cautionary tale.
I still struggle with thought patterns similar to Neiman’s, as I’m sure you all do too from time to time. Writing this, I’ve had to battle with myself somewhat to refuse to capitulate to that conservative hierarchy that neglects the experiences of those deemed unworthy by the system and by Fletcher. Right now, I’m thinking, ‘yeah, but are you sure you’re not just making excuses?’ I guess the way I’ve come to convince myself I’m not is that: I know there’s a drive still in me. Beyond the moments of self-hatred, I have hobbies, I have interests, I’m adapting and changing and I’m pursuing new things. I’m alive and not stagnant and that’s enough. There are those grey areas, where sometimes, yeah, you may need to press on through something you don’t really enjoy, but there’s a fine line between striving for that improvement and striving for perfection – and we need to understand that said perfection doesn’t exist, it is born out of a platitudinal sense of the world and culture. My perfection is different to yours and that doesn’t really make sense, does it? Further, it becomes apparent that maybe having a sense of a goal is good thing, and I agree with that sentiment. I guess I don’t have all the answers on this (and probably won’t ever) but maybe there’s a difference between standards and a desire for perfection. Maybe? I don’t know, I guess there’s a great fear that lingers in me that maybe the hierarchy should exist and maybe I’m not Neiman.

But then again maybe it shouldn’t, maybe it’d make more sense for all of us to simply be happy and pursue goals naturally and in a steady, less painful way. I don’t know.

To top off this discussion, though, it is worthwhile pointing out how Fletcher himself is constructed. The man is an archetype. He is masculine success in the traditional sense but with that comes inherent contradictions. Fletcher is muscular and successful. Fletcher is quick-witted and dominating. Fletcher is aggressive and quick to the punch. This being said, Fletcher is concerned with the pursuit of a liberal art that, at its core, demands individual expression and creation, not simple technical skill. Fletcher is homophobic and exclusionary based on superficial traits that have no inherent relation to the pursuit of jazz, other than creating the feeling of not being good enough. Fletcher is meek when he doesn’t have power – he can’t touch Neiman in the real world, in the jazz club, he has to draw him back to his own world where he has an arbitrary power. Moreover, Fletcher falls back on his piano playing ability; he doesn’t pursue his own art, he seeks to promote another in his own twisted way. In this way, he is what he criticises Neiman’s father for being – he is a teacher because he couldn’t do it himself. In this way, we must seek to identify these characteristics, we must understand these archetypes for what they are: contradictory and reductive. These individuals, in art, in politics, in life, provide simple answers that play on our individual desires, feelings and emotions that we have as humans. But these simple answers are rarely valid. Life is rarely simple, fluctuation, and the balance between failure and success are what define it. But we’ll get through it.