By Damien Chazelle
Whiplash is a tragedy. What Terence Fletcher, the abusive music teacher tells his talented student Andrew is that the two most harmful words in the English language are; 'Good Job.' With the impending sense of irony here and foreshadowing that one of his past students committed suicide due to stress and anxiety, the audience are trying to tell this shy, misled young boy not to listen to this monster mentor, but they can't - it's just a cinema screen.
All they can do is was watch as our main character makes wrong decision after wrong decision and wince; at the cold dumping of his one true love, his increasingly fowl language and attitude he learns from his mentor, and the blood and sweat pouring out of his hands as he overworks them at the drum kit. In a Faustian twist, Andrew walks off the stage in his final concert for Fletcher, only to head back on and continue to try and prove his worth by almost killing himself playing drums in front of the man, threatening him with 'Gauging his eyes out.' Perhaps it's because Andrew's mother left him as a baby, leaving him without that maternal care and nurturing that he submits to his monster mentor's grandeur of delusion about musical success.
In a stunning performance by J.K Simmons, we see all facets of this detestable villain. From his uncontrollable anger as he throws a chair at Andrew, to his twisted motivation for pushing his students to the limit; that he's trying to save real Jazz from dying.
As with many tragedies, so comes along with it a stark warning for our times. One which observes how the reasons for creative output are confused with mentored pressure and deadly over-exertion. And not one moment of the this gut-wrenching film fails to emphasise it.
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