Whiplash, Damien Chazzele’s drama about jazz student Andrew (Miles Teller), a quiet but hard-working drummer determined to rise through the ranks. Believing he’s been given his chance when band master Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) recruits him to a prestigious music conservatory, Andrew soon finds himself pressured to breaking point by teaching methods bordering on psychosis. When the entire audience of a cinema goes silent enough to hear the fingers losing the pin – let alone it hitting the floor – you know a film is working. When it happens not once but twice, three times or more; pure cinematic magic is being performed. In this instance, the wand is a drum stick, and the film is, Damien Chazzele’s drama about jazz student Andrew (Miles Teller), a quiet but hard-working drummer determined to rise through the ranks. Believing he’s been given his chance when band master Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) recruits him to a prestigious music conservatory, Andrew soon finds himself pressured to breaking point by teaching methods bordering on psychosis.





Whiplash is a furious battle between two of the finest screen performances in years, a furnace of raw talent fuelled by a script sharp enough to cut diamond. Teller is disciplined and nuanced with just the right level of emotional leverage to sell the façade of someone desperate to give their life meaning, whilst Simmons engulfs the screen as a sinewy, black-clad monster that some have compared to Sergeant Hartman of Full Metal Jacket but for my money bears more resemblance to Darth Vader with Tourette’s. At the heart ofis a furious battle between two of the finest screen performances in years, a furnace of raw talent fuelled by a script sharp enough to cut diamond. Teller is disciplined and nuanced with just the right level of emotional leverage to sell the façade of someone desperate to give their life meaning, whilst Simmons engulfs the screen as a sinewy, black-clad monster that some have compared to Sergeant Hartman ofbut for my money bears more resemblance to Darth Vader with Tourette’s.





Though there’s drama and tension to spare, the script also manages to find room for laugh-out-loud black comedy and plot twists shocking enough to make M. Night Shyamalan’s hair curl. The interior design and colour palette of the film present a warm, golden-brown hue of wood and brass that lulls you into a sense of calm and comfort before the dialogue snaps you straight back into the drama without pause for breath. The writing also takes into account the effect of our young protagonist’s climb to stardom on those around him, whether it’s his concerned father or the timid young woman with whom Andrew strikes up a brief relationship before the cut-throat path to perfection leads him away.













Whiplash – begins to take on a character of its own as the skill level soars higher and higher and Andrew is forced to play faster, harder and longer than ever before with each passing suite, culminating in a sequence so palpably powerful you’ll be left sporting a knee that won’t stop jiggling up and down. For those among you worried that your taste in music will put you off the film, fear not: I can’t stand jazz and am bored easily by languorous drum solos but I’ll be damned if I didn’t enjoy the heck out of the music in this film. Every piece of music – especially the titular– begins to take on a character of its own as the skill level soars higher and higher and Andrew is forced to play faster, harder and longer than ever before with each passing suite, culminating in a sequence so palpably powerful you’ll be left sporting a knee that won’t stop jiggling up and down.





Whiplash as a triumph of modern cinema: it is a blood-smeared shot of adrenaline into the slack vein of awards season predictability and makes a more intense, funny and smart study of a tortured artist than Birdman could ever hope to be. Prepare to leave your seat with enough energy to run a mile and back in time for the next showing, and believe me; you’ll want to do just that. With the sheer number of individually brilliant elements fused gloriously together, it is no wonder many are hailingas a triumph of modern cinema: it is a blood-smeared shot of adrenaline into the slack vein of awards season predictability and makes a more intense, funny and smart study of a tortured artist thancould ever hope to be. Prepare to leave your seat with enough energy to run a mile and back in time for the next showing, and believe me; you’ll want to do just that.



