It is an accepted belief that if you want to become great at something, you should dedicate your whole life to it. All of the best dancers, singers, athletes, and artists show insane amounts of commitment to their craft.
The 2014 movie Whiplash made me question if an unhealthy amount of dedication exists, and where we should draw the line between passion and obsession. Andrew Neimann, a 19-year old first-year student at Shaffer Conservatory in Manhattan, wants to be great at one thing: playing the drums. Terence Fletcher recruits Andrew to join his studio band, the most competitive jazz group at the school, after walking in on him practicing his double time swing. This teacher-student relationship quickly spirals into an abusive one. Fletcher humiliates, overworks, and physically harms Andrew in order to “push” him to become one of the “greats”. Due to Fletcher’s effective manipulation tactics, Andrew never questions his abuse and drumming starts to consume his entire life. Whiplash perpetuates the problematic idea that a toxic learning environment is the only way to achieve success.
Although strictness can help build routine in the classroom, teachers must be able to show compassion in order to promote growth. Fletcher rarely displays signs of kindness, and when he does, it’s only to manipulate his students. He constantly flips between being proud of Andrew and being angry at him, drawing him in with compliments only to break him down through discouragement. As music therapist Katrina McFerron writes, “sharing music often involves revealing one’s inner world, through a combination of authentic self-expression and emotional engagement” (par. 12). Music is an expression of a person’s true feelings, so lessons are a very intimate space and must happen with care. The hostile methods of Fletcher’s so-called teaching is what made Andrew eventually lose his connection with drumming.
Whiplash relies on sexist, homophobic, and blatantly discriminatory language in order to paint Fletcher as the villain of the story. Nearly all of his insults are tailored to jab at an aspect of a player’s identity, whether that be ethnicity, sexual orientation, or family issues. For example, while having some small talk before rehearsal, Fletcher learns that Andrew’s mother left his family when he was young. He later uses this in an insult, saying “no wonder mommy ran out on you” in front of the whole band, after Andrew played so much that the drum kit was stained with blood. There are also several instances where Fletcher refers to the band members as homophobic slurs or “ladies”, even though there are no women in the band. This adds to his perceived power and contributes to the toxic masculinity present in the rehearsal space. Fletcher suggests that he is above his players by calling them “ladies”. He does not comfort them when they cry, as seen when he kicked a poor trombonist out of rehearsal for shedding a single tear. There is no space for vulnerability, and Fletcher absolutely ignores the mental and emotional health of his players.
While filmmakers shouldn’t rely on this kind of language to build intensity or power, I can acknowledge that it serves a purpose. The bigoted phrases that Fletcher uses evoke an emotional response from the viewer, making us hate him even more. Whether we like it or not, the language used helps achieve the goal of placing Fletcher on a higher pedestal of power and makes us see him in an evil light.
After the two fight on stage at a competition on Long Island, Andrew and his father take anonymous legal action against Fletcher, getting him fired from Shaffer. Andrew is dismissed from the conservatory and quits drumming, and his life becomes mundane and repetitive. That is, until he stumbles upon Fletcher playing piano at a quaint jazz bar, who invites him to play with a professional band at Carnegie Hall. Andrew accepts the offer, only to get on stage in front of a huge audience, and notice that Fletcher hadn’t given him the sheet music. He is forced to improvise and goes on to shock the crowd with an impressive five minute long drum solo from “Caravan”.
The ending of Whiplash is what promotes the idea that abuse leads to greatness. I wish that Andrew would have played that amazing drum solo without the presence of Fletcher. The performance was tainted by him being there. It feels as if Andrew was just playing well to prove something to Fletcher, not because he actually wanted to be great deep down in his heart. It glorifies all of the abuse that he endured during his time at Shaffer, essentially implying that all of the bloody drum sets, emotional turmoil, and getting in a car crash was worth it, because he was finally great.
Some would argue that the abuse is what made the movie so exciting. The screaming and violence did keep my attention, but an alternate ending would’ve sent a more appropriate message. Although what happens after the drum solo is not clear, I would assume that Andrew reached his peak performance. I felt proud of him for getting to such an outstanding level, but it shouldn’t have happened because of humiliation. The ending tries to make the audience agree with Fletcher’s idea that “the two most harmful words in the English language are “good job””.
We need to pay closer attention to emotional abuse in the arts. If we don’t, we could risk the lives of the next best artists. We learn that Sean Casey, one of Fletcher’s former students, committed suicide after dealing with anxiety and depression developed during his time as a student at Shaffer. The same thing could have happened to Andrew if his father hadn’t helped him. In an interview conducted with Finnish classical musicians, “interviewees pointed out that the problematic feature that allows for abuse is generally the hierarchical setting between the teacher as “master” and student as “pupil”” (Ramstedt 5). Music students are often worried to speak up about abuse happening in the classroom, because of the faulty power imbalances between them and their teachers. Students are made out to believe that they need to obey in order to be great, and they will do anything it takes to become professional musicians.
What does a positive mentor-mentee relationship look like? Composer Jeanine Tesori and playwright Paula Vogel agree that it is invaluable to “learn the skills of talking back, with respect if you can, [and] to learn how to defend your point of view, your aesthetic, and your intention” (Tesori and Vogel 5). They set a healthy model for this relationship that is mutually beneficial, giving the mentor a fresh perspective on their art, and providing the mentee with lifelong skills that help them in their industries. I don’t think that Whiplash should’ve presented a healthy teacher-student relationship, because that would not accurately reflect the real situation in conservatories around the world. It would not have been captivating and raw without the disturbing graphics and obsession with perfection.
I truly did feel sympathy for Andrew and a deep hatred for Fletcher, but I wish that Andrew found his own motivation to start drumming again. Self-motivation is crucial as it is what makes artists continue to practice no matter what is thrown at them. Whiplash endorses that an outside motivation of abuse and degradation is necessary to become great. It demonstrates that without harm, an artist cannot reach their full potential, and that is just not true. Even if an artist becomes great with their sole motivation being fear, it is not worth damaging their mental health.