Whiplash Script Analysis: When Simple Is Effective
Damien Chazelle’s 2014 film Whiplash was one of those movies that everyone was talking about when it came out. Made on a shockingly low budget, it grossed over $50 million, won 3 Academy Awards, and helped turn Miles Teller into a bona fide movie star. But for some reason, I just never got around to checking it out. Years went by, and every time I asked someone for a movie recommendation, Whiplash kept getting brought up. “What’s this movie even about?” I would ask, and they would always respond with some iteration of the same thing: “A jazz student has a mean teacher”. What’s so special about that? Also, I hate jazz, so I just assumed that this wasn’t a movie for me. But it kept coming up, and friends kept bugging me to watch it, and finally, I cracked.
I went to the library (yes, a real library), and checked the movie out so that I could see what all the fuss was about…and holy shit. I was absolutely blown away. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. I was entranced by every word out of every character’s mouth and was constantly on the edge of my seat, but that got me wondering: why was this so special? The plot isn’t anything groundbreaking. It is, on the surface, just about a jazz student who has a mean teacher. And none of the secondary conflicts are anything new, either (a family who doesn’t understand the protagonist’s dreams and a girlfriend who thinks the dream is taking time away from the relationship). So what exactly about this script made it so damn good? Well, that question can be answered by the age-old adage, “There are no bad ideas, only bad execution”. And man, did this movie have perfect execution.
Within every simple scene were levels of fascinating subtext. Every basic conflict was motivated by an even deeper, richer conflict. This isn’t just a movie about a jazz student with a mean teacher, it’s about the sacrifices one makes in achieving their goals. It’s about the chase for greatness and what to do if you get there. It’s about whether or not “success” has any real impact on one’s life at all. I can go on forever, but you get the idea. My point is this: a story doesn’t have to be groundbreakingly original in plot to be effective as long as you have a point you’re trying to get across. And Whiplash does just that.
OPENING IMAGE
The film opens with a shot of our protagonist, Andrew Neiman, as he practices his drum routine alone in the middle of the night, inside one of the school’s studios. He pounds away, focusing on a single-stroke roll, when he’s suddenly interrupted by the school’s most infamous and intimidating music teacher, Fletcher.
Right away, we learn a lot about our protagonist. First of all, Andrew is disciplined and focused. By practicing throughout the late hours of the night and hyperfocusing on one single aspect of his routine, we know he takes his craft seriously. On top of that, we also learn that he’s a new student at the school and that Fletcher’s opinion of him is going to be significant during his attendance there. This interaction sets the tone for the rest of the film.
SET UP
Their interaction ends when Fletcher spontaneously leaves the room, just seconds after he requests Andrew to play for him. Andrew gets up, disappointed, and prepares to stop for the night. Just then, we cut to a title card, revealing that this is the fall semester at the Shaffer Conservatory of Music.
Later, Andrew attends a movie at a boutique theater. As he buys concessions, he subtly flirts with the employee at the counter, a cute girl named Nicole (who we already know is going to be Andrew’s future love interest).
After buying his snacks, he sits down in the theater next to his dad, Jim. Andrew’s excited to talk about having encountered Fletcher for the first time, but Jim, pessimistic from his own failed dreams, tries to suggest alternative career paths. Obviously, he doesn’t get what Andrew’s doing there.
The next day, Andrew attends his first day of class as part of the Nassau Band, one of Shaffer’s low-level jazz ensembles. It’s a surprisingly calm, easygoing environment. That is, until Fletcher’s silhouette could be seen outside the door. Everyone in the Nassau Band dreams of being discovered as a great talent by Fletcher and, as a result, brought up to Studio Band (the highest level jazz ensemble at Shaffer). In this building, Fletcher’s role is simple: he is God.
However, the dreams of the Nassau group are quickly crushed when Fletcher walks away without entering the room.
INCITING INCIDENT
As the semester continues, Andrew does everything he can to improve his skills as a drummer. He practices aggressively all day and night. And when he’s not practicing, he’s studying the greats. Specifically, Buddy Rich, whose insanely fast double-time swing (jazz lingo) motivates Andrew to be greater.
Later, Andrew goes back to the movie theater, but this time he isn’t there to see a movie. He’s there to ask Nicole out on a date (she says yes, of course).
The next day at Nassau Band practice, Andrew (who’s a secondary drummer) keeps missing his mark. Whether it’s because of his date the night before or because he keeps practicing other material, something’s off. Even the core drummer, Ryan, is confused. Suddenly, Fletcher enters the room…
Fletcher patrols the area, instructing each student from every instrument section to play something for him, testing their abilities. Finally, he gets to the drums, and both Ryan and Andrew get a chance to play. Luckily for Andrew, Fletcher requested a double-time swing. It’s true what they say: Success is when preparation meets opportunity.
DEBATE
Andrew, still confident in his ability to balance his personal life with his musical ambitions, takes Nicole out for pizza.
While the date went well and they had a fairly strong connection, it’s evident that they’re two very different people. Nicole went to college just to get a general education, while Andrew is attempting to become one of the greatest jazz musicians in history. While this doesn’t mean their relationship is doomed, it naturally could (and likely will) end up being a source of conflict between the two of them.
The next morning, Andrew wakes up late for his first day of Studio band practice. He races out of bed, out the door, and down the street until he finally reaches the studio band room–which is completely empty.
Fletcher’s mind tricks have already begun.
Andrew stays in the room, sleeping at his drum set, until the class finally does start at 9 AM.
It’s clear that this class has a much different energy than Nassau. Fletcher walks in with a sergeant-like energy, and all the students stand at his attention like he is one. Like I said before: this man is God, and he knows it. He directs them all to play a song titled Whiplash, but stops the music in an instant because someone in the room is out of tune.
Fletcher continues to berate Metz for being out of tune, increasing more and more in aggressiveness with each sentence.
More mind games from Fletcher, and somehow even more cruel than the first one. Not wanting to receive the same treatment at Metz, Andrew spends the break studying the music sheets until Fletcher suddenly interrupts him. In a surprisingly kind, supportive tone of voice, Fletcher tells Andrew not to worry. He even asks Andrew about his personal life. The writer wants you to recognize this classic manipulator behavior. Fletcher acts irrationally, then counters it with kindness. Like a carrot on a string, he’s doing just enough to keep Andrew from running out the door.
Feeling a little more relaxed, Andrew goes back into the practice at ease and confident. The band starts playing Whiplash again, but Fletcher politely stops it, citing that Andrew is off-tempo. They start again, then are stopped again. Then start, then stop. And so on, until finally, Fletcher snaps and hurls a chair at Andrew’s head.
Andrew’s stuttering response wasn’t enough, and Fletcher begins slapping his face to the tempo, quizzing him on the difference between dragging and rushing as he does so. The harassment continues…
BREAK INTO TWO
Act two begins with Andrew’s change in mindset. He came into this school confident, feeling like he belonged there and would be accepted right away, but now he knows that’s not the case. Rather than being discouraged, it fuels him. This isn’t a school; it’s the military, and he’s got to be ready for war.
He ignores all calls from his family, putting everything he has into drumming. He moves his mattress from his dorm into the practice room so that he never has to leave. He practices his routine until sweat is pouring from his face and blood is spurting out his fingers. To him, this is what greatness requires.
FUN AND GAMES
We jump to the first big competition of the year. The band prepares backstage while a full auditorium waits for them to come out. As Andrew nervously paces around, he catches Fletcher talking to a colleague and his daughter in the hall.
While this is a brief moment in the film, it’s important because it illustrates to Andrew that Fletcher isn’t just an all-around-asshole. He’s capable of being kind, but just isn’t to his students. As Andrew watches this interaction between Fletcher and the little girl, he realizes the method to Fletcher’s madness: he really does want them to be great. In Fletcher’s mind, his cruel behavior is how to get it out of them.
They finally get on stage for their first song. Since Andrew is still the secondary drummer in the Studio Band, his only job is to turn pages for the primary drummer, Carl (which he does poorly).
The song goes well, despite Andrew’s insufficient page-turning abilities, and they all return backstage in between sets. Carl hands Andrew his music folder while he goes to the bathroom, and Andrew sets it down to drink a soda. Then, when Carl gets out of the bathroom, the folder is mysteriously gone. While Carl’s naturally furious at Andrew, he’s even more scared of what Fletcher’s going to say about all of this.
Somehow, Andrew’s fuck-up benefitted him. He gets on stage with the band and delivers a perfectly passable rendition of Whiplash. The song ends, the crowd erupts in applause, and Shaffer wins the competition.
The next week, the band reunites for another day of practice. Fletcher enters the room and immediately swaps out Carl for Andrew on the drums. He got what he wanted.
Later, Andrew goes home for a family dinner with his Dad, Uncle, Aunt, and two cousins. He’s desperate to finally tell everyone how far he’s progressed in school, but nobody seems to grasp its significance (or even really care).
Andrew’s comment turns the conversation into a hostile one, and it quickly develops into a debate over the point of success (a conversation that represents a crucial point of the film as a whole).
This highlights everything about Andrew’s mentality. He wants to be great. Not just good at something that modern society has deemed important, like his cousins’ athletic or scholastic achievements, but truly great in a cultural sense. He wants to be appreciated on a global scale. He wants to be part of the conversation, and he is willing to sacrifice everything in his life to achieve that.
The next day at practice, Fletcher announces to Andrew that he’s brought up Ryan from the Nassau band to compete for the core studio position. They both play Fletcher a double-time swing, and Fletcher surprisingly rewards Ryan the core position right there on the spot.
MIDPOINT
At the midpoint of the film, Andrew has outcasted almost everyone around him to focus on retaining the Studio Band core drummer position, just to lose it to a lesser drummer for no apparent reason.
He decides he needs to take his discipline one step further and breaks things off with the last person who’s still on his side: Nicole.
Now he truly has nothing but his drums. But isn’t that all he ever wanted?
BAD TO WORSE
Fletcher opens the next day of class with a surprisingly sincere moment of silence for one of his old students, Sean Casey, who had suddenly passed away. He plays the class one of the songs with tears in his eyes before moving on to practice.
The actual practice sees a much different Fletcher than moments earlier. None of the three band drummers (Ryan, Andrew, and Carl) can get the tempo right, so Fletcher postpones class for several hours, torturing them one by one until someone figures it out. Finally, he puts all his focus onto Andrew.
His work has paid off yet again.
Another competition is the next day, and Andrew struggles to get to the show on time. His bus was late, and there were no cabs to take him to his final destination. He races to a car rental agency, grabs a car, and speeds down the road as fast as he can. It’s already two minutes past call time.
Andrew finally arrives, just to discover that he’s left his drumsticks at the car rental agency, and Fletcher’s ready to give the part to Ryan.
He gives Andrew ten minutes to retrieve his sticks and get on stage. Andrew sprints out of the building, gets in his car, and once again races down the street until–BAM–his car slams into a truck. His car flips, glass goes everywhere, and Andrew crawls out covered in blood.
He somehow makes it back to the stage in time on foot, just before the show goes on. As he plays with his head ringing and blood everywhere, he drops one of his drumsticks. He desperately tries to keep in tune with the one stick while he reaches for the other, but this throws off the entire band’s performance, causing them to stop.
BREAK INTO THREE
Act 3 begins with Andrew’s life after leaving Shaffer (assumedly by means of expulsion). He and his Dad are contacted by a lawyer representing the family of Sean Casey, who’s attempting to remove Fletcher from the school. Apparently, Sean killed himself shortly after graduating, and the family believes Fletcher is to blame. The lawyer is requesting that Andrew give a statement, but he’s not sure if he wants to go through with it. On one hand, he views Fletcher as the only person who wanted him to be as great as he did. On the other hand, Fletcher is the person who took all his dreams away. Finally, he speaks.
FINALE
Now completely uninvolved with Shaffer, Andrew moves into a small apartment by himself. His life is just as boring as everyone else’s. He isn’t considered one of the greats. He isn’t special. He’s just an ordinary person.
Bored one night, Andrew takes a walk to grab some pizza and stumbles across a small jazz club. The sign outside says “Featuring guest performer, Terence Fletcher”. He steps inside.
They sit down at a table in the corner of the room and have an honest talk.
Fletcher tells Andrew that he’s been fired from Shaffer, and Andrew pretends to be surprised. They even discuss whether or not his teaching style was more beneficial or detrimental to the students (the elephant in the script), which prompts Fletcher to ask Andrew if he has ever heard how Charlie Parker came to be Charlie Parker–something Andrew knows very well.
Before the conversation ends, Andrew asks Fletcher if maybe there’s a line to draw with this ethos. Maybe instead of inspiring the next Charlie Parker, he’s actually discouraging the next Charlie Parker. Fletcher answers with full confidence:
As the two part ways, Fletcher asks Andrew a question.
Having heard that the other two drummers didn’t work out, a couple of questions come to Andrew’s mind. Is he Fletcher’s Charlie Parker after all? At the end of the day, he never quit. He was forced to leave Shaffer. And by successfully drumming in this new show, will he finally prove this to Fletcher? If he can pull this off after everything he’s been through, then Fletcher would almost have to acknowledge his talent.
This scene also poses some questions to the audience that maybe Andrew never considers. Does he even want to be great anymore, or does he just want Fletcher’s approval? Because in the Shaffer environment, those two things went hand-in-hand. But they only went hand-in-hand because with Fletcher’s approval came more career opportunities. Now that Fletcher is independent of Shaffer, his opinion doesn’t have any more value than what Andrew’s willing to give it. So, if Andrew really is only striving for Fletcher’s opinion, the question becomes why. Is it because Fletcher was the only person around him with the skillset to make such judgements? Is it to somehow make Fletcher regret everything he’s done in the film? Is it because this opportunity to drum for Fletcher’s band may be the last time Andrew is able to drum publicly at such a high level? Who knows? Maybe this is even his big chance to score a spot at the Lincoln Center. At this point in the film, there certainly isn’t a lack of motivation to think about. Let’s continue.
Andrew returns home, ecstatic about this new opportunity. He reaches out to Nicole to invite her to the show, which she declines because she’s dating someone new. If he ever had someone outside of Fletcher to truly appreciate what he was doing, it was her. And now she’s actually gone.
The big show is taking place at Carnegie Hall. Andrew arrives promptly, ready to show the world what he’s been working towards. Fletcher makes a point to emphasize this show’s significance to the band before they go on stage.
They get on stage. The theater is packed with thousands of the most important people in the jazz industry. This just may be Andrew’s moment. Then, just before they begin, Fletcher whispers something to Andrew.
Fletcher knew Andrew got him fired the whole time, and he brought him here to embarrass him. It wasn’t an opportunity at all, it was revenge. The music starts, and it’s a song Andrew’s never heard before in his entire life. Panic ensues.
He unsuccessfully tries to improvise to stay in tune, embarrassing himself even further and upsetting the rest of the band. Fletcher smiles as his plan comes to fruition. The metaphorical cymbal has been tossed at his head.
The song ends, and the crowd is silent. Everyone in the audience is staring at him awkwardly. He’s on the verge of tears and likely, also a breakdown.
Andrew storms off stage in a panic. He takes a few breaths, thinking about what to do. All the past year’s trauma and anxiety have been building up to this single point in time. His Charlie Parker moment. In what I consider one of the greatest scenes in film history, Andrew goes back on stage just as Fletcher’s introducing the next song…and starts drumming. He’s taking back control.
And he keeps drumming. This is his show now. Even when the song ends and the rest of the band goes silent, Andrew transitions to a new song. It’s loud, it’s crazy, and most of all, it’s impressive. Even Fletcher can’t help but appreciate it.
As Andrew continues his rampage, a cymbal starts to fall over. Suddenly, a hand is seen picking it up for him: Fletcher. He’s completely on board now, surrendering the show to whatever it is Andrew’s trying to do.
CLOSING IMAGE
The final seconds of the film show Andrew, now being conducted and coached by Fletcher, masterfully building up the song. He crashes on the cymbals and stops playing for a second just before the big finale.
During the brief moment of silence, he locks eyes with Fletcher. Fletcher looks back, and a huge grin wipes across his face. He’s satisfied; excited even. Andrew finally got the recognition he was looking for. He grins back at Fletcher: “I told you so”.
Fletcher cues the final note, and the whole band comes crashing in as we cut to black.
WHY IT’S EXCELLENT
To me, the pinnacle of great writing isn’t just stories with a great plot and characters. It’s the ones where I am left to dig deep into what the characters’ motivations truly were. And that’s exactly how you elevate a simple story into something spectacular.
For example, there’ll be plenty of times in a film when a character will make a decision that shocks you. Most of the time, the viewer will see this play out and realize that the writers were trying to depict a certain shift in the character’s personality. This can be done quickly and unsubtly (bad writing), or it can be done patiently and creatively (good writing). Take the final scene in The Godfather, for example: Michael Corleone, once an honest, respectable man, has just killed his sister’s husband and lied about it to his wife. It’s a brilliant scene, and the message is very clear: Michael has become the very thing he vowed never to be. That’s good writing.
But to me, great writing is when I have to psychologically analyze the characters as if they were real people in my life. I mean, where I have to really consider the full context of the character in order to grasp what they’re doing and why they’re doing it. And Whiplash is chock-full of great writing. None of the characters’ motivations are surface-level. Is Jim really unsupportive of Andrew’s dreams? Or does he just want to protect his son from a life of pain and rejection? Is Andrew striving for greatness, or does he just want Fletcher’s approval? Does Fletcher act the way he does because he has a God complex, or does he really want to bring out the greatest version of each of his musicians? There are millions of these questions throughout the film, and none of the answers are clear. Even up to the last scene. Was Fletcher really trying to sabotage Andrew, or did he want him to rebel on stage? Is Andrew satisfied because he’s performing amazingly on the biggest stage of his career, or is he happy because he finally got the better of Fletcher?
No matter how you look at any of these questions, I guarantee you’ll be thinking about the film long after you’ve finished watching it. And that’s why this script is so fantastic.
