A modern masterpiece. In thirty years, we'll be studying Whiplash the same way we've been studying The Godfather and Casablanca.
Tonight, I wasn't planning on watching a movie. I simply turned on Whiplash for my mom, who hadn't seen it. But barely a scene into the film, I was completely immersed into its Chazelle's mastery, and could't discipline myself to leave and do homework. From Tom Cross' meticulous sense of timing to J.K Simmons' almost unreal performance, not a single beat of this film misses its mark, somehow managing to keep driving an already breakneck narrative.
Take, for example, the ending, which has already undeniably earned its place in cinema's greatest finales: there are no close ups of eyes widening in the audience, awards given out later on, nor is there even applause; because that's not what the film is about. Chazelle knows exactly what's at the story's core: Niemann and Fletcher's relationship. Their smiles communicate a kind of closure far more satisfying than any public-approval resolution could ever achieve; even with international recognition of greatness as their only goal for the entire runtime, it seemed like for a moment, crashing before their eyes, the world stopped — charts, sheets, double-time swing, quarter-note equals 215, Andrew's dad, his Division III football brothers, his ex-girlfriend maybe or maybe not in the audience, Sean Casey's suicide, car accidents, lawsuits, Shaffer Conservatory, Lincoln Center, Eugene O'Neill, Buddy Rich, Charlie Parker — none of that mattered anymore. Whiplash ultimately boiled down to the intimacy of the moment. The here, and the now. We're playing fucking music. And that's it.
There's already an endless sea of praise for Whiplash everywhere you go: blacklisted script in 2012, Jason Blum suggesting to adapt to a short for proof of concept, Short Film Jury Prize at Sundance a year later, funding for feature, shot in 19 days (14 hours of filming per day), Audience Award at Sundance, 15:1 box office to budget ratio, and 3 Academy Awards a short while later. But it's still quite hard to grasp how exactly so many people were in the right place at the right time to create such a perfect film, let alone something that aspiring filmmakers will look up to for a long long time. It just makes you think, if Damien Chazelle ever wanted to explore what it means to achieve artistic perfection, at this point, he may as well just answer the question himself.
A
Tonight, I wasn't planning on watching a movie. I simply turned on Whiplash for my mom, who hadn't seen it. But barely a scene into the film, I was completely immersed into its Chazelle's mastery, and could't discipline myself to leave and do homework. From Tom Cross' meticulous sense of timing to J.K Simmons' almost unreal performance, not a single beat of this film misses its mark, somehow managing to keep driving an already breakneck narrative.
Take, for example, the ending, which has already undeniably earned its place in cinema's greatest finales: there are no close ups of eyes widening in the audience, awards given out later on, nor is there even applause; because that's not what the film is about. Chazelle knows exactly what's at the story's core: Niemann and Fletcher's relationship. Their smiles communicate a kind of closure far more satisfying than any public-approval resolution could ever achieve; even with international recognition of greatness as their only goal for the entire runtime, it seemed like for a moment, crashing before their eyes, the world stopped — charts, sheets, double-time swing, quarter-note equals 215, Andrew's dad, his Division III football brothers, his ex-girlfriend maybe or maybe not in the audience, Sean Casey's suicide, car accidents, lawsuits, Shaffer Conservatory, Lincoln Center, Eugene O'Neill, Buddy Rich, Charlie Parker — none of that mattered anymore. Whiplash ultimately boiled down to the intimacy of the moment. The here, and the now. We're playing fucking music. And that's it.
There's already an endless sea of praise for Whiplash everywhere you go: blacklisted script in 2012, Jason Blum suggesting to adapt to a short for proof of concept, Short Film Jury Prize at Sundance a year later, funding for feature, shot in 19 days (14 hours of filming per day), Audience Award at Sundance, 15:1 box office to budget ratio, and 3 Academy Awards a short while later. But it's still quite hard to grasp how exactly so many people were in the right place at the right time to create such a perfect film, let alone something that aspiring filmmakers will look up to for a long long time. It just makes you think, if Damien Chazelle ever wanted to explore what it means to achieve artistic perfection, at this point, he may as well just answer the question himself.
A