Written and directed by Damien Chazelle, Whiplash does a great job with its main storyline but fails to flesh its world out effectively. Though its two lead characters are full of life, the rest feel like afterthoughts.
The film stars Miles Teller as “Andrew,” a freshman at a top music conservatory. When he is handpicked by “Fletcher” (J.K. Simmons) to join an exclusive studio band, he learns that to be one of the greats, he must push himself beyond all reasonable boundaries.
Chazelle does a remarkable job of keeping the film visually engaging, considering that it’s the sound of it that really matters – in fact, the last scene consists almost entirely of people onstage playing instruments. The editing is also stunning, synchronizing shots with a complex jazz soundtrack that’s almost a character of its own.
However, the film falls flat when it strays from its core plotline. Though Andrew is given a father and a girlfriend, these characters seem to exist only to provide him with things to do and have no personalities of their own. Chazelle should have either written them better or cut them out completely – the latter of which would have resulted in a much cleaner, tighter script.
Simmons is a powerhouse, both physically and in terms of his presence. He dominates most of the film – sometimes to ill effect. The character doesn’t seem like he could possibly fail, so when he does, it feels inconsequential and temporary, lowering the impact. As for Teller, he’s passable – it’s not his movie. Even though he’s technically the star, he can’t quite hold his own in his scenes with Simmons. The only time this isn’t true is at the very end, when both actors are given equal focus.
Whiplash feels like a paint-by-numbers project that ended up in MoMA: it looks good on the surface, but when you examine it closely, it doesn’t quite hold up. It’s a brilliant film as an exercise in atmosphere, but its structural weaknesses and underdeveloped characters keep it from being a true work of art.
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