No
matter how acclaimed or technically crafted a film may be, one cannot
escape the fact that films are an intensely personal experience,
which more often than not will elicit a subjective response. I
generally liked the heavyweight movies of this year, the likes of
Boyhood
(2014)
and Birdman
(2014)
and those heaps of awards are definitely deserved for their respective
merits.
But
the film that I thought was perhaps the best of the year was the
overlooked and underrated A
Most Wanted Man (2014)
with another great and brilliant performance by the late Philip
Seymour Hoffman. The film that most moved and inspired me so far (I
have not gone through the whole list of best picture nominees as of
yet but have been thoroughly impressed by the outstanding Foxcatcher
(2014)
which, for some odd reason, was not even nominated as best picture)
is the little film Whiplash
(2014) that has big ideas on its mind.
This
movie struck a nerve within me in a way that Birdman's
ego crisis of a failing artist failed to do. Somehow the characters
in the latter seemed too distant and bizarre for me to take to heart,
whereas both Andrew and his sadistic teacher Fletcher hit closer to
home. This may be partly because I am in the teaching profession
(though I assure you alongside numerous character references and
student evaluations that I am not even half or five percent as mean
as that guy!) or it may be because I used to have one such teacher in
high school myself, or more likely because I can relate to the quest
for artistic perfection and integrity in a world that is satisfied
with half measures and restrained passion.
Let
us recap quickly and try not to spoil the movie for those who have
not seen it. Although it is rather difficult to give much away here
as not much happens, which might be actually a spoiler for those who
believe that much will
happen. On the surface this looks like a host of other movies that
tackled the subject: a young aspiring musician (artist, writer,
athlete) meets a teacher who changes his life (for the better).
However,
what makes this movie different and unique from others is the
characterization of the mean teacher Fletcher and the questionable
impact he has on his protégé. Now Fletcher is a real “bad ass,”
the likes of which we have rarely seen on the screen and not even
Louise Fletcher (!) as Nurse Ratched is as remotely evil as this guy.
To give an example, he seems an affable and caring person when he
asks the young student Andrew about his parents (his mother left him
when he was a child; his father is a second-rate writer and high
school teacher), but only moments later he uses that same information
in front of the other musicians to belittle and ridicule the
mortified student.
All
this is apart from the verbal abuse that would put a satisfied grin
on Full
Metal Jacket's
drill sergeant and the physical abuse (he throws a chair onto Andrew
who barely ducks in time). What makes this guy even more despicable
is that he does not change his tactics. Fletcher does not become a
good person in the end; in fact, once the credits roll, we can see
him continue in the same vein without any remorse whatsoever.
And
yet, he is not evil personified. Deep inside, he means to do good, or
so he thinks. We see him not as a teacher but also as a musician
playing jazz in a small bar. And he plays with so much feeling and
depth that we are surprised to see that there are any feelings behind
his thick skin. (Another instance for those who have seen the film
would be when he is teary-eyed and talks about a former student of
his who had died young, but most of this pain may have been because
he must have realized that he was more than partially responsible for
the young man's death.)
It
is in that bar scene that he finally reveals himself to the young
drummer Andrew. He tells him that all that he wants is to push for
artistic greatness in his students. He is not interested in creating
interchangeable, uninspired and insipid “Starbucks jazz;” he
wants his students to excel and become one of the greats. Hence, he
pushes his students by crossing lines and limits so that they not
only work as hard as they can (until their fingers bleed and their
minds reel), but that they manage to give their all (and more) to
achieve their fullest potential.
His
concept of the vanquishing artist with no holds barred reminded me of
Nietzsche's drive for greatness. The master artist has fulfilled
himself and as a rule stands beyond and above the multitude and the
mass. He has not only found and realized himself, but he is the
artist par
excellence.
He is the Mozart of classical music, the Charlie Parker of jazz, or
the Jimi Hendrix of rock 'n' roll.
These
musicians may have been geniuses, but even they must unlock their
potential through single-minded and unwavering practice. With great
art comes great sacrifice. Incidentally, they all died young because
they burnt themselves up like a shooting star. As Andrew himself put
it earlier at a dinner table in which football seemed to outweigh
music, he would rather die young without friends as one of the greats
than live a long and pointless second-rate life (a direct stab at his
middling father).
Andrew
believes he has the necessary talent to be great, and as a result, he
decides to fully focus on his practice. He plays until his hands are
sore and literally bleed. He shakes off a serious car accident to
play the drums for an important competition, and he “sacrifices”
his would-be girlfriend by prematurely ending their budding
relationship because his sole focus and occupation, not to say
obsession, is his music and his music only.
His
desire is almost mystical in its scope and no wonder that he follows
his master to the very end. In such a view, Andrew is the monk who
shuns earthly life and turns his whole being looking upwards towards
the divine and the heavenly realm. Fletcher then becomes the Zen
master who is ready to cut his pupils' limbs if that can help them
achieve the much sought and highly valued state of satori. The
student ready to sacrifice his psychological health and well-being to
achieve this state follows blindly the voice of his admired and, in
the student's eyes, successful master not unlike the disciples who
followed Jesus (though the latter did occasionally succumb to moments
of doubt and wavering).
But
how far should the master go? Does he not realize that he is causing
psychological harm to his students? Does he not have any boundaries
of decency and compassion? Does he lack humanity? No, Fletcher
responds. If you are a true artist, you will not break under the
pressure but rather come out reborn with renewed strength and vigor.
The real artists' passion and resourcefulness is never-ending. They
will not break, and if they do, that means they were no artists in
the first place.
This
would be a case of survival of the best and fittest. Only those who
got what is worth will survive. These are the Navy SEALs of
jazz, and only the very best, the elite can survive. And if they do,
it means they have what it takes to be a veritable artist. He is only
separating the wheat from the chaff and preparing those who make it
for everlasting greatness, which is much more important than a single
person's life.
The
force and drive that knows no limits and achieves what only few can
achieve in the world reminded me of some of Nietzsche's ideas
regarding the Übermensch. It is also not unlike the observation of
Jesus that only few will walk that straight narrow road. Jesus
himself had this single-minded focus and passion. To all of these
great people, it is their cause and their persistent and unwavering
aim bound with their serious commitment that makes them great.
If
we look at those who excel today, it comes at a great price. They
have to work and practice hard. No one wakes up a brilliant musician
or writer. We may have a knack for it; it may come easier to us than
to others, but we need to constantly work on it and if we want true
greatness, we must sacrifice anything that is not related to it,
anything that distracts us from the path.
Yet
also, a part of greatness is not following others. In that sense, the
timid and reserved Andrew takes a decisive stand at the end of the
film: He willingly defies his master. In fact, all this time, he was
worried about proving himself and his worth to his teacher, and now
he just does what he knows to be best.
That
is the great independence of a true artist. He does not follow the
dictates of others, but in fact, he creates the rules which
others ought to follow. They set standards. They surpass their
masters and teachers. They create something, whether a work of art or
a musical composition that will stand the test of time and will live
on forever.
Fletcher
is indeed a flawed individual, but he is the kind of person that
someone like Andrew needs. And he does not need him in the
traditional sense of learning, but rather as a necessary obstruction
to overcome. What Fletcher has in the end taught him was to overcome
his own limits and to unlock and liberate the musical genius that was
lying dormant deep within him.
When
that moment comes, the never satisfied and always critical Fletcher
shows a brief moment of satisfaction, and Andrew has managed to kill
the Buddha, to outshine the master on his own path toward
salvation, his own and fully merited conviction that he has reached
artistic greatness or perfection. Well, at least one such moment that
he could from now on continuously build on through steady practice
and output.