Whiplash

There’s a scene in Whiplash, a film about a young man learning just how dedicated to success he actually is, that spoke to me.  In the scene, the protagonist (a young drummer at a prestigious music conservatory) breaks up with his girlfriend.  He tells her something along the lines of, “I’m more dedicated to music than to you.  This will, inevitably, hurt your feelings.  Let’s break up before things get ugly.”

It reminded me of my time at Cal State, grinding out the work so I could get into the Naval Academy.  I was sitting in the Student Union, studying for an exam, when my (then) girlfriend joined me at the table.  

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi.  I’m studying for an exam.  It’s in an hour, so I need to focus.  Let’s talk later.”

“Ok.”  pause.  pause. pause. “What’s the exam on?  Do you like the professor?  What do you want to do this weekend?”

“Now’s not a good time.  I really need to focus.  Let’s talk later.”

“Ok.”  pause.  pause.  pause.  “I was talking to X this morning.  She said Y, so I said …”

I put up a hand.  “Stop.  Go away.”  I dug my headphones out of my bag and huddled over my books.  Shocked, she complied.

The relationship didn’t last much longer, but that’s ok.  That’s the point.  When you’re young and ambitious, monomania is practically required.  Whiplash gets this, telling the story of its protagonist’s monomaniacal devotion to his drumming, even in the face of a monstrously abusive teacher.  He practices until his hands bleed, ices them, wraps them, and practices some more.  He withstands torrents of abuse, breaks, then practices some more.  He gets that success only comes through grinding labor, not a montage.

I respected the heck out of this kid.  Because I respected him, I invested in him even though I don’t care about drumming and don’t care about jazz.  And that’s the magic of this movie.  It draws us into a world about which we may be ignorant or uninterested, and it brings it to life and a compelling way.  You should see it.

That is, unless you have work to do.