Whiplash

BLACK...

We hear a HIT. A drumstick against a drum head. Crisp, sharp.

Then a second hit. Then a third and a fourth. The hits

growing so fast they start to blur together. Like gunfire...

1 INT. NASSAU BAND REHEARSAL STUDIO - GEHRING HALL - NIGHT 1

A cavernous space. Sound-proofed walls. And in the center, a

DRUM SET. Seated at it, in a sweat-marked white T, eyes

zeroed on his single-stroke roll, is ANDREW NEIMAN.

He’s 19, slight, honors-student-skinny -- except for his

arms, which have been built from years and years of drumming.

Suddenly -- a MAN enters the practice room. Stopping, rising--

ANDREW:

Sorry... I’m -- I’m sorry--

MAN:

It’s ok. Stay there.

The MAN steps forward, removes his coat. He’s tall. Late

fifties. Black T-shirt, black slacks, black shoes. We’ll know

him as FLETCHER.

The room is silent now. And then, softly, as he’s one of

those people whose whisper can scare the crap out of you--

FLETCHER:

What’s your name?

ANDREW:

Andrew Neiman, sir.

(It’s pronounced “Nayman”.)

FLETCHER:

What year are you?

ANDREW:

I’m a first-year, sir.

FLETCHER:

You know who I am?

ANDREW:

Yes...

FLETCHER:

You know what I do?

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ANDREW:

Yes...

FLETCHER:

So you know I’m looking for players.

ANDREW:

Yes...

FLETCHER:

Then why did you stop playing?

Beat. Andrew nods, smiles. He gets it. Summons up all his

remaining energy and resumes playing, trying to really show

off this time. Rolls, fills, speedy stick-work. He finishes.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Did I say to start playing again?

Andrew looks at him.

ANDREW:

I thought-(

then, blanching,)

I’m sorry, I misun-

FLETCHER:

I asked you why you stopped playing. Your

version of an answer was to turn into a

wind-up drummer monkey.

ANDREW:

I’m sorry -- I--I stopped playing becau--

FLETCHER:

Show me your rudiments.

Andrew nods. Plays one rudiment after another: double-stroke

roll, paradiddle, ratamacue, flam, flamadiddle.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Uh-huh. Double-time swing.

Fletcher begins clapping his hand in time. Fast. Andrew plays.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

No. Double-time. Double it. Bop-bop-bopbop-

bop-bop-bop-bop-bop-bop.

Andrew tries doubling the tempo. But he can’t. Fletcher STOPS

CLAPPING. The sign of death.

Andrew keeps playing, eyes shut... Then -- he hears the door

CLOSE. He stops, and looks up. Fletcher has left the room.

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3

A moment later -- the door OPENS. It’s Fletcher. Andrew’s

eyes widen. Maybe it’s not over...

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Woopsy-daisy. Forgot my coat.

Fletcher grabs it, steps back out, CLOSES the door. Andrew

stares ahead, alone again at the drums -- and totally

deflated.

It’s over.

WIDE SHOT of the band room as Andrew slowly rises. A title card:

Shaffer Conservatory of Music

Fall Semester

2 EXT. NEW YORK STREET - SHAFFER CONSERVATORY - NIGHT 2

Andrew exits, hurries off. Pasted onto his overloaded backpack

are patches, buttons, names: Krupa. Roach. Buddy Rich...

The buildings of midtown New York loom over him like giants --

immense, forbidding...

3 INT. MOVIE THEATER - LOBBY - NIGHT 3

A quiet two-screen theater. Andrew buys concessions. The GIRL

at the counter is about his age. She’s pretty, but doesn’t

really know it. More to the point, she doesn’t seem to care.

Her name is NICOLE.

NICOLE:

Swedish fish?

ANDREW:

Nah, not this time, thanks...

Andrew and Nicole exchange smiles. He takes his items --

popcorn, Raisinets, two sodas -- and heads off. Peers back at

Nicole. She’s staring into space. She looks suddenly lonely.

Andrew takes in the sight. You can tell he’s attracted to her

-- but he’s too nervous to do anything. A beat later, he

enters the theater.

4 INT. MOVIE THEATER - MOMENTS LATER 4

Andrew spots a 53-year-old man seated near the front. This is

his dad -- JIM. Mild-mannered, soft-spoken, average in every

respect. Has the eyes of a former dreamer.

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A smile between the two of them. Andrew hands his dad the

Raisinets, hands him the drink. Routine. The movie hasn’t

started yet. As they exchange items-

JIM:

You ok?

ANDREW:

Sure...

A beat.

ANDREW (CONT’D)

He had me play today.

JIM:

And?

Andrew shrugs. It’s clear what that means.

JIM (CONT’D)

You still have other options.

ANDREW:

What do you mean?

JIM:

It’s good to be open-minded. When I was

your age I thought I’d have a book deal

at 23. Then that changed to 30. Then 40.

ANDREW:

Right... And that didn’t upset you?

Jim shrugs, keeps his eyes down. He has a tendency to look

down when talking. The lights dim. The previews begin.

ANDREW (CONT’D)

I mean, it has to do something to you.

JIM:

(another shrug)

I don’t know. Why? It’s just life.

(pause)

There’s other things to care about.

Friends. Romance...

Andrew takes it in. Especially the last part.

JIM (CONT’D)

At my age you get perspective.

ANDREW:

I don’t want perspective.

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Jim smiles. A moment.

Just then a MOVIEGOER squeezes into the row to head to a

seat further down -- and bumps against Jim and his bucket

of popcorn.

JIM NEYMAN:

Sorry.

The Moviegoer doesn’t say a word. Andrew watches. Takes

it in.

5 OMITTED 5

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6 INT. DORMITORY - HALLWAY - HOURS LATER 6

Rusty elevator doors squeak open. Andrew steps out -- into a

grimy, green-walled hallway.

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Dim lights, loud MUSIC blaring from behind a door. A thudding

party beat...

At the end of the hall -- where the music is coming from -- a

few PARTYGOERS mingle by a door. The door opens. A YOUNG MAN

hands a SECOND YOUNG MAN a wad of cash in exchange for a Zip-

lock bag of PILLS. The SECOND YOUNG MAN eyes Andrew.

Andrew turns away, heads left -- to his own door. Hurriedly

opens it and slips inside.

7 INT. DORMITORY - ANDREW’S ROOM - NIGHT 7

A single. Drumsticks and drum pads scattered, biographies of

Bach and Coltrane on the shelf, posters of Louis Armstrong

and Charlie Parker on the walls. A TV is on, some sort of

music documentary. Andrew watches from his bed -- as, over

OLD AUDIO OF DRUMMING and old stills of a boy at a drum set --

NARRATOR (V.O.)

By the age of ten, Traps the Boy Wonder

was wowing crowds all over America. By

his teens, Buddy Rich was well on his way

to becoming the stuff of legend.

TALKING HEAD #1

Like any truly great player, Buddy seemed

to have been born with music in his

blood. He grasped it intuitively, in a

way you and I just can’t.

TALKING HEAD #2

You check out the old stuff, man. You look

at those movies when he was a kid, his

arms...

Beat. Andrew takes it all in -- especially these words:

TALKING HEAD #2 (O.S.) (CONT’D)

You just can’t teach that. That kind of

genius.

(pause)

You either got it or you don’t.

Andrew turns off the TV. We hear the party beat continuing

outside, muffled. He leans back and switches off his light.

WE FADE OUT.

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