Whiplash Page #11

ANDREW:

That’s right. That’s exactly my point.

Beat.

NICOLE:

You’re right. We should not be dating.

She gets up.

ANDREW:

I’m glad we had this talk.

NICOLE:

Me too.

With that, she turns and leaves. We linger on Andrew, the

look on his face... Did I just f*** up...? No, I’m good.

52 INT. GEHRING HALL - STUDIO BAND ROOM - DAY 52

A BLAST of music. Horns squealing, cymbals swelling.

It’s another Studio Band rehearsal. Andrew’s at the drums,

playing well. Fletcher cues a fermata, and the band

finishes STUDIO BAND REHEARSAL AFTER-BREAKUP CHART.

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56

FLETCHER:

Alright, gang. Pick up the new chart by

the door. Rehearsal tonight starts at 9.

You have ‘til then to learn it.

PLAYERS head out. Andrew grabs his copy of the chart -- it’s

called “CARAVAN” -- when-

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Neiman. Stay a bit, ok?

Andrew nods. Carl, at the door, glares at him. Then slinks off.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

(approaching, pointing to the chart)

Look at this. See the tempo?

ANDREW:

Quarter note 330...

FLETCHER:

That’s a double-time swing. That’s what

got you in here, isn’t it?

ANDREW:

I guess so...

Fletcher grins. Then -- the smile fades.

FLETCHER:

Now, just as was the case with you, I

stumbled on a kid practicing his double-

time swing the other night. I’d like to

give him a shot.

Before Andrew can register, let alone ask “Who?”-

RYAN (O.S.)

Am I late?

Fletcher and Andrew turn to the door. RYAN CONNOLLY is here.

FLETCHER:

Perfect timing! Join us, Connolly.

(Ryan heads over, smiling)

You two know each other, don’t you?

RYAN:

Yep, Nassau Band. ‘Sup, Andrew...

Ryan is all smiles. But Andrew is mortified. Can barely

conceal his anxiety -- and his anger.

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FLETCHER:

Now, Connolly, I’ve made Andrew a

temporary core-

(Andrew’s eyes shoot up at

the word “temporary”)

--but we’ve got the competition this

weekend and I want to make sure the new

chart’s in good shape.

Ryan nods, reaches into his backpack. And, to Andrew’s shock,

pulls out the “new chart”. CARAVAN.

RYAN:

This one, right?

Andrew’s wide-eyed. When did he get the chart?

FLETCHER:

(as though he can read his mind)

I gave it to him this morning, Neiman.

Now, all I want to do is test out the

part. Neiman, if you wouldn’t mind, could

we take it from the top with just you?

Andrew tries to keep calm. Goes to the drums, lays out the

chart.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Don’t worry, I don’t care about hits.

That’ll be tonight. For now, just tempo.

Andrew nods. Takes a deep breath. Looks at the tempo notation.

“330”. Another breath. Ok... I’ve got this... Fletcher CLAPS.

Andrew BEGINS.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

No... That’s not quite my tempo...

ANDREW:

I’m -- I’m sorry -- I’ll-

FLETCHER:

Let’s see if Connolly can do it, ok?

Beat. Andrew looks at Ryan. Heart pounding, he switches with

him. Fletcher CLAPS. Ryan BEGINS. And he plays perfectly.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Connolly -- that was excellent. See,

this is the beauty of Studio Band. You

come in an alternate -- but a minute

later, you could be the new core.

Andrew’s eyes widen again.

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ANDREW:

You’re not serious.

Fletcher looks at Andrew -- as though shocked Andrew talked

back. A moment of silence. Then --BZZZZZ. Fletcher’s cell.

FLETCHER:

Connolly, the chart’s yours. See you

both tonight at 9.

(answering the phone)

Hi, this is Terence...

He heads to his OFFICE. Andrew is still. What just happened...?

RYAN:

How you been, bro?

(Andrew looks at Ryan)

I think it was the injury that kept me out

last time. But I’m f***in’ stoked to be

joining you guys now.

Andrew just stares. Ryan seems earnest -- but Andrew is incensed.

RYAN (CONT’D)

(mistaking Andrew’s look for

anxiety)

Don’t worry about Fletch, either. My

granddad knew his dad from the

Philharmonic when Fletcher was trying to

break in. He’s more bark than bite.

Andrew’s eyes really widen now: What the f*** is going on?

He gets up, marches to Fletcher’s door, and-

INT. GEHRING HALL - FLETCHER’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS 53

--BURSTS in. Fletcher’s just finished his call.

FLETCHER ANDREW:

What are--? I need to talk to you.

FLETCHER ANDREW:

Now is not the time, I I can play that part, you

swear to God--know I can-

FLETCHER:

I said NOT NOW!!!

There’s more desperation in Fletcher’s voice than anger. And

Andrew notices something else: Fletcher’s eyes are watering...

Andrew is silent. He’s never seen Fletcher like this.

54

54A

55

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FLETCHER (CONT’D)

(softly, as though close to crying)

You want the part? Then...earn it.

A moment passes.

INT. GEHRING HALL - STUDIO BAND ROOM - CONTINUOUS

54

Andrew busts back through the STUDIO BAND ROOM. Eyes burning.

One thought and one thought only: Get that part back.

RYAN:

Bro! Wanna grab lunch?

But Andrew doesn’t answer. Just keeps walking.

INT. DORMITORY - BASEMENT BATHROOM - DAY 54A

Andrew pours ice into a sink. Turns on the faucet. Dips a big

glass jug in and collects ice water.

INT. ANDREW’S PRACTICE ROOM - DAY 55

Andrew practices the part... He’s pushing, giving it his all...

“CARAVAN” on his stand, scribbled over with pencil markings:

“forte”, “triplets!”, “hemiola 1-3”, “don’t slow down!”

ANDREW:

Come on... Come on...

He stops. His hand throbbing from blisters. He dips it by his

side -- into the jug of ICE WATER. Clenches. Blood clouds the

water.

He resumes playing -- frenzied, exhausted. Fucks up, screams out-

ANDREW (CONT’D)

F***!!!!

Starts pounding his stick against the drum-head. Then his hand.

Pounding harder and harder, once, twice, three times, four

times. Hand bleeding more, the drum-skin giving way, finally

tearing and breaking.

He STARTS PLAYING again, fed up, enraged, SHOUTING at himself-

ANDREW (CONT’D)

Come on you f***ing piece of sh*t... Come

on!!! COME ON!!!!

Pink (9/10/2013)

56 INT. SUBWAY - NIGHT 56

A crowded subway car. Andrew is seated, poring over his sheet

music, running through the beats in his head...

57 INT. GEHRING HALL - STUDIO BAND ROOM - NIGHT 57

The PLAYERS sit silently. Ryan on the drum throne, Carl and

Andrew behind him -- Carl still humiliated, Andrew 100%

focused. The clock reads: 9:00. Not a word in the room.

Fletcher emerges. A CD PLAYER in his hand. He plugs it in.

FLETCHER:

Ok... Um...

For the first time ever, he seems uneasy, unsure what to say.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

We...we have a new player. Ryan Connolly.

Ryan nods, waves to the other PLAYERS. Chipper-

RYAN:

Sup, dudes.

Andrew glares at him. Seething now. But, continuing, softly-

FLETCHER:

But I...if you could just...put your

instruments down... Just for a second...

He turns to the CD player. Turns it on. A big-band ballad

swells. A muted trumpet takes the lead. It’s CASEY’S SONG,

and it’s a tender sound, full of melancholy...

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