Whiplash Page #14

(lets that linger, then,)

Or I can give “Johnny Utah” the part and

we’ll leave it at that. Your choice.

70A

70B

71

71A

72

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Beat. Andrew catches sight of Carl, standing in the back,

watching -- and almost smiling. He turns back to Fletcher-

ANDREW:

It’s my part. I’ll be on the stage.

FLETCHER:

That’s 10 minutes 50 seconds left, you

pathetic pansy-ass fruit-f***.

Andrew turns. Bumps into Ryan, PUSHES him out of the way, RUNS.

EXT/INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - RENTAL CAR - MOMENTS LATER70A

Andrew drives away. The clock changes from 5:20 to 5:21.

EXT/INT. CAR RENTAL AGENCY - RENTAL CAR - DAY 70B

Andrew pulls up at the rental agency. The clock changes from

5:
27 to 5:28.

INT. CAR RENTAL AGENCY - MOMENTS LATER 71

Andrew races into the rental agency. They’re still open... Grabs

the STICK BAG...

EXT. CAR RENTAL AGENCY - MOMENTS LATER 71A

Andrew runs to his car and peels off.

INT. DUNELLEN STREET - CAR - MOMENTS LATER 72

Andrew on the road, speeding like a demon, the GPS on. Looks at

the clock. 5:
30. Then 5:31. Whips out his cell. Dials...

ANDREW:

It’s Neiman... Tell Fletcher I’m coming.

PIANIST (O.S.)

What the f*** is taking so long?? They’re

moving on-stage now.

ANDREW:

There was -- there was a problem with the

lock on my car. It’s solved and I’m coming.

GPS VOICE:

Left turn up ahead.

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Andrew looks at the GPS. F***. Tries to switch it off.

PIANIST (O.S.)

Are you driving?

ANDREW:

No..

The GPS BEEPS for the turn.

PIANIST (O.S.)

What was that?

ANDREW:

Tell Fletcher I’m coming or I’ll rip out

your f***ing eyes.

He hangs up. Enraged. Slams down on the gas, engine roaring...

PICKING UP SPEED... The GPS says “2 minutes” left... The clock

turns 5:
32...

The speedometer SHOOTING UP... UP... UP...

The car reaching a STOP SIGN...but Andrew keeps going, not

looking...

His car SPEEDING UP and SPEEDING UP until it’s-

--SLAMMED INTO.

Glass flying everywhere, everything going so fast, as though

the vehicle had just been whipped up by a tornado...

The car FLIPS, 180, the top crunching down like paper, Andrew

spun around and shoved up against it -- bleeding, battered-

72A INT/EXT. DUNELLEN STREET - CRASHED RENTAL CAR - CONTINUOUS

72A

--until the car comes to a stop, upside down. Glass and blood.

Silence.

Andrew takes a moment to understand what has just happened.

Gasping for breath, he yanks himself up -- but finds his LEFT

HAND is caught under the steering wheel. He yanks, pulls at

it. It won’t budge. Smoke and exhaust fumes billow up...

He tugs and tugs and pulls and -- finally --CRAAAACK -- the

bone of his index finger SNAPS. The most painful sound you can

imagine. He SCREAMS in agony. YANKS back, staggering...

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His hand is free. Bone broken, bleeding profusely.

Andrew crawls out of the car... Rises to his feet... Dizzy, the

world spinning... The TRUCK DRIVER who rammed into him is running

over--

TRUCK DRIVER:

Are you ok???

ANDREW:

I -- I need -- I -- my -- my sticks...

He turns back to the car. Bends down to reach back in...

TRUCK DRIVER:

No -- stay away from the car, it’s not sa-

Andrew blocks him out. Reaches with his right hand -- the

working one -- and goes for the STICK BAG, sandwiched between

the caved-in top and the seat. Groaning in pain as he

reaches... Gets it.

TRUCK DRIVER (CONT’D)

I’m calling 9-1-1, you’re going to be ok--

ANDREW:

I -- I have to -- I have to go, it’s --

it’s three more blocks-

TRUCK DRIVER:

(holding him back)

Sir, you don’t have to go anywhere-

ANDREW:

Get your hands off me!!!

He yanks free from the Driver’s grasp and starts RUNNING...

I/E. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - LOBBY - MOMENTS LATER 73

Still running, has been running for three blocks... Out of

breath, even dizzier than before... Reaches the front green,

face coated in sweat, and hand drenched in blood... Almost

collapses... A couple of PASSERSBY see him, shocked-

PASSERBY:

Jesus Christ...

--but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. He’s dead-set,

tunnel vision, only cares about the goal: Get on-stage...

Andrew busts inside. Eyes scanning. Hears the sound of TUNING...

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73A OMITTED 73A

INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - STAGE - MOMENTS LATER

74 74

Dashes in from backstage. The PLAYERS have taken their places,

finished tuning, are about to perform. Andrew sees Fletcher.

Fletcher sees him. Hiding his arm behind his stick bag-

ANDREW:

I’m here. I’m here. I’m here.

Doesn’t even wait for Fletcher’s answer, goes straight to the

set where Ryan is seated. Nothing is going to stop him now-

ANDREW (CONT’D)

Get off. Get off the f***ing set.

Ryan looks at Fletcher. Fletcher waits -- then nods, almost

smiling. Seems he’s having fun with this. Ryan slides off,

pissed, and takes a seat next to Carl. Andrew takes his place.

His left hand still hidden, Andrew props up his music and

pulls out a pair of sticks. Tries to hold his left stick

properly -- but it keeps giving way. With his index finger

broken, it’s impossible to keep the stick steady...

He looks at the music: “Caravan”... Looks back at his hand...

Tries to move his left fingers, mimicking the stick patterns...

Just up ahead -- Fletcher. Animal intensity...

Andrew closes his eyes... Tries to block out the anxiety...

The pain... The stress that just keeps mounting and mounting...

Gropes inside his STICK BAG. Pulls out his bag of pills. Drops

it. Pills scatter. Picks a pill up, pops it, out of sight.

ANNOUNCEMENT (V.O.)

The Shaffer Conservatory Studio Band...

Fletcher raises his hand, ready to cue... Andrew tries to get

his breathing under control... Ryan and Carl lean forward...

Ryan catches a glimpse of Andrew’s left hand, just as...

...Fletcher’s finger MOVES.

THE BAND IS OFF. It explodes into CARAVAN DUNELLEN at lightning-

speed.

But Andrew is already in trouble... Blood getting on the

snare... Ears starting to RING... Left hand barely keeping

up... The whole thing slowly slipping away from him...

He closes his eyes. Mouths: “Come on come on come on...”

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A big FILL coming up. He needs both his hands. Launches into

it -- and his left stick CATCHES the edge of a stand...

...AND GOES FLYING. Falling and sliding under the hi-hat pedal.

ANDREW:

(still riding with his right hand)

Stick...

Carl stays still. Andrew looks at him. But Carl won’t move.

Panicked, Andrew turns, eyes his old Nassau Band peer -- Ryan.

ANDREW (CONT’D)

Ryan... Stick...

Ryan hesitates. Doesn’t want to think of himself as a

saboteur. But he looks at Carl, Carl looks back at him...and

right then and there he makes his choice.

ANDREW (CONT’D)

Please...

Neither Carl nor Ryan moves.

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