Whiplash Page #7

(points back to the music)

What the f*** is this?

ANDREW:

A half-note...

FLETCHER:

And this?

ANDREW:

A--a dotted sixteenth...

FLETCHER:

Sight-read this measure.

ANDREW:

Bop-bop-ba-bop-ba-

FLETCHER:

What are you, in a f***ing a capella

group?? Play the goddamn set!!

Andrew plays the measure on the drums. Shaking, terrified...

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FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Now answer my question -- were you

rushing or were you dragging?

(because Andrew hesitates--)

ANSWER!!!!!

ANDREW:

R--r--r--rushing...

FLETCHER:

Dear God, is that a tear in your eye? Are

you one of those single-tear people? Do I

look like a double f***ing rainbow to

you??

Andrew tries to hide his tear, mortified, wipes it, cowers-

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

You must be upset. Are you upset??

ANDREW:

N--no...

FLETCHER:

Oh so you don’t give a sh*t about any of

this?

ANDREW:

No, I -- I do give a sh-

FLETCHER:

So are you upset? Yes or f***ing no.

ANDREW:

Yes...

FLETCHER:

You are upset...

ANDREW:

I am upset...

FLETCHER:

Say it so the rest of the band can hear you.

ANDREW:

I am upset...

FLETCHER:

Louder.

ANDREW:

I am upset!

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35

FLETCHER:

LOUDER!!!!!!

ANDREW:

I am upset!!!

FLETCHER:

You are a worthless friendless f*ggot-

lipped little piece of sh*t, whose Mommy

ran out on Daddy once she realized he

wasn’t Eugene O’Neill, and who’s now

weeping and slobbering over my drum kit

like a fifteen-year-old girl -- so for the

last father-f***ing time, SAY IT LOUDER!!!

ANDREW:

(tears pouring out now)

I AM UPSET!!!!!!

Then -- silence. Andrew hunches over the drum set, shaking,

face awash in tears. The other PLAYERS just stare...

FLETCHER:

Carl...

Carl silently switches places with Andrew at the set.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Start practicing harder, Neiman.

(then, turning to the band,)

“Whiplash”. Once more from the top.

He claps the band off. As for Andrew, he just sits behind Carl --

dazed, red-faced, and utterly gutted.

His first day of Studio Band is over.

INT. GEHRING HALL - BASEMENT HALLWAY - DAY 24

Andrew exits. Trying to hold it all in. Then-

RYAN:

Hey, bro.

He sees Ryan, a few yards away. Andrew hides his face, hides

the TEARS that are starting to spill out uncontrollably...

RYAN (CONT’D)

I never said congrats, man. Congra-

...and RUNS like hell.

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25 INT. DORMITORY - ANDREW’S ROOM - DUSK 25

Andrew is curled in the corner, crying. We linger here.

Then, his PHONE rings. He looks at it. Hesitates...

ANDREW:

...Hello...?

JIM (O.S.)

You didn’t show.

And, finally, breaking down, can’t hold it in any longer-

ANDREW:

He ripped me apart...

JIM (O.S.)

...Who?

(then,)

That a**hole? You told me you were

transferring...

Andrew looks at his desk. There, atop a pile of papers, is

his TRANSFER APPLICATION. All filled out. Ready to go. Next

to it, a BUDDY RICH CD...

ANDREW:

(almost to himself)

...I thought he liked my playing.

JIM (O.S.)

Who cares what he likes? Who is he to you?

When I started writing plenty of people

tried to put me down. You ignore them.

Andrew is silent. When I started writing...

Those words seem to have the opposite effect Jim intended.

ANDREW:

When you started writing...

JIM (O.S.)

Why don’t you come home tonight?

ANDREW:

No, I -- I have to practice...

JIM (O.S.)

No, you have to take it easy.

ANDREW:

I need to go now...

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37

JIM (O.S.)

Andrew-

ANDREW:

I have to go... Sorry. I’ll call you

later.

He hangs up. Rises. Wipes his reddened eyes. And exits his dorm.

PRE-LAP KNOCKING --

FLETCHER (PRE-LAP)

Yes?

26 INT. GEHRING HALL - STUDIO BAND ROOM - FLETCHER’S OFFICE - DAY

26

Andrew steps into Fletcher’s office. Before Fletcher can say a

word--

ANDREW:

I’m sorry to interrupt you. I just want to

tell you -- I’m so thankful to have been

accepted into Studio Band. And I’m going to

make sure I don’t disappoint you.

Fletcher, seated at his desk, just looks at Andrew. Andrew

nods, turns around. Marches back down the hall -- as PERCUSSION

begins... WE FOLLOW HIM, sticking close to his face, the

resolve now in his eyes. Something has changed.

PERCUSSION grows louder and, as we move, hurdles us back...

...to FLETCHER’S OFFICE. And to Fletcher, peeking out

through his doorway now. Fletcher smiles...

27 INT. ANDREW’S PRACTICE ROOM - DAY 27

Andrew sits at his drum set, furiously practicing...

And just like that, moving fast, DRUM PATTERN FOR MONTAGE

carrying us, we’re-

28 INT. GEHRING HALL OFFICE ROOM - DAY 28

CLOSE ON Andrew’s hand, Xerox-ing pages of music. The titles:

“WHIPLASH”, “ALEPH NULL”, “EASY SIX”... Pages dense with notes...

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29 EXT. NEW YORK STREET - SHAFFER CONSERVATORY - EVENING 29

Fletcher steps outside. It’s drizzling a bit. He slowly unfolds

an umbrella. Passes by a few other FACULTY MEMBERS on his way

to the sidewalk. Keeps walking. The DRUMMING continues...

30 INT. DORMITORY - ANDREW’S ROOM - EVENING 30

Andrew pulls the MATTRESS off his bed, drags it to the door

with his ALARM CLOCK. Heaves both out to the hallway...

31 INT. SUBWAY - NIGHT 31

Fletcher is seated, squished in between commuters, towered

over by other travelers. Looks diminutive in this setting...

32 EXT. NEW YORK SIDE STREET - NIGHT 32

Andrew marches down a side-street, wolfing down a McDonald’s

burger for dinner, earphones plugged into a METRONOME...

33 INT. ANDREW’S PRACTICE ROOM - NIGHT 33

Andrew lifts a 50-lb weight with his right arm. Then a 75-lb.

Then picks his stick up and plays his double-time swing...

34 EXT. FLETCHER’S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT 34

Fletcher reaches a nondescript high-rise. With his folded-up

umbrella, his head hanging low, and the careful delicacy with

which he opens the door, he looks here like nothing so much

as a quiet, everyday man...

35 INT. ANDREW’S PRACTICE ROOM - NIGHT 35

Andrew sleeps, earphones still in and metronome still on.

He’s on the MATTRESS he brought down from his dorm, the ALARM

CLOCK by his side. Next to it, a suitcase of clothes. Above,

the poster of Buddy Rich. It’s as though he’s moved in.

36 INT. FLETCHER’S APARTMENT - DINING ROOM - NIGHT 36

Fletcher sets the table for dinner. He has nice porcelain

plates, and a glass of red wine. But the meal? A frozen ready-

made steak and vegetables. On the wall, a photo. In it, a

younger Fletcher, and a WOMAN, and a NINE-YEAR-OLD GIRL. All

smiles...

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39

37

INT. ANDREW’S PRACTICE ROOM - MORNING 37

Andrew rises from the same mattress and slides onto his drum

seat. Starts playing, hands dotted with blisters, eyes crusty

with sand. The METRONOME still on...

...because it was never turned off.

CUT TO:
Rides furiously, trying to beat his double-time

swing... The METRONOME reading 380... His muscles exhausted...

CUT TO:
The METRONOME adjusted up to 390... Blisters tearing...

CUT TO:
400.. Hands bleeding now, blood smearing the sticks...

CUT TO:
405... The METRONOME going crazy now... The DRUMMING so

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