Whiplash Page #8

fast it’s a wash, a wall of sound, blood on the cymbal-

38

INT. FLETCHER’S APARTMENT - DINING ROOM - NIGHT 38

Silence. Fletcher finishes his meal. Puts the dishes away. Sits

down on a couch. Still alone.

The apartment, like his office, is small but elegant. Pictures

of icons on the walls. Monk. Holiday. Coltrane...

Fletcher reaches into a stack of LP’s: Chopin, Ravel... Pulls

one out with the most delicate touch, as though he were

handling a newborn. Sets it on a record player by his side.

A scratch, a hiss, and then --

--FLETCHER’S SONG. Melancholy, lovelorn...

Fletcher just sits and listens, barely moves -- but you can

tell the music now playing means everything to him...

A moment, and then...

39

INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - STAGE - EVENING 39

Wild, feverish, absurdly fast BIG BAND JAZZ. We’re on-stage.

An orchestra about the size of Studio Band is in full swing,

reaching the end of RIVAL OVERBROOK BAND CHART.

The band FINISHES. No applause. A card:

First Competition of the Winter Season

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40

INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - GREEN ROOM - HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER

40 40

The RIVAL PLAYERS quickly shuffle into the green room, past

Andrew, who watches, awed. A VOICE-

TECHNICIAN (O.S.)

Terry!

Andrew turns, glimpses a CORRIDOR through the doorway. Out in

the corridor, he sees a TECHNICIAN welcome Fletcher. In the

Technician’s arms, a FOUR-YEAR-OLD GIRL -- the Technician’s

daughter -

FLETCHER:

Mike!

(and, to the girl,)

I’m so sorry, can I have your autograph?

(she blushes, shakes her head)

Are you playing an instrument yet?

TECHNICIAN:

She started piano this week.

FLETCHER:

Ooo, I need pianists!

(to the girl)

What do you say, you ready for Carnegie

Hall?

The Technician smiles again, looks at the girl. She hides her

face in his chest, embarrassed. He and Fletcher laugh.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Alright, alright.

(looking up at her dad)

Great to see you, Mike.

He leans in. They hug.

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

See you after the show! Cheers!

He steps in, closes the door and addresses his PLAYERS, who

are busy sanding their hands, buzzing their lips, preparing:

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Ok, you f***ing cocksuckers. E Dorian.

(the non-percussion players

lift their instruments)

Hurry the f*** up!! E Dorian.

(they play the Dorian scale)

Double it.

(they play it double-time)

(MORE)

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FLETCHER (CONT’D)

G Lydian.

(they play the Lydian scale)

D Lydian Augmented.

(they play it)

Double it.

(they play it double-time)

Get your music. “Irene” only for Set 1.

Rhythm section out first. Tanner, the kit

is a tonal catastrophe. Get it in tune.

Rhythm and soloists, we’re augmenting the

dominant in measure 45. Everyone else

sharp the nine at bar 106. Got it?

(beat)

Now remember. Lincoln Center and its ilk

use these competitions to decide who they

want. And I am not about to have my

record in that department stained by a

bunch of sour-note flexible-tempo flatter-

than-their-girlfriends dipshits. And

another thing...

(he holds up a music folder)

...if I ever see one of these lying about

unattended to again, I swear to God I

will stop being so polite. That alright

with you, ladies?

PLAYERS:

Yes.

A STAGEHAND approaches Fletcher, about to speak to him-

FLETCHER:

(almost matter-of-fact)

Get the f*** out of my sight before I

demolish you.

The STAGE HAND nods, slinks away. Fletcher addresses his band--

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Stage right. In order. Now.

(turns to the STAGE HAND --

who’s short and plump)

That means you too, Mini-Me.

INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - STAGE - CONTINUOUS

41 41

Studio Band goes on-stage. Carl hurries to the DRUMS, tunes them.

CARL:

Stick bag.

Andrew hands Carl the stick bag. Raises the music stand, props

the MUSIC FOLDER onto it-

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CARL (CONT’D)

Hurry up.

ANNOUNCEMENT (V.O.)

The Shaffer Conservatory Studio Band...

CARL:

Hurry up.

--and opens it to OVERBROOK COMPETITION CHART.

Fletcher appears. Raises his hand.

Everyone raises their instruments. Sits still. Waiting...

A cough is heard. Fletcher looks to his right. The players

stay still. No sign of whom it came from...

And then -- the slightest move of Fletcher’s index finger. So

subtle you need absolute focus to even notice it. That’s the

count-off. Miss it and you’ve blown it for everyone.

The BAND LAUNCHES. Quiet at first, then a big brassy sound.

Andrew watches Carl’s playing. Taps along on his knees.

CARL (CONT’D)

Page.

(Andrew snaps to it, turns the

page)

Damnit...

Still conducting, Fletcher approaches, whispers-

FLETCHER:

Get it together, Tanner, I swear to God.

Heads back to his position, glaring at Carl. Pissed at Andrew,

Carl plays. The music BUILDS and we’re-

42 INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - GREEN ROOM - MOMENTS LATER 42

The performance over, the PLAYERS trickle BACKSTAGE.

CARL:

(handing Andrew the folder, still

pissed)

Hold onto this for the second set.

43 INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - HALLWAY - MOMENTS LATER 43

Andrew plugs in for a can of Coke at a vending machine. Sets

his MUSIC FOLDER down on a chair. Keeps his eyes on it.

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43

Then -- he overhears TALKING...

TRUMPETER #1

That’s what I heard...

Andrew turns. Creeps around the corner. Sees a trio of fellow

Studio Band PLAYERS, all core, chatting. They don’t see him...

TRUMPETER #2

Do you think he’ll make a complaint?

SAXOPHONIST:

He wants a career. Long as Fletcher

stays, Fudd could get placed back in. Why

would he jeopardize that?

Andrew leans in to hear more, but before he can get a read-

CARL:

I need to look at the music.

Carl is inches from his face. Andrew turns to the chair --but

the folder is gone. His eyes go wide. No...

CARL (CONT’D)

Can I have it?

ANDREW CARL:

Yeah, of course. I’m... Why isn’t it on you?

ANDREW CARL:

It is, I-I

don’t see it.

ANDREW:

(realizing he can’t hide this)

F***... I -- I think I f***ed up...

CARL:

No. You’re joking.

ANDREW:

I swear to God, I had it on that chair-

CARL:

Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. How

could you be so f***ing stupid?!?

ANDREW:

(shaking, doesn’t know what to do)

A... A janitor... Maybe a janitor took-

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CARL:

Find the f***ing chart!!

(turns, grabs a passing player--)

Neiman lost my folder.

SAXOPHONIST:

Serious? Fletcher’s going to flip.

And just like that -- a VOICE booms down the hall-FLETCHER

(O.S.)

Drums!! Where the hell is Tanner??

44 INT. DUNELLEN AUDITORIUM - GREEN ROOM - MOMENTS LATER 44

Carl, terrified, Andrew behind him, addresses Fletcher--

CARL:

We have an issue.

FLETCHER:

Now is not the time.

CARL:

I gave Neiman the folder. Neiman lost it.

Fletcher looks at Andrew. This is a joke, right?

FLETCHER:

Neiman lost it.

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