Gettin' Whiplash

My husband and I watched the movie "Whiplash" the other night and I haven’t stopped thinking about it. 

“At the heart of Whiplash is a story about a very messed up codependent relationship. Dubbed “Full Metal Julliard” at its Sundance premiere, the movie finds Miles Teller trying to rise through the ranks at a prestigious music school under the tutelage of a sadistic teacher played by current Oscar front runner J.K. Simmons. Writer and director Damien Chazelle drew heavily from his own experience as a drummer in making the movie, right down to the dominating teacher. Whiplash is one of those movies where it sounds like it’s going to be boring, but it turns out to be electrifying. You can’t look away. And you can’t help but put yourself into the movie, wishing you could make decisions for this kids who lets his whole life be dominated by this one maniac. It was the kind of movie that left a lot for us to think about…” - JJ Duncan (6 Deep Thoughts About Whiplash)

The movie stuck a chord with me. I had a choir director who reminded me a bit of Professor Fletcher in high school. My choir director was a 6-foot-something German man, who exhibited the same range of style and emotions that Professor Fletcher did in the movie, albeit turned down quite a few notches for my Christian boarding school. He yelled, he berated, and he made kids cry. He threw things. He shouted. He embarrassingly stopped songs mid-performance. If you were one second late to rehearsal one time, he’d pull you into his office and seriously question your commitment. 

He showed us his soft side, too. He cried and freely shared his feelings and emotions when his family was going through some difficulties. Once, on our tour bus back to school one night, he called our attention and spent an hour encouraging or saying something nice to each of us individually. He treated, talked to, and loved us like we were his family. And we loved him, too. 

Yet once or twice a week, we all stood in the choir room, fearfully motionless (we generally weren't allowed to move, like to even itch or scratch our noses) as we watched this behemoth of a man give us his best. So that we could be our best. 

A.O. Scott wrote this of “Whiplash” in his NY Times movie review article, Drill Sergeant in the Music Room:

“The world worships excellence and runs on mediocrity. Most of us are fated to dwell in the fat middle of the bell curve, admiring and envying those who stake out territory in the higher realms of achievement. There is a wide gulf between doing your best at something and being the best at it, a discrepancy in expended effort and anticipated reward that is the subject of “Whiplash,” Damien Chazelle’s thrilling second feature.” 

Personally, I respond well to that kind of leadership. I’d rather be the best than do my best. In my choir, I cared about the music, and I cared about my choir director’s approval. If my choir director was mediocre, I would be mediocre. If he demanded less, I would’ve probably given less, and cared less. Why should I bring more, give my best, and try my hardest, for a leader who didn’t do the same (if not more)? 

Similarly, a few years ago I had a racquetball coach who was equally tough. He wasn’t a professional player, but he was a New Jersey motorcycle cop for longer than I’d been alive. He had also played racquetball for many of those years. When he taught me the sport, he drilled, he yelled, he chastised, he berated, and he gloated. When I accidentally whacked him in the back of the neck (with a return shot on a long ball - a big no-no), I never heard the end of it. But I learned. In the 9 months that I was coached by him, he complimented me only once. However, he always talked polite chit chat after a game and asked about my kids. He gave me a hug whenever he saw me, along with a twinkle in his eye and a genuine grin. And I loved him for it. I loved him for being tough, so that I could learn to be tough and hang when I played with the opposite sex. I loved the game, I loved the challenge, and I loved the approval in the end. I did my best, but I also wanted to be the best - the best female at that gym, at least - and I managed to achieve my goals.

I know overly tough, controversial methods don’t work for everyone, and aren’t necessary for someone to be their best. If the person leading me has laid down clear expectations and holds high standards, and if they are painfully honest, tough, and demanding… then I’m in. For me, meeting that challenge is fun. I’d rather be part of that kind of passion - the fiery kind - rather than the average, lukewarm kind. 

I think there’s a difference between doing something because you simply enjoy it, want to let loose, and have fun, versus being a part of something to improve, learn, grow and stretch yourself. Sometimes the latter isn’t fun. But for me, the tough part is worth it, because the reward is sweeter, and for me, that’s definitely the fun part.