Dissection of Characters: Whiplash
Have you made up your mind on which comes first? The egg or the chicken?
There’s a similar paradox for writers. A scarier one:
What comes first, plot or character?
That is the question that probably gets deep into every screenwriter’s head and stays there forever— without a clear answer. Just as you can write a film script by starting with the plot, you can also begin with character development. This is not to say that plot-driven movies lack solid archetypes — most do. But some seem to be more character-driven. And one film with a strong sense of character development that definitely stands out, in my opinion, is Damien Chazelle’s Whiplash, from 2014.
It’s been almost a decade since this movie came out. By now, if you are a writer or a filmmaker, then you have definitely watched it. If not, you are nine years a bit too late and, to be honest, that’s not quite my tempo (I just wanted to write that down).
Anyway, as I hope you know, Whiplash is about Andrew, an aspiring jazz drummer who enrolls at a music conservatory, where he constantly has to prove to his ruthless mentor that he is truly committed to becoming one of the greatest drummers.
I had the luck to watch Whiplash when it came out. And since I am planning to do some screenwriting workshops, I decided to rewatch it, intending to analyse its plot. Nevertheless, I found something even more fascinating: the way the plot unfolds so effortlessly through its characters.
What?
Allow me to explain.
There is a pivotal scene where Andrew (Miles Teller), the protagonist, is having dinner with his family. His uncle and aunt are excited about his cousins’ — one has got an MVP award (probably playing american football at college) and the other is leading Model UN. His aunt, Emma, is convinced that her son will soon earn a prestigious scholarship.
Then, it’s Andrew’s turn. “How’s the drumming going?” But the audience can realise that it’s not just the question — it’s the way they ask and react to his response that triggers Andrew to start an argument. He snaps at his cousin, assuring him he’ll never make it to the NFL. His father counters: “Did you hear from Lincoln Center?” And that question cuts deep. Finally, Andrew stands up and leaves the table.
That dinner table was way more significant than we thought. Even the seating arrangement reveals key aspects of Andrew’s character construction.
Andrew’s Father
The most crucial underlying theme of Whiplash is the father-son dynamic — in this case, between Andrew and his dad, Jim. Andrew has been playing drums since he was six. While Jim might have once enjoyed watching his son perform, his perspective probably shifted as Andrew grew older. And we get it. In harsh terms, no father wants his son to become a starving artist — or even worse, a teacher. (Of course teaching is an honorable profession, I’m a teacher myself, but that’s a debate for another time.)
By looking at their relationship, we can assume thta Jim constantly discourages Andrew, not necessarily because he doesn’t believe in him, but because he does understand how unforgiving the path to greatness could be. He’s lived it. He once aspired to be a writer, only to end up as a teacher — a frustrating reality for him. Jim represents the future Andrew fears most: not making it to the top. Every time he speaks, it’s clear how haunted he feels by that thought.
Uncle Frank
Back to the dinner table. Sitting at its head is another fatherly figure, and it’s his uncle. Uncle Frank. His positioning suggests that Frank is at a higher rank in the family, above Aunt Emma and Jim. So the Man of the table asks Andrew about the drumming and follows it up by a confrontational, yet a crucial and real-world concern: “How are you planning to make money after graduation?”
That’s what a father wonders, after all. I wouldn’t say that Andrew is the exact opposite of this, but Andrew’s desire of becoming one of the greatest drummers is bigger than finding any other job. Frank won’t get it, because he probably never had such a driven force in his life. Still, Andrew might be seeking some validation — a father’s approval. And he ends up seeking it out in someone who is not even there, sitting at that table.
Yes, it’s Fletcher (J.K. Simmons).
The Fatherly Figure of the Film
The approval that Andrew doesn’t find at that table, ends up seeking — in a very toxic way — in Fletcher’s. It is infinitely more valuable to him because, no matter how ruthless he is, the man is the only one who cares about what Andrew cares about. His cousins don’t get it, nor does his aunt, his uncle, or even his dad. Fletcher is the only one who does and they are on the same page. You have something I need, and you need something I have. One wants to shape the next great drummer, the other wants to be that drummer. A protagonist and his antagonist fighting against each other but for a common goal. Andrew’s main conflict brings out the perfect antagonist for this story, which, in my humble opinion, is also what earned J.K. Simmons the chance to win an Oscar.
The Cousins and the Hierarchy of Talent
Andrew’s two cousins are sitting in front of him: Travis and Dustin. They are as young as he is and they are striving to be the best at what they are currently doing. One is the brain and the other is the muscle.
Dustin is on track for a scholarship, to become a perfect student, to later become a job seeker, and finally to be a fantastic employee or an entrepreneur with a big number in his bank account. This is success in the most conventional way.
Travis might do the same as Dustin, though who knows if with less or more success, but he definitely has some natural talent for American Football, but as Andrew pointed out, unlikely to make it to the highest level.
Andrew’s cousins serve as mirrors for other secondary characters that play a part in the main storyline: Andrew’s fellow drummers, Carl and Ryan. We see Andrew climbing up the drummer’s hierarchy, from passing the pages to Ryan, the drummer (who seems more like an athlete hoping to play in a pop rock band), to stealing the main role from Carl (who actually looks more like a conservatory teacher in the future). Both his cousins and his fellow drummers act as competition in a way, representing the obstacles Andrew has to overcome. They will also show him if he really has what it takes.
Aunt Emma — A Motherly Absence
Seated next to Andrew is Aunt Emma. She’s so proud of her sons, which clearly affects our main character. Just like her sons, she doesn’t play a crucial role, yet she serves as a mirror for an absence: Andrew’s mother abandoned him and his father. The few words she shares are like blades to Andrew: “So much talent at this table. Stunning,” she says, after mentioning her sons’ achievements and even Jim’s Teacher of the Year award. Emma’s comment fuels the entire scene.
I’d also say that Emma’s role mirrors Nicole’s (the girl who works at the cinema). Nicole could have been Andrew’s chance to experience feminine acceptance and affection, but his ambition to become a drummer makes her, at least in the beginning of the movie, another obstacle. Later on, we find that she wasn’t just an obstacle but something he had to sacrifice. This is how the plot builds: it shows Andrew that there is no way back and that he has to overcome everything in the pursuit of his dream. On the road, sacrifices are inevitable.
Mapping out your characters in such a way does not mean that you’ve got a movie. You still need a strong plot, which Whiplash definitely has it, but by having this type of characters so related and opposite to each other, makes you find an easier way to create a meaningful story.
The Mysterious Case of Sean Casey
Here’s a final thought on one of Whiplash most debated elements: the Mystery of Sean Casey, a former student of Fletcher’s.
The film suggests that Fletcher might have had a similar story with him than the one he had with Andrew. Casey was a trumpet player and was on his way to becoming one of the greatest. He ended up playing for the Lincoln Center, first as a third trumpet, but lately as the first. Then he died. On the one hand, Fletcher says claims it was a car accident (oddly enough, Andrew suffers a car accident at some point in the film). But on the other hand, the lawyer that Jim hires states that Casey committed suicide due to depression — implying that Fletcher’s harsh teaching methods played a role.
Was it Fletcher’s fault?
Jim’s ambition to get Andrew out of that vicious and toxic obsession, supports that Fletcher did played a part in Casey’s suicide. However, if there’s someone who could understand Fletcher, is Andrew. The film leaves us with the impression that their relationship could evolve into something resembling friendship, just as Fletcher and Casey’s might have.
So, did Sean Casey kill himself because of Fletcher?
I don’t think so. Maybe he realised that playing at Lincoln Center wasn’t enough to secure his legacy. Maybe he saw jazz dying, as Fletcher cynically remarked.
And what about Fletcher’s guilt? He might feel responsible, but that doesn’t mean he was the cause. When he tells Andrew, “The worst thing you can say to someone is ‘good job’,” it’s clear he believes pushing people beyond their limits is necessary for greatness.
And, well… perhaps he’s right.
