J.K. Simmons in Whiplash (The Film Society of Lincoln Center)

Possibly the most intense/best film of the year, Whiplash appears to have been made for a niche audience. But who rushes out to see movies about jazz drummers? (Well, aside from me, with my father, who’s been a drummer all his life, but I digress). Indeed, that was the obstacle that faced writer/director Damien Chazelle when he went ahead to try to make this film (he produced a short first, also featuring J.K. Simmons). When he got his funding together, he was clearly ready to go. It was shot in 19 days and executed with the intensity reminiscent of Scorsese: fast cutting and intense and dramatic camera movements.

Though this is about jazz musicians, it’s about more, much more. It’s a tale of artistic drive and motivation, pushing past the limits of what’s expected. Think The Red Shoes, or a sports movie, such as Rocky, with a finale that is like the “Big Fight” or the “Big Game.” It’s also about how a goal or purpose can take someone to places that are at best uncomfortable and at worst totally self-destructive. And it’s a tale of love, actually (Dana Stevens at Slate.com pointed this out, but I feel it must be stated again). Love of art, love of life, the love to keep going. And the flip side of that: anger, hatred, resentment. One character could be a drummer or he could be a friggin’ Jedi! And the taskmaster… well, you seen Full Metal Jacket?

Chazelle’s film follows music student Andrew (Miles Teller) as he joins instructor Fletcher’s jazz group at a prestigious music school (no, not like Fame, get that comparison out of here). Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) seems like he shouldn’t fit into a 21st century educational environment. When he gives his reasons for his actions, it comes down to railing against what George Carlin called the “pussification” movement. Why tell someone “Good Job?” That’s not enough, at least that’s how Fletcher posits his class, and Andrew wants to get as good as Buddy Rich, his idol, but to the level Fletcher demands, that’s rough. It changes you, if you make it very far.

The film keeps up the tempo, and the storytelling’s electrifying, astonishing, and FAST, superfast. Hell, there’s a moment involving the speed of drum playing that could almost be comical. Maybe it is. There are many moments where Simmons, who you can’t take your eyes away from, is funny in a blackly comic way.

Or maybe it’s Fletcher’s salty language. Or that his behavior should be absurd, but it’s deadly serious. The music, for him and for Andrew, is very serious. At one point, drumming makes Andrew’s hands bleed. This movie plumbs the depths of “bleeding” for one’s art, physically and mentally (usually physically), while creating an absorbing portrait of two men at odds and, in a way, in total agreement with one another.

Whiplash has excellent music, even for people not usually into jazz. There’s almost an element of rock because of the intensity and how everything moves to a rhythm. It may be TOO intense. There’s certainly a point, right before the third act, when the turn of events could be incredulous and unrealistic. Chazelle’s reasoning here is to say: Who cares? It’s about someone reaching for larger-than-life status, so why not make the movie go there once or twice.

The performances are a major asset for the filmmaker, with Teller going further than he’s had in The Spectacular Now. His character here is likable, to a point, but his drive turns him into a kind of monster that, in part, just wants to be noticed or stand out in some way. Meanwhile, Simmons has the role of a lifetime. He’s been around for so many years as one of those character actors that you probably grin when he pops up in a movie (or, on Oz, become terrified to see), and here he plays such a meaty character.

The role almost goes over-the-top—Kubrick found the tone for such a performance with R. Lee Ermey in Full Metal Jacket. But Simmons finds those subtle moments, too, where he becomes vulnerable or down to Earth (they’re few and far between and not really part of Fletcher’s make-up). Fletcher may seem reminiscent of other “Big Bad Instructor” roles, but Simmons finds the grooves and focus to make it his own. Fletcher is one of the towering and sometimes eerily relatable monsters in modern movies. The self-hatred is there, too, and Simmons taps into that in Fletcher’s interaction with his students, and with Andrew especially. We know where he’s coming from and can hate him. And by the end, the question comes: Has he met his match?

There’s so much to this movie, not to mention in the climax, which takes two right turns and a left, a highpoint that I hope to return to in the years to come. With two feature films under his belt, Chazelle is a director to watch, like, for now on.