All language subtitles for Whiplash.2014.1080p.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

No. Stay.

What's your name?

Andrew Neiman, sir.

What year are you?

I'm first year.

- Do you know who I am?
- Yes, sir.

So you know
I'm looking for players.

Yes, sir.

Then why did you stop playing?

Did I ask you to start playing?

- Sorry, I...
- I asked why you stopped playing,

and your answer was to turn
into a wind-up monkey.

- Sorry, I thought...
- Show me your rudiments.

Yes, sir.

Double-time swing.

No, double-time. Double it.

Faster. Faster.

Oopsy-daisy.

Forgot my jacket.

- No Swedish Fish?
- No, not today.

- Thanks.
- Mm-hm.

- You okay? Hm?
- Yeah.

Yeah. Well, I don't know.
He saw me play today.

And?

Mm.

Well, you got plenty
of options still.

- What does that mean?
- Just...

- Other options?
- Just, you know...

It's just life.

Listen, when you get to be
my age, you get perspective.

I don't want perspective.

Sorry.

All right.

I don't want the Raisinets.

Why didn't you say that?

I just eat around them.

I don't understand you.

Bye. I'll see you later. Bye.

My man, Ry. Oh, shit.

How you feeling, man?

It's been too long.
Been too long.

Things were hurting
with Neiman on the kits.

Come on, man.

- What?
- He's fine.

- If you say so. Good seeing you.
- Yeah.

Yo, looking good.

What's up? Hey.

- Good weekend?
- Yeah, real good.

- Yeah?
- Yeah. Lot of fun.

Nice.

Hey, don't worry about Greg.
Kid's a dick.

Oh.

- No big deal.
- Good morning, everybody.

Good morning, everybody.

- Good morning.
- All right.

Let's do "Billy Zane"
from the top, yes? Yes?

- How's that? Good?
- Little right.

One, two, three, unh...
Okay.

Wait. Whoa, whoa, whoa.

All right, let's do reeds, yeah?

- Three.
- Yo, Ryan.

Watch it.

Yeah.

Accent, yeah...

Not today.

Big on the bottom.
Put some sugar on it.

You embarrass yourself
like what's-his-face.

That was truly pathetic.

Short.

All right. All right.

That's enough of that. Just back
to the core drums, please.

Core players,
let's go.

Dude, what have you
been practicing?

May I?

Cute.

Down the line.
Trumpets, bars seven and eight.

Three, four.

Three, four.

Okay. All right.

Trombone, bar 24.
The and of two.

Maybe not.

Tenor, let's start
the pickup to 11.

Three, four.

Same spot. Three, four.

Okay. All right.

You're in the first chair.
Let's see if it's because you're cute.

Three, four.

Yep. That's why.

Drums. Let's hear
a little double-time swing.

Behind.

Same thing.

Bass, five bars of "Donna Lee."

All right.

Drums, with me.

Thank you, Joe.

No, no, no. Other drums.

Room B-16 tomorrow morning,
6:00 a.m. Don't be late.

All right, everybody, from the top.

A-one, two, three, unh...

- Hey.
- How are you?

- Good. How are you?
- Good, thanks.

Good.

- Uh, the usual? You want, like...?
- No.

Look, I don't really know how...

I see you in here a lot, and I think
that you're really pretty and...

Would you wanna
go out with me ever?

Please go away.

- Oh, God.
- Get out.

- I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.
- I'm just messing with you.

- I'm messing with you. Ha, ha.
- What? Oh, my God.

Ha-ha-ha. I'm sorry.

- That's actually pretty mean.
- That should've... I'm sorry.

I didn't mean
to hurt your feelings.

- What's your name?
- It's okay. No big deal.

Oh, I'm Andrew.

- Andrew.
- Yeah.

- I'm Nicole.
- Nice to meet you, Nicole.

Nice to meet you too.

- So you wanna take me out.
- I would love to take you out.

- Where do you wanna go?
- Pizza.

- Pizza.
- Yeah.

- I like pizza.
- Yeah, I know this great pizza place.

Cool. Okay, well...

Uh...

I get off at 7 on Monday.

- Okay.
- You wanna meet here?

- Okay. Yeah. I will.
- Yeah.

Great.

Okay. Seven o'clock?

- Mm-hm. Here.
- At 7 p.m.

- Monday. Andrew.
- All right.

- Bye.
- Bye.

It's not that bad. She's a go-go dancer.
Could've did porn, she chose not to.

- That make it better?
- Yeah, little bit.

- That's classier.
- I can deal with that.

Bitch had a foot fetish or something.

- This is good.
- You get on that?

That's it.

You are fucking kidding me.

- You the new alternate?
- Yeah. I'm Andrew Neiman.

Tune the set to B-flat,
then turn my pages.

Sure.

Excuse me.
Um, could I get a B-flat?

Thank you.

Sorry. Can you...?
Just one more time?

That's a great kit.

I play the new cymbals now.

Milk the cunt!

We got a squeaker today, people.
Neiman.

Nineteen years old.
Isn't he cute?

All right, gang, "Whiplash."

Page. Page!

Barker, that is not your boyfriend's dick.
Do not come early.

Bar 93.

Five, six, and...

Stop.

Now, this one really upsets me.
We have an out-of-tune player here.

Before I continue, would that
player care to identify himself?

No?

Okay, maybe a bug
flew in my ear.

One-fifteen.

Five, six, and...

No. My ears are fine.

We definitely have
an out-of-tune player.

Whoever it is,
this is your last chance.

And there it went.

Now, either you are deliberately
playing out of tune,

and sabotaging my band,

or you don't know
you're out of tune,

which I'm afraid is even worse.

Reeds.

Five, six, and...

Bones.

Five, six, and...

He's here.

Tell me it's not you,
Elmer Fudd.

It's okay. Play.

Do you think
you're out of tune?

There's no fucking Mars bar down there.
What are you looking at?

Look up here. Look at me.

Do you think you're out of tune?

Um...

Yes.

Then why the fuck
didn't you say so?

I've carried your fat ass
for too long.

I won't have you
cost us a competition

because your mind's on a Happy
Meal instead of on pitch.

Jackson, congratulations,
you're fourth chair.

Metz, why are you still sitting there?
Get the fuck out!

For the record, Metz wasn't out of tune.
You were, Erickson.

But he didn't know,

and that's bad enough.

All right, take 10. When we
get back, the squeaker's on.

Two, two, three.
Two, two, three.

If he put half the effort
into playing the trombone...

Andrew.

- Parents musicians?
- No.

- What do they do?
- My dad's a writer.

Oh, what's he written?

- I guess he's more of a teacher, really.
- Oh.

- College?
- Pennington High School.

- Your mother, what does she do?
- I don't know. She left when I was a baby.

No musicians in the family?

You just gotta listen
to the greats, then.

Buddy Rich, Jo Jones...

You know, Charlie Parker
became Bird

because Jones threw a cymbal
at his head.

- See what I'm saying?
- Mm-hm.

Listen, the key
is to just relax.

Don't worry about the numbers.

Don't worry about what
other guys are thinking.

You're here for a reason.

You believe that, right?

Yeah.

Say it.

I'm here for a reason.

Cool.

All right, man. Have fun.

All right, gang, "Whiplash."

A little under tempo, okay?
Neiman, just do your best.

Here we go.

Five, six, and...

Let's hear some fills.

We got Buddy Rich here.

A little trouble there.
Just pick it up at 17.

Ready?

Five, six, and...

Not quite my tempo.

Here we go.

Five, six, and...

Downbeat on 18. Okay?
Here we go.

Five, six, and...

Bar 17, the and of four.

Got it?

Five, six, seven...

Not quite my tempo. It's all good.
No worries. Here we go.

Five, six, seven...

You're rushing.
Here we go.

Five... Ready? Okay.

Five, six, and...

Dragging just a hair.

Wait for my cue.

Five, six, seven...

Rushing. Five, six, and...

Dragging. Five, six, and...

Why do you suppose I just hurled
a chair at your head, Neiman?

- I don't know.
- Sure you do.

- The tempo?
- Were you rushing or dragging?

I don't know.

- Start counting.
- Five, six, seven...

In four, damn it.
Look at me.

One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.
One, two, three...

Now, was I rushing
or was I dragging?

I don't know.
Count again.

One, two, three, four.
One, two, three, four.

One, two, three, four.
Rushing or dragging?

Rushing.
So you do know the difference.

If you deliberately
sabotage my band,

I will fuck you like a pig.

Now, are you a rusher,

or are you a dragger,

or are you gonna be
on my fucking time?

I'm gonna be on your time.

- What does that say?
- "Quarter note equals 215."

- Count me a 215.
- One, two, three, four.

- One, two, three, four.
- Jesus Christ.

I didn't know they allowed retards. Am I
to understand that you cannot read tempo?

- Can you even read music? What's that?
- Eighth note.

- Yes. What is that?
- Dotted 16th note.

Sight-read measure 101.

What, are you in a fucking a cappella
group? Play the goddamn kit.

Stop. Now answer my question.

Were you rushing
or were you dragging?

- Answer!
- Rushing.

Oh, my dear God.

Are you one of those
single-tear people?

Do I look like a double fucking rainbow
to you? You must be upset.

- Are you upset?
- No.

No? So you just
don't give a shit?

- I do give a shit.
- So are you upset? Yes or fucking no?

Yes, you are upset.

Yeah.

- Say it.
- I'm upset.

Say it so the whole band
can hear you.

- I'm upset.
- Louder.

- I'm upset.
- Louder!

I'm upset.

You are a worthless, friendless,
faggot-lipped piece of shit,

whose Mommy left Daddy when she
figured out he wasn't Eugene O'Neill.

Who's now weeping and slobbering
all over my drum set

like a fucking 9-year-old girl.

So for the final
father-fucking time,

- say it louder!
- I'm upset!

Carl.

Start practicing harder, Neiman.

"Whiplash," bar 125.

Big-boy tempo.

Five, six, and...

This place is nice.

Yeah. I really like the music
that they play.

Mm.

- I mean, the food's good too, but...
- No, the pizza's really good.

"When I Wake."

- What?
- That's the name of the song.

Oh. Ha, ha.

Jackie Hill, July 17th, 1938.

Bob Ellis on the drums.

Every time I saw you at the theater,
your eyes were glued to the floor.

- Really? Oh...
- Mm-hm.

My dad says that I have...
I have trouble making eye contact.

My parents like to
criticize me too.

Growing up, my mom said
I had a really big chin,

that's why guys
wouldn't like me.

- Really? You don't.
- Yeah.

Well, she said my dad
cursed me with one.

It's like Jay Leno. Look.

- No, it's not.
- Yeah, it is.

- I don't... I don't think so at all.
- Well, that's nice.

- Your chin's very nice. Very nice.
- Ha-ha-ha.

Your mom sounds insane.

She did wanna be an actress
when she was my age.

- What about you?
- What about me?

What do you do?

I go to Fordham.

What do you study?

I don't have a major yet.

- But, like, what do you want to study?
- I don't really know.

I don't know yet.

So Fordham
was just like a random school?

No, I applied to a bunch of schools,
Fordham let me in.

- Why'd you pick Shaffer?
- It's the best music school in the country.

Well, Fordham was Fordham.

I don't love it
there, to be honest.

- No?
- No.

I...

I don't know. I guess it's just the people.
I don't know if they like me very much.

I'm from Arizona,
and I think they can see it.

- I feel the same about people at Shaffer.
- Oh, yeah?

Yeah. I don't think they like me
too much.

But I don't... I don't...

I don't care too much.
I think it just... It changes.

You know, people change
and things work out.

No, no, I know, I know.

I just...

I feel really
homesick sometimes.

I don't know.

It kind of pisses me off
when people pretend like they're not.

In college, you know?

Maybe I'm literally the only one,
I don't know.

I still go to the
movies with my dad.

- Hey. How are you, man?
- Good to see you.

And please, is this really Eva? Wow.

Last time I saw you,
you were very tiny.

Are you playing an
instrument yet?

She started piano last week.

When you're a big college kid,
will you come play in my band?

- Would you like that?
- Be my piano player?

Excellent.
Give me five, baby.

- All right. Great to see you.
- Great seeing you.

- See you after the show.
- All right. Absolutely.

All right. Cheers.

Listen up, Cocksuckers.

Hurry the fuck up.
Get your music.

"Irene" only. Set one.
Rhythm section out first.

The kit is a fucking tonal catastrophe.
Get it in tune, all right?

Rhythm and soloists, bar 45.

We're gonna pick up the tempo.

Bar 106, brass, do not forget
we sharp that ninth.

Everybody remember,
Lincoln Center use these competitions

to decide who they're interested in
and who they're not.

I'm not gonna have my reputation
in that department tarnished

by a bunch of limp-dick,
sour-note,

flatter-than-their-girlfriends,
flexible-tempo dipshits.

One more thing.
Give me that.

If I ever find one of these
lying around again,

I swear to fucking God,
I will stop being so polite.

Get the fuck out of my sight
before I demolish you.

Stage right, in order, now.

I can still fucking see you,
Mini-Me!

Let's go. Hurry the fuck up.
Let's go.

The Shaffer
Conservatory Studio Band.

Hold on to this
for the second set.

He's dumb but he's not stupid.

At the end of the day, he wants a career,
as dumb as he is.

Fudd has a chance of getting put back
in, so why would he jeopardize that?

- I need to look at the music.
- It's right here.

Why isn't it on you?
Where's the folder?

- You're joking. You're fucking around?
- No...

I swear I had it here two seconds ago.
It's gotta be around here.

- Did you see...?
- How could you be so fucking stupid?

- I know. Maybe a janitor came by.
- A janitor?

Find the fucking folder!
A fucking janitor?

You're a dumb fuck!
A dumb fuck!

- Find the folder!
- Okay, I'm sorry.

Tanner!

Jesus fucking Christ,
where have you been?

Uh, we have an issue.
Okay, now is not the time.

I gave Neiman the folder
and Neiman lost it.

- Neiman lost it.
- Yes, sir.

The folder was your
responsibility.

Why would you give it to Neiman?
Right?

Give a calculator to a retard,
he's gonna turn on a TV with it.

- Get your sticks, get your ass on-stage.
- I... I can't.

You can't?

I... I can't go on-stage.
I don't know the charts by heart.

- Are you fucking kidding me?
- I... You know this.

I need the music.
It's my memory, I need visual cues.

Visual cues.
Yes. It's a medical...

A medical condition?
What, are you Sanjay Gupta?

Play the goddamn music.

- I can't.
- I can.

- You know "Whiplash" by heart?
- Yes. Every measure.

All right. Well, you better fucking hope
your memory doesn't fail you.

I hope you play it a lot better
than you did last month.

I do not intend to start losing.

Get your sticks and get your ass
on-stage. On-stage!

And in first place,

Shaffer Conservatory.

Hey.
Don't fucking touch my folder, man.

Do not touch this kit.

All right, let's get
to work, ladies.

Tanner, what you doing? It's core only.
I don't have time for alternates.

"Cherokee." From the top.

Tanner, are you a fucking statue?
Let's go. Get off the stool.

Don't forget to turn Neiman's pages.
Here we go.

One, two, three, four.
Two, two, three, four.

What did you do to your hand?

- Is that from drumming?
- Yeah. It's nothing.

So how's it going
with the Studio Band?

Good.

Yeah, I think he
likes me more now.

And his opinion means a
lot to you, doesn't it?

Yeah.

Wanna grab the shakers?

Jimbo? Overcooked.

You can barely chew this.

He just laughs.
So how's the drumming going, Andy?

Yeah, it's going really well.
I'm the new core drummer, so...

- Hey.
- Congratulations.

Tom Brady.

- Did you hear, Jim?
- No, what?

- Trav got named this year's MVP.
- That's fantastic, Travis.

Yeah, and Dustin
is heading up Model UN,

soon to be Rhodes Scholar
and who knows what else.

And Jim, teacher of the year.

- Well, hey, listen...
- I mean, come on.

The talent at this table,
that is stunning.

- And Andy, with your drumming.
- It's going okay, Andy?

Yeah, it's going really,
really well, actually.

I'm part of Shaffer's
top jazz orchestra,

which means
it's the best in the country.

And I'm a core member

so I'll start playing
in competitions. I just...

I found out I'm
the youngest person in the band.

How do you know who wins in
a music competition? Isn't it subjective?

- No.
- Does the studio get you a job?

It's not an actual studio.

It's the name of the ensemble,
but it's a big step forward in my career.

I'm so glad you figured it out.
It's a nasty business, I am sure.

Hey, are you gonna tell them
about your game this week?

- Living up to your title.
- I scored a 93-yard touchdown.

School record, school record.

- Is that true? That's fantastic.
- It's Division Three.

It's Carlton football. It's not even
Division Two, it's Division Three.

- You got any friends, Andy?
- No.

- Oh, why is that?
- I don't know. I never saw the use.

Who are you
gonna play with otherwise?

Lennon and McCartney
were buddies.

Charlie Parker didn't know anybody
till Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head.

That's your idea of success?

Being the greatest musician of the 20th
century is anybody's idea of success.

Dying broke and drunk
and full of heroin

at the age of 34
is not my idea of success.

I'd rather die drunk, broke at 34
and have people talk about me,

than live to be rich and sober at 90
and nobody remember who I was.

But your friends will remember you,
that's the point.

None of us were friends
with Charlie Parker. That's the point.

Travis and Dustin, they have plenty
of friends and plenty of purpose.

They'll make great
school board presidents.

You think you're better
than us?

- Catch on quick. Are you in Model UN?
- I got a reply for you.

You think Carlton football is a joke?
Come play with us.

Four words you will never hear
from the NFL.

- Who wants dessert?
- Heard from Lincoln Center?

Okay, get out of here. Pick up the new
chart by the door on your way out.

Rehearsal 9 p.m. sharp tonight.
That's how long you have to learn it.

- Neiman. Stick around a minute.
- Mm.

- See the tempo marking on there?
- Uh...

"Quarter note equals 330." Oh.

That is a double-time swing.

- That's what got you in here, right?
- Oh, yeah.

As fate would have it,
I recently stumbled across another kid

in the practice room
working on his double-time swing.

So I'm gonna give him a shot.

- Am I late?
- Perfect timing.

Come on in, Connolly.

- Uh, you two know each other, right?
- Yeah, Nassau band.

What's up, Andrew?

I've made Neiman a temporary core,
but with this competition coming up

I just wanna make very sure
this chart is in the best shape it can be.

Yeah, this one right here,
right?

I gave Connolly the chart
this morning.

All I wanna do is give you
both a crack at it, all right?

So, Neiman, go ahead, jump on
the kit, take it from the top.

Okay.

I don't want you to worry about hits now.
Just tempo, okay?

All set?

One, two...

Not quite my tempo.
Connolly.

- I can take it from the top.
- Connolly, go ahead.

- I can do...
- No. We'll go with Connolly now.

Hey, do you mind?

- Okay, man, ready?
- Mm-hm.

One and two and...

- Perfect, Connolly.
- Oh, my God.

See, this to me
is the beauty of Studio Band.

You walk in here an alternate,
you could be the new core.

- Oh, my God, are you serious?
- Thanks.

That shit?

Fletcher.

Thanks, man. Here you go.

Don't worry about Fletcher.
He's more bark than bite.

Hey, look, you...
I can play these charts.

- Now is not the time, I swear to God.
- I can play it, okay?

I said not now!
If you want the fucking part, earn it.

I'm just gonna lay it out there.

This is why I don't think
we should be together.

And I've thought about it a lot,
and this is what's gonna happen.

I'm gonna keep pursuing
what I'm pursuing.

Because I'm doing that,
it's gonna take up my time.

I'm not gonna be able
to spend time with you.

Even when I do, I'm gonna
be thinking about drumming.

About jazz, my charts. Because of that,
you're gonna start to resent me.

You're gonna tell me to ease up on the
drumming, spend more time with you.

I'm not gonna be
able to do that.

I'll start to resent you for
even asking me to stop.

We're just gonna start to hate each other.
It's gonna be ugly.

And so for those reasons,

I'd rather just, you know,
break it off clean.

Because I wanna be great.

And you're not?

I wanna be one of the greats.

And I would stop you
from doing that?

Yeah.

You know I would stop you
from doing that?

You know that for a fact?

Yes.

And I'd barely see you anyway?

- Yeah.
- When I see you, you'd treat me like shit

because I'm some girl
who doesn't know what she wants.

You have a path, you're going
to be great, I'm gonna be forgotten,

and you won't be able
to give me the time of day

because you have
bigger things to pursue.

That's exactly my point.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You're right.
We should not be dating.

I'm okay. Thanks.

Fuck! Fuck!

Fucking piece of shit!

Fuck you!

Fuck!

Fucking piece of shit!
Come on!

Um...

Sorry, we have a new player.
Ryan Connolly.

Um... Ahem.

I'm sorry.

Guys, just put your instruments
down for a minute.

Just listen for a minute.

Six years ago...

I came across a kid in a practice
room working on his scales.

He was early second year and he'd
started at Shaffer with a lot of hope.

Like all you guys.

But the truth was that he barely
squeaked in to begin with...

And he was really struggling.

The faculty were all telling him,
"Maybe this isn't for you."

But they didn't see what I saw.

This scared, skinny kid

cursing himself because
he couldn't get his scales right.

I saw a drive in him.

And I put him in Studio Band.

And when he graduated,

Marsalis made him third trumpet
at Lincoln Center.

A year later, he was first.

That's who you're
listening to now.

His name was Sean Casey.

I found out this morning...

that Sean...

died yesterday...

in a car accident.

And I just...

I wanted you guys to know
he was a beautiful player.

I just thought you should know.

I'm sorry.

Okay.

Let's get to work, huh?
How about "Caravan," bar 105?

Two bars for free.

One and two and...

It's not quite right, Connolly.
Um...

I'd like to try Neiman on this.

Maybe now's the time
for Neiman to earn the part.

One and two and...

Nope, I guess not. Tanner?

One and two and...

Motherfucker!

Connolly,
get your ass back on the kit.

We will stay here for as long as it takes
until one of you faggots can play in time.

One and two and...

Looks like that might be all night.
Neiman.

One and two and...

Not my fucking tempo!

Sorry, guys.
Hate to put you through this.

If you need to fucking take a dump
or get a coffee,

whatever,
now might be a good time.

We're gonna stay until I find a drummer
who can fucking play in time.

I apologize to the musicians.

Seriously, take 10, 20,
a fucking hour.

You hear me, cocksuckers?
Better start shitting me perfect 400s.

Connolly, get your fucking ass
back on the kit.

Is that really the fastest you can play,
you worthless Hymie fuck?

No wonder Mommy ran out on you.
Get off the fucking kit.

And here comes Mr. Gay Pride
of the Upper West Side himself.

This is not a Bette Midler concert.
We will not be serving baked Alaska,

so just play faster than you
give hand jobs, will you please?

One, two, one, two.

Not even fucking close.

Let's go with the Irish Mick
Paddy cracker now.

You know, you actually do look
quite a bit like a leprechaun.

I'm gonna start
calling you Flannery.

Get off!

What are you looking for?
There's no gold down there.

Adjusting the seat? Really?

That's been your problem
the whole time? The seat height?

So now you have it, right?

Go.

Bullshit! Fuck you!

Neiman.

Maybe it's time

to finally bring this home.
What do you say?

Show me.

Don't slow down.

Pick it up.

Faster!

Faster!

Faster!

Faster!

Faster!

Keep playing!

Keep playing! Keep playing!
Keep playing!

Don't stop.

Neiman,

you earned the part.

Alternates, you wanna clean
the blood off my drum set?

Okay, we can start now.

5 p.m. call tomorrow in Dunellen.

Give yourselves at least two hours
to get there this time, all right?

Save your travel receipts.

Or don't. I don't give a shit.

- Do you know where the cabs are?
- You gotta call the cabs.

- The cab was supposed to be here.
- You gotta call. They take forever.

How do I get to Hargrove?

Hey. Come on. Please, come on.
You're still open.

You're still open. Come on.
Come on. Come on.

Yeah, hello?

Neiman, where are you, man?
Call time was 5.

I know, I know. I'm almost there.
I'm right there.

- We're on-stage in 20.
- I know.

- Fletcher's got Connolly warming up.
- God fucking da... Okay.

You just tell
that little fucking redhead I'll...

I'm gonna be there, okay?
Fuck.

Hey. Hey. Sorry I'm late.

Well, glad you could fit us
into your busy schedule, darling.

I'm sorry I'm late.
I'm ready to go.

- Connolly's playing the part.
- Like fucking hell.

What the fuck
did you say to me?

It's my part.

It's my part
and I decide who to lend it to.

Usually it's somebody
that has fucking sticks.

I left them in the car.
I'll be right back. Five minutes.

I'm warming up the band now.

- I can use Ryan's sticks.
- Neiman, you lost the fucking part.

No, I didn't. You can't do this.

- Can't?
- Yeah.

When did you become a fucking
expert on what I can do,

- you fucking weepy-willow shit sack?
- I earned that part.

You never earned anything.
You are a self-righteous prick.

The only reason you're a fucking core
is because you misplaced a folder.

Only reason you're in Studio Band
to begin with is because I told you

what I'd be asking
for in Nassau.

- Am I wrong?
- Yeah.

I'm in Studio Band
because I'm the best...

Back off.

Hey, fuck off, Johnny Utah.
Turn my pages, bitch.

Hey. I can cut you
any fucking time I want.

- You would've cut me by now.
- Try me, you fucking weasel.

At 5:30, that's in exactly 11 minutes,
my band is on-stage.

If your ass is not on that stool
with your own sticks in hand,

or if you make
one fucking mistake,

one, I will drum your ass
back to Nassau

where you can turn pages
until you graduate or fucking drop out.

By the time you're done at Shaffer, you'll
make Daddy look like a success story.

Got it? Or we can let Johnny Utah
play the part.

- You choose.
- That's my part. I'll be on your stage.

- Fuck you.
- You got 10 minutes,

you fucking pathetic,
pansy-ass fruit fuck.

- Tell Fletcher I'm coming.
- What's taking you so long?

We're moving on-stage.
I got locked in my car. I'm coming.

Left turn, 200 feet.

- Are you driving?
- No.

What the hell was that noise?

Okay, why don't you just tell Fletcher
that I'm coming, you motherfucker?

Hey. Hey, hey.

Are you okay?
Are you okay?

- I gotta get my sticks.
- No, stay away from the car.

- I've called 911.
- Look, I gotta go.

- No, no, sir.
- A couple more blocks.

- Sir, no, you don't have to...
- Please get off me.

Hey, guy.
What the fuck happened to you?

The Shaffer
Conservatory Studio Band.

Neiman, what the fuck?

Fuck.

Neiman...

You're done.

Gentlemen, ladies, I apologize

on behalf of Shaffer
Conservatory.

Piece of shit.
I'll fucking kill you.

- Fuck you.
- Get the...

Get the fuck off me.
Get off me. Fuck off.

Fuck you.

Fuck you!

Fuck you, Fletcher!
Fuck you!

Get off. Fuck.
Piece of shit!

Fuck you!

When did you start
talking to her?

Your father got in contact
this week.

Does the name Sean Casey
mean anything to you?

You know of his death?

Last month, he hanged himself
in his apartment.

What does that have to do
with me?

He suffered
from anxiety and depression.

His mother claims this started
during his time as Fletcher's student.

Now, the Caseys aren't wealthy,
they don't wanna file suit.

So, what do they want?

To make sure Terence Fletcher is never
allowed to do this to another student.

Hey, Dad, look at my paradiddle.

Yeah, that's my boy.

- He didn't do anything.
- What is wrong with you? It's over, okay?

He's out of your life.
Why would you let him get away?

Would you characterize
his conduct as extreme, Andrew?

Did he ever intentionally inflict
emotional distress?

This would not be a public hearing,
you know.

Fletcher would never know
it was you who spoke up.

Why would you do this to me?

Do you think that I would let him
put my son through hell

and then just walk away
scot-free?

Don't you know
I would never let that happen?

That there is nothing in the world
more important to me than you?

Don't you know that?

Andrew?

Andrew?

Just tell me what to say.

Hey.

I'd give anything
to be there again this fall.

I like weddings,
provided they're not mine.

Marriages are very healthy.

Married men live much longer
than bachelors.

They're trying to outlive their
wives so they can be bachelors again.

Haven't you thought of getting married?

I did.

The young lady changed her mind
at the last moment.

I've been deeply indebted to her
ever since.

And I loaded the pantry up
with Gushers.

- Saw that.
- Okay.

All right.

Thanks.

Right on, man.

Andrew.

Hey.

I don't know if you heard. Uh...

I'm not at Shaffer anymore.

Yeah, I did hear that.

Did you quit?

Not exactly.

Some parents got a kid
from Sean Casey's year, I think,

to say some things
about me.

Although why anybody
would have anything

other than peaches and cream
to say about me is a mystery.

Yeah.

- That's a good laugh, right?
- I'm sorry.

- No, listen... I get it.
- I'm sorry.

I know I made enemies.

I'm conducting a little, though.

They brought back the JVC Fest
this year.

They got me opening
in a couple of weeks with a pro band.

That's great.

Yeah. It's all right.

Truth is,
I don't think people understood

what it was I was doing
at Shaffer.

I wasn't there to conduct.

Any fucking moron can wave his arms
and keep people in tempo.

I was there to push people
beyond what's expected of them.

I believe that is...

an absolute necessity.

Otherwise, we're depriving the world
of the next Louis Armstrong.

The next Charlie Parker.

I told you about how Charlie Parker
became Charlie Parker, right?

- Jo Jones threw a cymbal at his head.
- Exactly.

Parker's a young kid,
pretty good on the sax.

Gets up to play at a cutting session,
and he fucks it up.

And Jones nearly decapitates him
for it.

And he's laughed off-stage.

Cries himself to sleep that night, but
the next morning, what does he do?

He practices.

And he practices and he practices
with one goal in mind,

never to be laughed at again.

And a year later, he goes back to the
Reno and he steps up on that stage,

and plays the best motherfucking solo
the world has ever heard.

So imagine if Jones
had just said,

"Well, that's okay, Charlie.
That was all right. Good job."

And then Charlie thinks to himself,
"Well, shit, I did do a pretty good job."

End of story.

No Bird.

That, to me,
is an absolute tragedy.

But that's just
what the world wants now.

People wonder why jazz
is dying.

I tell you, man,
and every Starbucks "jazz" album

just proves my point, really.

There are no two words
in the English language more harmful

than "good job."

But is there a line?

You know, maybe you go too far and
you discourage the next Charlie Parker

- from ever becoming Charlie Parker.
- No, man, no.

Because the next Charlie Parker
would never be discouraged.

Yeah.

The truth is, Andrew...

I never really had
a Charlie Parker.

But I tried.

I actually fucking tried.

And that's more than
most people ever do.

And I will never apologize
for how I tried.

I'll see you later.

Yeah.

Hey, Andrew. Listen, I have no idea
how you're gonna take this,

but the band I'm leading for JVC,
my drummer is not cutting it.

You understand
what I'm saying?

No.

I'm using the Studio
Band playlist.

You know, "Caravan," "Whiplash."

I need somebody
who really knows those charts.

What about Ryan Connolly?

All Connolly ever was to me
was incentive for you.

- Tanner?
- Tanner switched to premed.

I guess he got discouraged.

Hey. Uh...

Take the weekend.
Think about it.

- Hello?
- Hey, Nicole, it's Andrew.

- Hi.
- Hey.

It's been a while since I talked to you.
Um...

Look, I...

I'm really sorry
about everything.

I know that's not, you know, enough,
but I'm just really sorry. Um...

But anyway, I got...
I actually have this show this weekend.

It's a, uh...

Like, a JVC thing. And I didn't know
if maybe you'd wanna go,

and we, you know, maybe
get some, like, pizza afterwards,

And, like, complain
about our schools again.

What is...?
You said Jayvees?

No, it's, heh, JVC.

It's like a...
It's a jazz thing.

Yeah.

Oh, okay.

Well, I don't know if I can come. I...
I'll have to check with my boyfriend.

Okay.

Yeah.

Yeah, I'll check,
but I don't know.

I don't really think
he likes jazz music.

Yeah, I mean, it's
not for everybody.

Okay. Well, I guess
maybe I'll see you guys there.

- Okay.
- Okay.

Bye.

All right, gang, listen up. Now,
for those of you who are new at this,

which looks like everybody except Cal,
tonight could change your life.

The folks out there make a phone call,
you could be a Blue Note signee,

an EMC client,
a Lincoln Center core.

On the other hand,

if you drop the ball, you might be
looking for a new line of work

because the other thing
about these cats is they never forget.

We all set?

All right. Let's have fun.

You think I'm fucking stupid?

- What?
- I know it was you.

Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.

We're very excited to be here kicking off
the JVC Festival this year.

I'm Terence Fletcher, these are some
of the best musicians in New York,

which means they're some of
the best musicians in the world.

We're gonna do some old standards,
but we're gonna start with a new tune

by Tim Simonec
called "Upswingin'."

What the fuck you doing?

Come on, man.

Yeah, I guess
maybe you don't have it.

That was a little extra
avant-garde there from the rhythm section.

Come on, let's go home.

What are you doing?

Uh...

Now we're gonna slow it down
a little bit.

I'm guessing most of you folks
have heard...

I'll cue you in.

"Caravan."

Three, four.

I'm gonna gouge out
your motherfucking eyes.

- Andrew, what are you doing, man?
- I'll cue you.