Whiplash

It’s rare in cinema to have an experience that's equally physically exhausting and intellectually nourishing; to walk away drained, dumbstruck, by the sheer visceral intensity of what has been seen and heard, but also thinking about – questioning – the themes and dilemmas at the film’s core.

Whiplash is one such rarity. Shot in just 19 days by writer-director Damien Chazelle, this, his brilliantly edited, ferociously played second feature, trails the development of a talented, withdrawn yet obnoxious jazz drummer (Teller) under the guidance of his virtuoso, abusive and terrifying music teacher (Simmons). But this is no ordinary slice of triumphalism.

Chazelle presents, unflinchingly, the dedication required to attain greatness, the grave emotional, physical and social cost to these two men, and both revels in and rejects their obsession. That sort of contradiction permeates the film; this is funny, horrifying, brutal, exhilarating, and builds to a finale that's somehow fist-pumpingly fantastic and utterly tragic at the same time. You’ll want back for more as soon as it’s over.