[Ronald Dalrymple]

Ron Dalrymple Finds the Essence. What I learned is the importance to knowing the essence of each scene so that the essence of your story, concept, theme and character(s) are honored.

Screenplay: Whiplash by Damien Chazelle

Scene 1 Location: opening scene

Logline: Neiman (first year student drummer) in music room plays for Fletcher (college music teacher)

Essence: Establish relationship between a tyrannical, demanding music teacher and a passionate, driven student who wishes to be a great drummer and wants to be the drummer in Fletcher’s elite band.

Scene 2 Location: scene 4 page 9

Logline: Lower level school jazz band rehearses. Neiman is replaced by Ryan, a more experienced, popular and accomplished drummer. After practice, Neiman asks the conductor for feedback.

Essence: Neiman doubts his ability to make it as a drummer and decides to transfer out of Schaffer

Scene 3 Location: early act 2, page 30

Logline: Band practices. Fletcher goes into a tirade and humiliates Neiman by physically abusing him (throws chair at him and slaps his face to mark time to music)

Essence: Show the malevolent side of Fletcher’s teaching technique towards his students as well as his skills as a conductor / music teacher

Scene 4 Location: end act 2, page 75

Logline: An injured Neiman plays terribly and Fletcher tells him he is done. Neiman lashes out, tackles Fletcher, releasing his anger at Fletcher and getting kicked out of Schaffer.

Essence: Neiman comes to terms with Fletcher’s tyrannical teaching methods and no longer will tolerate and be subservient to Fletcher’s ways (breaks free of Fletcher).

Scene 5 Location: climatic scene, page 100

Logline: After failing miserably on first performance, Neiman ignores his father’s plea to give up, faces down Fletcher and takes control and plays brilliantly, leading the band.

Essence: Neiman achieves his dream of being an outstanding musician overcoming naysayers (Jim, his father) and his own insecurities (he no longer fears Fletcher, plays with confidence)

My selection for the scene with the most profound essence was scene 5. The climactic scene from ‘Whiplash’ by Damien Chazelle (page 100-105).

Essence: Neiman achieves his dream of being an outstanding musician.

1) He plays as well as any of the top drummers have

2) Music critics, managers, executives, band managers, etc. are wowed by his performance showing he has established himself as a musician in this business

3) He believes in himself overcoming naysayers in his life (emotional when he says he doesn’t know his father).

4) He shows his confidence by doing his own thing and leading the band while defying Fletcher

INT. ZANKEL HALL – STAGE – CONTINUOUS 108
Back to Andrew… Retreating BACKSTAGE…
…when he sees — around the corner of the backstage entrance — — his father.

IN THE WINGS

Jim has just arrived at the entryway. Looks at Andrew. Hurries toward him. Is going to put an end to this. Andrew looks at his dad for a moment, approaching. Jim reaches him —

— and HUGS him.

JIM
I love you. I’m so sorry this is

happening to you.

Andrew looks at his dad. Something seems to click inside him at that instant.

He pulls back. The desperation in his eyes giving way to something else. Jim watches Andrew as Andrew steps backward, before…

…a pair of STAGE HANDS arrive.

STAGE HAND Sir, you can’t be here–

JIM
Yes I can, I’m taking him with me–

STAGE HAND (to Andrew)

You know each other?

Andrew is silent for a moment. Still. As though it has just dawned on him.

He takes in the sight — his dad, dwarfed by the Stage Hands, reaching out to him. Jim has never looked quite so small to his son, quite so pathetic, as at this moment.

A beat. More silence. And then —

Jim goes wide-eyed. Utterly shocked. Andrew steps further back, as the STAGE HANDS move to pull Jim away–

ON STAGE

Andrew!!!

JIM (CONT’D)

Pink (9/10/2013) 100

STAGE HAND Alright, sir, that’s enough–

JIM
My — my son — I need to get my son–

STAGE HAND Let’s calm down–

JIM (frantic now–)

Andrew!!

Andrew calmly turns his back to his father and coldly heads to the stage.

Andrew grabs new sticks, makes as though he was just switching pairs and never leaving, and, ignoring his father’s calls from behind — trains his eyes back on Fletcher.

Fletcher looks at Andrew. Seems pleased: This will be fun…

But Andrew doesn’t look scared anymore. Instead, his eyes are glassy, hollowed out — and hungry… There’s a rage in them that we haven’t seen before… This will not be the end…

FLETCHER (to the audience)

Thank you… For our final number we’re bringing it back to Ellington. This is “Caravan”.

But then, before Fletcher can even turn back around — let alone cue the band — Andrew launches into a double-time Latin.

Alone, his stick beating away at the ride cymbal, setting the tempo for the rest of the band. Everyone looks at him. What the fuck…? He has started on his own, before any cue, beating the drums as though vengefully.

Fletcher glares at him. Who the fuck do you think you are? But Andrew just keeps playing. Knows exactly what he’s doing and is not about to be stopped. Building in his eyes — that same coiled rage… To the BASSIST.

ANDREW

Follow me on four.

BASSIST

Fuck. You.

ANDREW (CONT’D)

The BASSIST has no choice. Andrew nods in time as a count-off, and the BASSIST joins in. Now we’ve got the bass and drums playing, laying out the beat. Andrew looks back at Fletcher. Drills into him with his eyes — the kind of look Fletcher has so often given him. And, subtly, so that only Fletcher can see it, Andrew mouths out two words:

It hits Fletcher. Realizing he too has no choice, Fletcher eyes the rest of the band. Raises his hands, re-assuming control — or trying to make as though he has control — and cues them in. The BAND begins CARAVAN PLUS DRUM SOLO CARNEGIE HALL, plays the opening patterns, Andrew matching them beat for beat.

Fletcher then edges toward Andrew. His back turned to the audience, only Andrew can see his face, he leans in and–

FLETCHER
I will gouge out your eyes you motherfucker.

–but Andrew promptly DROWNS HIM OUT with a crash cymbal hit. Another “fuck you”. Fletcher’s words only seem to strengthen him.

The band roars into overdrive, the brass blasting away, Andrew giving everything he’s got. Fletcher steps back. Andrew just keeps looking straight ahead at him. Unafraid now. A machine.

SOLOS begin… TROMBONE is up first… WE MOVE IN CLOSE to Andrew… He looks at his right arm… It’s still going… He himself seems surprised. He takes a chance — plays a tricky fill. Nails it. Goes again — the off-beat hi-hat accent that tripped him up in his first Studio Band rehearsal. Nails it.

The audience is silent… No murmurs this time… Back to Andrew… WE DRIFT DOWN TO HIS FEET… His right foot feathering the bass drum so fast all we can see is a blur…

WE DRIFT BACK UP… His left hand… Notes popping on the snare, the toms… Both his arms battered but utterly determined, as though with minds of their own… He breathes, breathes, beating against his fears, his doubts…

He’s in control, pouring himself into his drums — and it’s a sight to behold. Like a master dancer, movements so fast yet precise, brash yet elegant… Violent, frenetic playing, but there’s something gorgeous about it…

WE DRIFT TO FLETCHER… Still glaring at Andrew — but his face now says one thing and one thing only: This is playing he has never seen before.

The brass starts giving way to drum breaks… And Andrew makes of each break a stunner… His double-stroke rolls rip- roaring across the toms, his feet and legs switching rhythms, meters, tempos, then careening back into place… All limbs moving in a sustained frenzy, sweat splashing, mouth open, eyes blazing, the whole set vibrating, then shaking, looks like it’s about to explode…

Fletcher turns an inch toward the AUDIENCE… Sees them transfixed…

AT THE LOBBY DOORS

…Jim watches through the opened lobby doors…

ON STAGE

The number is at a peak… And Fletcher, like so many, is now just watching Andrew… The band nears the coda… The melody, the rat-a-tat-tat patterns, the squealing horns and growling saxes… The drums pushing it all forward…

Fletcher almost smiles. Was this his plan all along…?

He moves his arms, conducting again… The band reaches the final bar… The final note… He raises his hands… Sustains the note… Swings his arm down… A BLAST of horns. And the band is finished.

Except, that is, for the drums. Andrew’s still playing, launching into an extended solo…

Fletcher looks at him. Confused now. Goes up to the drums–

FLETCHER (CONT’D) Andrew — Andrew–

ANDREW (over his playing)

I’ll cue the band… Wait for my cue…

There’s nothing more Fletcher can do. Andrew’s playing grows louder, more involved, all four limbs joining in, the sound growing bigger and bigger… He has effectively taken over the stage — and all the other PLAYERS can do is watch… He is the bandleader.

Andrew looks ahead… Past Fletcher… To the darkness… To the audience… He leans forward, closes his eyes, dives in…

Sticks whirling, arms and legs belting and hammering, his head bobbing up and down, his back arched… Keeps the rudiments going on his left hand… Adds one ingredient, then another… Then a third, then a fourth…

Keeps adding and building and piling on, beyond anything he’s ever attempted… Going absolutely batshit-insane on the kit, sweat flying, hands blurring, drums trembling…

AT THE LOBBY DOORS

Jim watches Andrew — crazed, exhausted, looks like he’s pushing himself past what is safe — and knows there is no longer anything he can do about it.

He has lost.

And then — one of the USHERS steps forward from the edge of the stage. He looks at Jim — and closes the doors, blocking Jim’s view.

We linger on Jim for a moment — behind the closed door, in silence.

ON STAGE

Back to Andrew — at the height of intensity… Keeps his eyes closed… Feeling his way through this… Shooting back into the double-time… But trying to go even faster than before… Not 330… Not even 400… Trying, trying, trying to reach that mythical place, the place where only the greats live… 410… 420… Even 430…

Fletcher stands still… His eyes widening… He’s no longer calculating… Not even thinking… He’s just awed.

Murmurs throughout the AUDIENCE… Audible, even over the roar of the drum set… They can’t believe it…

435 now… 440… 443…

Which means those sticks are moving faster than a tennis ball shot across a court… Faster than Andrew has ever moved…

Faster…faster…and, finally…

…450.

Andrew OPENS HIS EYES… He’s in disbelief. The stage is his. He owns it. He breaks back into snare-based patterns, rolling around the toms, the cymbals…

Fletcher is floored. Turns, sees something extraordinary out there, just visible in the darkness of the theater…

IN THE AUDIENCE

AUDIENCE MEMBERS turning to each other… A line-up of suit- and-tie spectators whipping out phones or pads…

MANAGERS, JOURNALISTS, A&R EXECS, BANDLEADERS… A few hurrying out, as though in a mad rush, making frantic calls… More people peering INTO THE THEATER through glass doors…

ON STAGE

We TURN BACK to Andrew — his ears start RINGING… The NOISE grows with each hit, drowning out all the other noises… Andrew clenches his jaw, closes his eyes again, keeps playing, tries to ignore it… Plays harder, louder, pounding away…

Andrew’s kick drum starts to slide from the power of his playing… His sheet music falls off its stand… His crash cymbal almost falls over — but a HAND reaches in to steady it.

It’s Fletcher. Leaning over the drum set now — and, for almost the first time on-stage, not cursing or snarling at Andrew, but instead–

FLETCHER
Take it back to the snare…

Andrew considers this. It’s a good idea. He moves back to the snare…

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Slow…
(Andrew does as suggested)

Single-stroke…

Andrew nods again… Slowly simmers the beat down… Lets his hi-hat hang open for a moment… Everything goes quiet…

Silence for a second… You can feel the hush, the anticipation, that indescribable electricity in the air…

Fletcher looks at Andrew, looks at his sticks, face brimming with hope now… Andrew begins a series of slow, clean snare hits… Right stroke, left stroke, right, left…

Up… Up…

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Andrew nods… Ever so gradually builds up the pace… Right, left, right, left… Builds up the pace some more… Right, left, right, left… Keeps going… Speeds up more, a hair at a time… Right, left… Speeds up more.. Right, left…

Fletcher stands there, nodding, focused, like a coach at the critical moment. Waves his hand, pushing Andrew on…

Pink (9/10/2013) 105

Andrew builds the tempo more, right, left, right, left, the strokes blurring into each other, the whole thing sounding like the fire of a machine gun, like what we heard in the beginning… Right-left-right-left-right-left…

And, before we know it, we can no longer make out the individual strokes. They’re so fast that all we can hear is a single SOUND, sustained and growing in volume…

FLETCHER (CONT’D) Come on… Come on…

Andrew, goaded on, builds the volume. His single-stroke roll swelling, taking over the entire theater…

FLETCHER (CONT’D)

Come on…!! Come on!!!

Andrew builds it further… Going beyond what even he’d planned for himself — his arms like machines, the single- stroke roll building steam and power and pinning the audience in their seats… Fletcher raising his hands, beckoning Andrew forward… He and the drummer working together, player and conductor, competitor and coach…

Andrew moves to the toms, then back to the snare, then back. The bass drum and hi-hat next, every part of the set joining in, every limb, every component, everything building up, up, up…

It’s unlike anything we’ve ever seen… Andrew tearing a hole through the stage, his heartbeat racing, the sweat pouring from him like a waterfall, blood gushing from his hands and staining the cymbals and drum-heads… Everything a BLUR…

Then — a BLAST OF SEPARATED SNARE HITS — and then — Andrew CHOKES the crash cymbal. A second of pure silence.

Fletcher looks at Andrew. Andrew looks at Fletcher. And then — Fletcher turns to the band, raises his hand…

…and CUES THE FINAL NOTE.

The whole band roars it out, horns hitting their highest C’s, and Andrew rolling around his drum set like a madman, cymbals and snare and toms and the entire apparatus about to burst, as WE DIVE IN CLOSE TO HIM, his instrument, his sticks, his face, all sweat and eyes about to pop, the next Buddy Rich, the next Charlie Parker — Fletcher’s only Charlie Parker — decking the stage with a climactic crash of cymbals right as, on that very last hit of hits, we–

SMASH CUT TO BLACK.

[Ronald Dalrymple]

Ron Dalrymple. I agree to the terms of this release form.

GROUP RELEASE FORM

As a member of this group, I agree to the following:

1. That I will keep the processes, strategies, teleconferences, communications, lessons, and models of the class confidential, and that I will NOT share any of this program either privately, with a group, posting online, writing articles, through video or computer programming, or in any other way that would make those processes, teleconferences, communications, lessons, and models of the class available to anyone who is not a member of this class.

2. That each writer’s work here is copyrighted and that writer is the sole owner of that work. That includes this program which is copyrighted by Hal Croasmun. I acknowledge that submission of an idea to this group constitutes a claim of and the recognition of ownership of that idea.

I will keep the other writer’s ideas and writing confidential and will not share this information with anyone without the express written permission of the writer/owner. I will not market or even discuss this information with anyone outside this group.

3. I also understand that many stories and ideas are similar and/or have common themes and from time to time, two or more people can independently and simultaneously generate the same concept or movie idea.

4. If I have an idea that is the same as or very similar to another group member’s idea, I’ll immediately contact Hal and present proof that I had this idea prior to the beginning of the class. If Hal deems them to be the same idea or close enough to cause harm to either party, he’ll request both parties to present another concept for the class.

5. If you don’t present proof to Hal that you have the same idea as another person, you agree that all ideas presented to this group are the sole ownership of the person who presented them and you will not write or market another group member’s ideas.

6. Finally, I agree not to bring suit against anyone in this group for any reason, unless they use a substantial portion of my copyrighted work in a manner that is public and/or that prevents me from marketing my script by shopping it to production companies, agents, managers, actors, networks, studios or any other entertainment industry organizations or people.

[Ronald Dalrymple]

My name is Ron Dalrymple. I live in Hamilton Canada and have written 11 scripts of which I have optioned 3. What I hope to achieve by taking the Creative Mastery course is to ensure consistency in my writing. Although my latest script received a ‘Recommend’ on coverage from Screenplay Readers, I want to further improve my writing skills and be able to respond to producer/manager/director notes in a highly professional way. I enjoy cycling vacations, have a degree in Chemistry and now write full time. I have taken many of the courses here at ScreenwritingU and can honestly say that they have helped me immensely in my journey as a screenwriter. Hal and Cheryl provide an amazing service and I am very thankful for what they do.