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She got nothing short of an ass-blasting, I can tell you that much.

Bitch had a foot fetish or something, I don't even know what's going on.

I'm Andrew Neiman.

Tune the set to B-flat and you'll turn my pages during rehearsal.

Excuse me.

Excuse me.

Could I have a B-flat, please?

Could I maybe have...

Milk the cunt!

Down the line.

We have a squeaker today, people.

Neiman, 19 years old. Isn't he cute?

- Neiman. - Yeah.

All right, gang-

"Whiplash."

Hey, the page.

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

Skipping ahead. Bar 93.

Five, six, and...

Stop!

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

Before I go any further, would that player care to identify himself?

Maybe a bug flew in my ear.

Bar 115. Five, six, and...

No.

No, my ears are fine.

We most definitely have an out-of-tune player.

Whoever it is, this is your last chance.

Either you know you are playing out of tune...

and therefore deliberately sabotaging my band...

or you do not know you're playing 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-

Stop.

Do you think you're out of tune?

What do you...? There's no fucking Mars bar down there.

I'm up here. Look at me.

Do you think you're out of tune?

- Yes... - Then why the fuck didn't you say so?

Jesus!

I've been carrying your fat ass for too long, Metz.

I'm not gonna have you cost this band a competition...

because you can't keep your mind off a Happy Meal and on pitch.

Stein, congratulations.

You are no longer alternate, you are now fourth chair trombone.

Metz, get the fuck out.

For the record, Metz was not out of tune. You were, Wallach.

But he didn't know.

And that's bad enough.

All right, take 10, when we get back, the squeaker is on.

You know if Fudd put half the effort into playing the trombone...

as he does into polishing off cheeseburgers, we wouldn't be...

Sir.

Listen, Andrew.

I know what you saw in there is worrying you.

But there's a big difference.

This is your first day, Metz has been dragging mud for two years.

Besides, you're no Elmer Fudd.

This is a huge opportunity for you. You know that, right?

Yeah.

Your parents musicians?

No, not really.

What did they do?

- Well, my dad is a writer and... - Oh, what's he written?

Well, I guess he's mainly... He's a teacher, mainly, I guess.

- College? - Pennington High.

What about your mom? What does she do?

I don't know.

She left when I was a baby.

So no players in the family?

- No, I guess not. - Just have to listen to the greats then.

Buddy Rich. Jo Jones.

You know, Charlie Parker became Bird...

because Jones threw a cymbal at his head.

He cried himself to sleep that night, but it made him Bird.

You see what I'm saying?

The key is just relax.

- All right. - Okay?

Don't worry about the numbers or what the other players think.

You're here for a reason.

You believe that, right?

Yeah.

Say it.

I'm here for a reason.

Yeah.

Okay?

All right, now have fun.

All right, gang-

"Whiplash."

Neiman, just do your best.

Okay?

Five, six, seven.

Let's hear some fills.

We got Buddy Rich here.

Okay, little trouble there. No problem.

Let's pick it up at 17.

And, five, six, seven.

Not my tempo. Okay?

Five, six, seven.

Downbeat on 18th. Okay?

Five, six, seven.

The end of four, bar 17. The end of four. Okay?

And five, six, seven.

Seventeen, the end of four. Okay? And you're rushing a little.

All right?

Five, six, seven.

Not quite my tempo.

All good. Here we go.

No... Ready?

Five, six, seven.

Sorry, you're dragging a little now.

Here we go.

All set?

Five, six, seven.

You're rushing.

Five, six, seven.

Dragging-

Five, six, seven.

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

- I don't know. - Yes, you do.

Were you rushing? Or were you dragging?

I don't know.

Start counting.

- Five, six, seven... - In four. Damn it!

- One, two, three... - Look at me.

One, two, three, four...

One, two, three, four...

- Two, three... - Stop.

Was I rushing or was I dragging?

- Rushing or dragging? - Rush... I don't know.

- Start counting again. - One, two, three...

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

- Stop. 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 going to be on my fucking time?

I'm gonna be on your time.

- What does this say? - A quarter note, 104.

Give me a 104.

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

Jesus-fucking-Christ!

I did not know they allowed retards into Shaffer.

Am I to believe that you cannot fucking read tempo?

Can you even read music?

- What the fuck is this? - It's a half note.

- What is this? - It's a dotted 16th.

Sight read this measure.

Are you in a fucking a cappella group? Play the goddamn set!

Stop.

Now, answer my question.

Were you rushing? Or were you dragging?

Answer me!

Rushing.

Look at me.

Dear, God, is that a tear? Are you one of those single-tear people?

Do I look like a double-fucking-rainbow to you?

- How upset are you right now? - I'm not upset.

- So you don't give a shit about this? - I do.

So are you are upset or are you not? Yes or fucking no?

I am. Yes.

- You are upset? - Yes, I am.

- Say it. - I am. I am upset.

Say it so the whole band can hear you.

- Say it so the whole band can hear you. - I am upset!

- Louder! - I am upset!

- Louder! - I am upset!

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

whose mommy ran out on daddy...

because she found out he wasn't Eugene O'Neill.

And who is now weeping and slobbering all over my drum kit.

So for the last father-fucking time...

say it louder!

I am upset!

Carl.

Start practising harder, Neiman.

All right, gang, "Whiplash," bar 115 to the end.

Five, six, and...

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