Whiplash

Whiplash must be the only movie that hit me right in the face like a shit load of bricks. Gut-wrenching and thoroughly distasteful, for me at least. I could never sit through the whole of it again. And it's nothing to do with the superior acting and screenplay.

Whiplash gave me strong, cringing flashbacks of the emotional abuse I was a victim of by my father. Every insult, every threat, and every distrustful reconciliatory apology. I could do nothing but stare at the screen with a gaping mouth as if in surprise that someone stole my diary and picked out instances to flow on the screen.

I was able to identify with every attack hurled and every response, overt or inert. Looking at it playing in front of me like that made it all seem too real and too near.
No one should have to go through that.

But the problem comes when you set about to explain to people just how the emotional abuse is being played. How can I deal with the passive dismissive reactions that try to downplay the effects of something that has me crippled day and night? Because the truth is, they're are not just words. 

The way Neiman consistently sought the approval of Fletcher hit close to home. I'm glad I was able to understand my father's behaviour early on. There are millions more who still justify it until much later on in their life. They blame themselves and litter their life with unnecessary guilt.

The ending of Whiplash just further condoned the abuse. Was getting fucked up in the head and ruining your life really worth finally perfecting the drum solo?
I guess it was for people who want to die the idealistic alcoholic death at 30 and have people debating about you at the dinner table.