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For months, I had been searching for an example of bullying behavior that would illustrate one of the least apparent but most powerful dynamics in an abusive partnership--the manipulation of truth. Last week I saw “Whiplash.”
“Whiplash,” is the case study of an abusive relationship. The film takes place at an elite, NYC college of music. It depicts intense, whiplash dynamics between an ambitious student drummer and his teacher, an influential bandleader at the school. These two powerful characters engage the audience from the first moments of their meeting.
You can watch their initial encounter in cuts from the film on YouTube.
I recommend that you view these more than once.
Observe your own responses.
You are a witness.
The film trailer takes you down a long, dark hallway to the drum practice room. The audience is voyeur, intrigued by Andrew’s drumming and also by Terence’s deeply lined, expressive face.
Bullying is widely recognized to involve three central elements: repeated aggressive behavior, a real or perceived power differential between the individuals involved, and the sense of threat. All of these exist in the relationship between Andrew Neiman, the student drummer, and Terence Fletcher, the bandleader. And all three elements are present in those first minutes of their engagement, stark and troubling.
But these three features do not fully explain why someone would tolerate mistreatment over time. Why not leave? Why not tell? Why remain attached, even loyal, to an abusive teacher/partner? What gives the bully so much power?
Two additional dynamics help to account for behavior that seems incomprehensible to those who are outside the abusive partnership; these elements are covert and less widely recognized than the central three.
First, each individual in the pair derives benefits from the relationship that are not obvious. Andrew sees Terence, not only as a bandleader who will teach him how to be the next Charlie Parker, but also as a father figure who is more successful than his own and, perhaps, also as a replacement for his mother who left when he was young. One might speculate that Andrew also needs someone who is music-savvy to believe in him. Given Andrew’s ability to muster a strong self-defense when bullied by family members in one scene of the film, perhaps he also is in need of a worthy sparing partner to test his grit.
Andrew seems to need everything.
Terence appears to need nothing.
Yet, Terence does need players. The success of a bandleader depends on having excellent musicians. Terence needs to be boss, in part because he needs to distract the band members from realizing how much he depends on them for his own success. He doesn’t want the band members to know that they actually have all the power. He doesn’t want the band members to think about the fact that he is a bandleader and not a “Charlie Parker.”
This gets us to the most powerful dynamic in an abusive relationship.
The bully sets himself up to be the one who determines what is true and what is not true. The bully manipulates truth, sowing confusion in the mind of the less-dominant person in the pair. This is how a bully gains real power because confusion is paralyzing. Taking action requires an individual to have clarity about the nature of reality.
In one of the most telling scenes of the movie (minor spoiler alert), Terence detects that someone in the woodwind section of the band is off key. Who is it? He demands that the offending player make himself known. When no one confesses, Terence focuses in on one member of the band and drills him about whether he was or wasn’t the one who was off key.
Under the assault of Terence’s inquisition, the player confesses and is summarily dismissed. At this point Terence gloats, revealing that it was actually a different player who had been off-key. In justification of his cruelty, Terence adds that, far worse than being off-key, is the offense of not knowing whether one is “on key” or “off key.”
The same dynamic applies to Terence’s relationship with the drummers. Terence sets the pace; the drums are to follow exactly. No rushing. No dragging. When Andrew disappoints, Terence rages.
If you have seen the movie, think about this carefully. As an audience member, could you hear that someone in the woodwind section was off-key? Could you tell when a drummer’s beat was too fast or too slow, rushing or dragging? I couldn’t.
I was entirely taken in by Terence. I assumed that Terence had a better ear, that he was a master. I assumed that he was helping Andrew to develop a perfect sense of timing, albeit by using extreme measures.
But now I wonder whether anyone in the audience could tell whether Andrew was rushing or dragging? Now I wonder whether Terence’s judgments weren’t entirely arbitrary. Was Terence trying to get the perfect beat or the perfect submissive?
If you live in Terence’s world and see through Terence’s eyes, then he is the master and he can make you great. In this context, Terence’s harsh and uncompromising treatment is intended to get you from “good to great.” Ah, the power of a wish to be great! Andrew is willing to give up almost everything for this: his girlfriend, his physical wellbeing, and his sense of dignity.
The audience buys into the version of reality that Terence has sold to Andrew. As the audience members leave the theater, one can hear them debating whether Terence’s behavior toward Andrew was justifiable. Terence argues that, without a demanding instructor, Andrew might have simply settled for “good job.” “I push people beyond what is expected of them.”
This audience’s debate is a false one.
What would make it possible for Andrew to excel are the ambition and drive that were evident in the very first scene, when Andrew was practicing alone, before Terence came along. Andrew only comes into his own when he is able to free himself from the abusive relationship with Terence. And this only happens when Andrew, starkly and unquestionably, sees Terence’s destructive power.
In order to escape, Andrew and others who are in abusive relationships must first dispel the fog of abuse.
