Whiplash2014

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

Andrew:
I... I don't know.

Fletcher:
Sure you do.

Andrew:
The tempo.

Fletcher:
Were you rushing or were you dragging?

Andrew:
I don't know.

[Fletcher rushes to the kit and stares Andrew in the face]

Fletcher:
Start counting.

Andrew:
Five, six--

Fletcher:
In four, damn it! Look at me.

Andrew:
One, two, three, four-- [Fletcher slaps him] ...One, two, three, four-- [slap] ...One, two, three...

Fletcher:
Now, was I rushing or was I dragging?

Andrew:
I don't know.

Fletcher:
Count again.

Andrew:
One, two, three, four-- [slap] ...One, two, three, four-- [slap] ...One, two, three...

Fletcher:
Rushing or dragging?

Andrew:
Rushing.

Fletcher:
So you do know the difference! If you deliberately sabotage my band, I will f*** you like a pig. Now are you a rusher, or are you a dragger, or are you gonna be ON MY F***ING TIME?!

Andrew:
I'm gonna be on your time.

Fletcher:
[points to sheet music] What does that say?

Andrew:
Quarter note equals 215.

Fletcher:
Count me a 215.

Andrew:
One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four...

Fletcher:
Jesus f***ing Christ! I didn't know they allowed retards into Shaffer! Am I to understand that you cannot read tempo? Can you even f***ing read music?! What is that?

Andrew:
Eighth note.

Fletcher:
Yes, what is that?

Andrew:
Dotted sixteenth note.

Fletcher:
Sight-read measure 101.

Andrew:
Bop-bop-ba-bop-ba--

Fletcher:
What, are you in a f***ing a cappella group? Play the goddamn kit! [Andrew drums the measure] Stop. Now answer my question: were you rushing, or were you dragging? [Andrew doesn't respond] ANSWER!!!

Andrew:
Rushing.

Fletcher:
[sees Andrew shed a tear] Oh, my dear God. Are you one of those single tear people? Do I look like a double f***ing rainbow to you? You must be upset. Are you upset?

Andrew:
No.

Fletcher:
No? So you just don't give a sh*t about any of this?

Andrew:
I do give a sh*t about this.

Fletcher:
So, are you upset? Yes or f***ing no? [Andrew nods yes] Yes, you are upset.

Andrew:
Yeah.

Fletcher:
Say it.

Andrew:
I'm upset.

Fletcher:
Say it so the whole band can hear you.

Andrew:
I'm upset!

Fletcher:
Louder!

Andrew:
[loud] I'm upset!

Fletcher:
LOUDER!

Andrew:
[louder] I'M UPSET!

Fletcher:
You are a worthless, friendless, f*ggot-lipped little piece of sh*t whose mommy left daddy when she figured out he wasn't Eugene O'Neill, and who is now weeping and slobbering all over my drum set like a f***ing nine-year old girl! So for the final, FATHER-F***ING TIME, SAY IT LOUDER!!!

Andrew:
[at the top of his lungs] I'M UPSET!!!

Fletcher:
Carl. [Carl takes Andrew's place at the drums as Fletcher goes back to compose the band] Start practicing harder, Neiman.