What a good flick. No, it's not "inspirational" in the way the "meh" reviewers want it to be, and who are pissed off that it isn't. Inspiration isn't the point. If you're looking for a feel-good movie that encourages you to work hard and overcome odds to achieve some mainstream, reasonable, conventionally healthy dream that anyone else will care about, this isn't it. If you're looking for a movie about an inspiring role model teacher that others should mimic, go watch "Stand and Deliver" or something, not this.
This movie isn't telling us to go out and find our own inner Andrews. It fully acknowledges the absurd obscurity of the whole thing, and the fact that 99.9% of people in the world don't care about jazz, or about there being another jazz musician. It lets us work out for ourselves that this also isn't just a film about music, and, no matter what you do, or what you're good at, 99.9% of people in the world don't care about that thing, either. And, even if you work at something that people do care about, or that helps people directly, most of the time someone pretty good is right behind you, eager to take your spot if you step aside. There are some exceptions, but not many. You have to figure out what matters to you, what you're good at, and what feels worth doing to you, and that's all there is. Even if most people think other things are more worthwhile, like football or whatever, those are arbitrary judgments, and should only supersede your own interests if general opinion matters more to you than doing the thing you care about. This scenario is true for most people. You have to be pretty crazy to want to do something this hard, this competitive, to which the world is so indifferent. Andrew is this kind of crazy. You, unknown audience member, don't have to be, and probably shouldn't be. Unless you are, and then you know that already.
Also, the film's message is not, "Work hard and make sacrifices and you can become great at X." Nor is it "You have to suffer or tolerate abuse to become great at X." It's far more complicated and ambiguous than some kind of canned morality like that.
The point is more that there's no straight path to doing something so well you're able to innovate and blow people's minds. Hard work and practice are necessary, but they aren't enough. Sacrifice doesn't guarantee anything. A great teacher-hardass or otherwise-doesn't guarantee anything. You need most of these things, plus a bunch of other qualities, and experiences, and a ton of luck, and other undefinable things too. You need more, whatever that more is. Andrew's "more" involves suffering, macho revenge, ego-annihilation, and blood. But there's no formula. If a formula existed, more people would do it, and it wouldn't be crazy.
The movie isn't saying everyone needs Andrew's experiences to do what he does, but that they make him who he is in that moment at the end, and able to make his choices. He needs them. Other paths may vary.
"Is it worth it?" That's certainly a question the film wants us to think about. But the ending frames the question in terms of art, not success. It insists we consider whether that one moment of peak artistic creation (I don't know how musically accurate it is, and don't care, because it's how the story is told, and the storytelling is what matters to me) is worth all the misery and sacrifice and opportunity cost. For all we know, after this moment, Andrew spends the rest of his life scraping by working as a cashier, and he never makes much money or gets famous as a drummer. Maybe he gets hit by a bus the next day. At best, the prize for winning most pie-eating contests is more pie, and odds are that, no matter how good or genius he is, the only prize he'll get for playing the drums so well is more chances to play the drums. Is it all worth it for this one moment, where he takes a huge risk, and lets it all go, and finally gets in sync with his difficult teacher/conductor to produce an emergent phenomenon, greater than either of them can achieve on their own, and where they both yield? And also, not forgetting, that his dad's unconditional love and acceptance is the key that gives him the courage to go back on stage and fully realize himself?
Yeah, it's worth it, for Andrew, for the teacher, the dad, and for us, the audience, watching him. It's magic, real magic, sublime and transcendent, beyond all time and space. If you don't see that, well, you've got your answer too, loud and clear. If at any point in the movie, you want Andrew to give up and go to medical school, you're really not an artist. Lucky you.
Regardless, the movie isn't telling us what to do. We have to make our own choices, right or wrong, the way Andrew makes his. Personally, I'd prefer a gentler path to artistic breakthroughs, but Andrew's path is his path. What's worth doing? The answer is always subjective and arbitrary. The only guidepost is that, mostly, art is only worth doing if you love doing it, not for some external payoff. It's a spiritual path, one that turns away from the world and its priorities, one that sacrifices everything for glimpses of transcendence. It might begin ego-driven at first, like how Andrew wants to be the best and be remembered in the beginning, but alone, that's not enough. And anger and defiance might drive another leveling up. But to lift off the stage, and channel something otherworldly, you need more. Andrew finds his "more."
One last thing: this movie has a lot to say about how and why so many great artists suffer. There are a lot of chicken-and-egg questions raised here, and not a lot of answers. But, the answers in reality are complicated, and individual, and this film does an amazing job of raising the questions in ways that are relatable and provoke contemplation, without supplying pat answers. Somewhere in it is a deep undercurrent of humanity, and what makes our species so unique. It's not rational. Call it a Promethean instinct, maybe, to want to bring forth something new, some unseen pearl from the depths of self to give out to the world, even if the vultures come and get their revenge.
This movie isn't telling us to go out and find our own inner Andrews. It fully acknowledges the absurd obscurity of the whole thing, and the fact that 99.9% of people in the world don't care about jazz, or about there being another jazz musician. It lets us work out for ourselves that this also isn't just a film about music, and, no matter what you do, or what you're good at, 99.9% of people in the world don't care about that thing, either. And, even if you work at something that people do care about, or that helps people directly, most of the time someone pretty good is right behind you, eager to take your spot if you step aside. There are some exceptions, but not many. You have to figure out what matters to you, what you're good at, and what feels worth doing to you, and that's all there is. Even if most people think other things are more worthwhile, like football or whatever, those are arbitrary judgments, and should only supersede your own interests if general opinion matters more to you than doing the thing you care about. This scenario is true for most people. You have to be pretty crazy to want to do something this hard, this competitive, to which the world is so indifferent. Andrew is this kind of crazy. You, unknown audience member, don't have to be, and probably shouldn't be. Unless you are, and then you know that already.
Also, the film's message is not, "Work hard and make sacrifices and you can become great at X." Nor is it "You have to suffer or tolerate abuse to become great at X." It's far more complicated and ambiguous than some kind of canned morality like that.
The point is more that there's no straight path to doing something so well you're able to innovate and blow people's minds. Hard work and practice are necessary, but they aren't enough. Sacrifice doesn't guarantee anything. A great teacher-hardass or otherwise-doesn't guarantee anything. You need most of these things, plus a bunch of other qualities, and experiences, and a ton of luck, and other undefinable things too. You need more, whatever that more is. Andrew's "more" involves suffering, macho revenge, ego-annihilation, and blood. But there's no formula. If a formula existed, more people would do it, and it wouldn't be crazy.
The movie isn't saying everyone needs Andrew's experiences to do what he does, but that they make him who he is in that moment at the end, and able to make his choices. He needs them. Other paths may vary.
"Is it worth it?" That's certainly a question the film wants us to think about. But the ending frames the question in terms of art, not success. It insists we consider whether that one moment of peak artistic creation (I don't know how musically accurate it is, and don't care, because it's how the story is told, and the storytelling is what matters to me) is worth all the misery and sacrifice and opportunity cost. For all we know, after this moment, Andrew spends the rest of his life scraping by working as a cashier, and he never makes much money or gets famous as a drummer. Maybe he gets hit by a bus the next day. At best, the prize for winning most pie-eating contests is more pie, and odds are that, no matter how good or genius he is, the only prize he'll get for playing the drums so well is more chances to play the drums. Is it all worth it for this one moment, where he takes a huge risk, and lets it all go, and finally gets in sync with his difficult teacher/conductor to produce an emergent phenomenon, greater than either of them can achieve on their own, and where they both yield? And also, not forgetting, that his dad's unconditional love and acceptance is the key that gives him the courage to go back on stage and fully realize himself?
Yeah, it's worth it, for Andrew, for the teacher, the dad, and for us, the audience, watching him. It's magic, real magic, sublime and transcendent, beyond all time and space. If you don't see that, well, you've got your answer too, loud and clear. If at any point in the movie, you want Andrew to give up and go to medical school, you're really not an artist. Lucky you.
Regardless, the movie isn't telling us what to do. We have to make our own choices, right or wrong, the way Andrew makes his. Personally, I'd prefer a gentler path to artistic breakthroughs, but Andrew's path is his path. What's worth doing? The answer is always subjective and arbitrary. The only guidepost is that, mostly, art is only worth doing if you love doing it, not for some external payoff. It's a spiritual path, one that turns away from the world and its priorities, one that sacrifices everything for glimpses of transcendence. It might begin ego-driven at first, like how Andrew wants to be the best and be remembered in the beginning, but alone, that's not enough. And anger and defiance might drive another leveling up. But to lift off the stage, and channel something otherworldly, you need more. Andrew finds his "more."
One last thing: this movie has a lot to say about how and why so many great artists suffer. There are a lot of chicken-and-egg questions raised here, and not a lot of answers. But, the answers in reality are complicated, and individual, and this film does an amazing job of raising the questions in ways that are relatable and provoke contemplation, without supplying pat answers. Somewhere in it is a deep undercurrent of humanity, and what makes our species so unique. It's not rational. Call it a Promethean instinct, maybe, to want to bring forth something new, some unseen pearl from the depths of self to give out to the world, even if the vultures come and get their revenge.