“There are no two words in the English language that are more harmful than ‘good job’” explains music professor Fletcher (J.K. Simmons) as a justification for the violent, extreme didactic methods he uses with his students at a conservatory touted as the best in the country. In his quest for excellence, Fletcher reduces full-grown men to tears, makes his musicians stay up for hours and throws stools and instruments their way whenever they make a mistake. Fletcher meets his match in the form of Andrew (Miles Teller) an aspiring jazz drummer who seeks artistic success if only to prove to the world that he’s not as mediocre as everyone thinks.

Written and directed by Damien Chazelle, Whiplash takes the central question of “how far to go in the name of brilliance” and turns it into a faux crowd-pleaser that intends to celebrate persistence and genius, without ever really taking into consideration whether the traditional definitions encompassed by those concepts are worthy of admiration. Viewers are encouraged to root for underdog Andrew, who will play until he bleeds as he tries to emulate his idol: Buddy Rich. Yet the harder he tries, the harder Fletcher attempts to bring him down, resulting in a psychological game that has more in common with a film about the army, than one about musicians.

It is there precisely where the film deviates from being an old fashioned success story, as it celebrates Ayn Rand-like ideas about perfection, that rejoice in separating the weak from the strong, perpetuating a way of thinking that has led to war and invasion, more than it has to creation. Whiplash is shot like a war movie, with Chazelle focusing on the actors’ faces, their angry looks, bloody hands and energetic movements reminding us more about Saving Private Ryan than Amadeus (with which it shares some themes).

While Teller and especially Simmons turn in terrific performances, Whiplash can’t help but feel like a destructive one-note symphony about the obsessions of the white heterosexual male, made even worse by its own obliviousness to what its music truly sounds like. With its “feel good” finale, subtle misogyny (the women in the film “helped” make these men who they are and as such can only bring them more pain) and scary lack of self-awareness, it will most likely have men of a certain age and mindset, eating its themes up like they were freedom fries.