Whiplash2014

Fletcher:
Jesus f***ing Christ, where have you been?

Carl:
We have an issue.

Fletcher:
Okay, now is not the time.

Carl:
I gave Neiman the folder and Neiman lost it.

Fletcher:
Neiman lost it?

Carl:
Yes.

Fletcher:
The folder is your f***ing responsibility, Tanner. Why would you give it to Neiman? Right? You give a calculator to a f***ing retard he's gonna try to turn on a TV with it. Now get your sticks and get your ass on stage.

Carl:
I-- I can't.

Fletcher:
You can't?

Carl:
I-- I can't go onstage. I don't know the charts by heart.

Fletcher:
Are you f***ing kidding me?

Carl:
I-- [stammers] You know this. I need the music. It's my memory, I need visual cues.

Fletcher:
Visual cues?

Carl:
Yes, it's a medical condition--

Fletcher:
A medical condition? What are you, f***ing Sanjay Gupta? Play the goddamn music.

Carl:
I can't.

Andrew:
I can.

Fletcher:
You know "Whiplash" by heart?

Andrew:
Yes, sir. Every measure.

Fletcher:
All right. Well, you better f***ing hope your memory doesn't fail you. And I hope you play it a whole lot better than you did last month in rehearsal, because I do not intend to start losing now. Get your sticks and get your sticks and get your f***ing ass onstage. [to band] Onstage!