The Obsessed Artist and the Obsessed Activist

THIS BLOG POST INCLUDES SPOILERS FROM DARREN ARONOFSKY’S BLACK SWAN (2010) AND DAMIEN CHAZELLE’S WHIPLASH (2014)

If anything matters, art must. It is what we make when mere words do not suffice, it is what we consume when the consolation of other humans overwhelms us, and it gives us insight into who we are. In an attempt to (speculatively) explore who we are in times such as these, I look to two pieces of art that I have been contemplating over the past several days – the films Whiplash and Black Swan.

First, I must give credit where credit is due. Though I have loved both movies since I first saw them years ago, I decided to re-watch them recently because I watched a phenomenal video produced by Lessons from the Screenplay. In this video, Michael Tucker zeroes in on the similarities between the two films to illustrate what makes them successful “obsessed artist narratives.” Throughout this piece, I will refer to terminology that I was introduced to in this video.

Whiplash and Black Swan are both films that explore what it means to be an artist, though the former tells the story of a drumming prodigy, Andrew Neiman, and the latter tells the story of an obsessed ballerina, Nina Sayers.

Andrew attends the fictional Shaffer Conservatory of Music in New York City, where he is discovered by a maniacal, abusive band director named Fletcher. If Andrew is in some ways exceptional, his father is in many ways not. Andrew’s father presumably works a 9-5 job, and spends time with his only son by going to movies with him. As audience members, we are given the impression that Andrew seeks exceptionality in his craft as a drummer in part because the mediocrity we see in his father scares him.

In Black Swan, Nina – a sheepish, meticulous, and technically perfect ballerina – has a mother who coddles her, even as she is cast in the lead of her ballet company’s professional production of “Swan Lake.” Nina’s mother was supposed to be in her youth the ballerina that Nina is now, but she had to give up her aspirations when she found out that she was pregnant with Nina. As in Whiplash, the parental figure in Black Swan symbolizes some kind of failure that is in part what drives the protagonist of the film to artistic striving.

We might otherwise understand what animates both Andrew and Nina as shame. Andrew is primarily shamed by his mentor, Fletcher, into believing that he will only be valuable, memorable, great if he gives up everything to be a perfect musician. Fletcher physically abuses Andrew, he verbally tortures Andrew (“no wonder mommy ran out on you!”), and he seeks to destroy Andrew’s chances of ever becoming the musician he wants to become lest he capitulate to Fletcher’s idea of perfection.

Nina, on the other hand, shames herself by comparing herself to another ballerina in her production named Lily. Nina’s dancing is precise, intentional, and again, technically perfect, but Nina needs to be able to “let go” for her role as the Black Swan. She needs to be more like Lily – imprecise, but breathtaking; chaotic, but seductive. Nina, like Andrew, is made to believe she lacks something that is necessary for becoming the artist she wants to be. But what does shame do to (or perhaps, for?) our protagonists? 

It awakens obsession. 

Andrew becomes singularly focused on doing whatever it takes to quell the shame that his mentor has induced in him. Andrew’s obsession carries him into the climax of the film, where he gets into what should have been a fatal car accident on his way to a performance. He drags himself out of the totaled car that he was crushed in, and walks – bloodied and disheveled – to his performance, where he (understandably) performs worse than he ever has.

Nina’s obsession with absolving herself of the shame begotten by her feelings of inadequacy makes her absolutely mad. She experiences inexplicable delusions that ultimately lead her to fatally wounding herself prior to the last act of her production on opening night. She finishes her performance on opening night, and it was immaculate – absolutely perfect. But she is wounded, and dies after she gives the performance of her lifetime. Her last words: “I felt it. Perfect. It was perfect.”

While the ending of Whiplash is not nearly so grim, it is still pretty dismal. The film closes with a performance where Fletcher intends to ruin Andrew’s career by playing music that Andrew does not have the sheet music for. Andrew, however, is able to turn it around for himself by playing a piece from memory. Andrew’s performance is so stunning that even Fletcher cheers him on. As Andrew plays his heart out, he looks to Fletcher every so often to catch an approving glance. Even when his mentor has ruined his life, Andrew seeks Fletcher’s approbation.

Both films follow roughly the same narrative arc: the protagonists are filled with shame one way or another, become obsessed with alleviating the burdens associated with this shame, and die (literally in the case of Nina Sayers, and figuratively in the case of Andrew Neiman) when they have fleetingly purged themselves of the shame that has for so long characterized their existences. 

Whiplash and Black Swan, to my mind, force us to ask the question: “Do the ends justify the means?” and to resoundingly answer with a decisive, “No!” Perfection in one aspect of life is not worth compromising your values (as is the case with Andrew) or literally destroying yourself (as is the case with Nina).

Now, what does any of this have to do with what’s happening in 2020?

Before I offer my perspective, I want to emphasize that I am not attempting to make some factual claim about the way the world is, and I am not attempting to predict what will happen if we carry on as we have been. Instead, I hope to use the lessons I learned from two stunning films to offer us a lens through which to critically examine our actions as members of a society in crisis. There are other lenses through which to look, and the one I am interested here is certainly not guaranteed to be the “correct” one. 

That being said, let’s speculate.

Shame is a powerful tool in 2020 America. When states started opening up after the initial COVID-19 lockdowns, articles like this one were published. Lockdown proponents shamed lockdown skeptics for callously disrespecting human life, and for being indifferent to the deaths that could be caused by the disease. Similarly, lockdown skeptics shamed lockdown proponents for not caring about the livelihoods of those who would be without work during the lockdowns.

It should come as no surprise to anybody reading this that there are currently protests and riots taking place across the nation which are aimed at effecting change in law enforcement departments across the country. Those sympathetic to these protests shame those who have reservations for being racist. Those who are unhappy with protesters (or rather, the violent rioters and looters who give peaceful protestors a bad name) shame those who support the messaging of protestors for being complicit in violence and thuggery.

White people are shamed for being inherently and irrevocably racist. Black activists are shamed for being inherently and irrevocably criminal. Black conservatives are shamed for being grifting race-traitors. Journalists are shamed for being perpetrators of violence and fascism. Proponents of pacifism or nonviolence are shamed for being covertly racist. Our culture is saturated with shame.

As Whiplash and Black Swan teach us: nobody wants to feel shame. Often, people will do whatever it takes to exorcise shame. White people, for example, have apologized en masse to black people for being white. But all too often, what some people do to lessen the shame they feel themselves is by projecting it onto someone else. Indeed, Andrew does this when he tells his cousins that they are unmemorable and not special, and Nina does this when she yells at her mother and reminds her that she never was cast in the lead for a professional ballet production. 

In the current climate, people do anything to lessen the shame they are made to feel by others and themselves. They protest peacefully, riot violently, humiliate publicly, insult unsophisticatedly, project shame fiercely, and even self-flagellate figuratively. They do these things in the name of public health, or racial justice, or whatever is the cause du jour. (This isn’t to say that these causes are merely fads; they are certainly worthy of pursuit. Perhaps, however, their being causes of the day affects the means by which champions of the cause conceptualize its realization). They champion these causes because there is a chance that they, the causes, will be able to alleviate the shame they, the activists, have been made to feel over the course of a lifetime. 

Might activists obsessed with casting shame out, however, run the risk of losing who they really are in the pursuit of their ideals of choice, just as Andrew and Nina did? Achieving perfection in one domain of life resulted in destruction and ruination in all the other aspects of Andrew and Nina’s lives. At least, achieving perfection by igniting and reigniting shame until it gave Andrew and Nina the tools to address their inadequacies as artists and as artists only. Achieving perfection in one domain of public policy by weaponizing shame may also result in the deterioration of other aspects of public life that are valuable to us. 

Does life imitate art? I’m not sure. I see in the chaos around me something bearing a striking resemblance to the descent into madness experienced by Nina Sayers in Black Swan – everything seems dim-lit, macabre, suspenseful, and nonsensical. And we know things didn’t turn out so well for her. Will things turn out better for us? Only time will tell.