I’ve heard reports that in some cinemas, audiences have reacted at the end of Whiplash by bursting into spontaneous applause. The punters at Manchester Cornerhouse are a bit too cool and detached for that kind of thing. Instead, as the credits appeared, I turned to C and we both made that facial expression where you drop your jaw and raise your eyebrows, in the universal language of Holy Fucking Shit.
At this point I should say that while I will try not to include spoilers in this post, just to be on the safe side if you haven’t seen the film you should probably just stop reading at this point, pop out to your local fleapit, catch up, then return and read on.
Ah. You’re back. You might want to brush off those popcorn crumbs down your shirt. [Read more…]