OrgoWriters
patreon
Chapter - 158
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 17:54:44 +0000 UTC[Title : Whiplash(2)]
…..
“Optional, my ass.” Alexander muttered. “This whole damn role was written with your face in mind.”
Stephen exhaled and took a seat beside him.
“I want to audition.” He said finally.
Alexander didn’t even blink. “Audition huh?”
He understood that he was being modest.
…and soon the last page had been turned.
The script was only 105 pages long, but it didn’t feel short.
It felt compressed.
Like everything it wanted to say had been forced into a pressure cooker, tightened beat by beat until it exploded into that final scene - one that left your pulse elevated, your stomach clenched.
And still.
Silence.
Then came the thoughts.
In no particular order.
More like ricochets off the inside of the skull.
Alexander sat back, the laptop still open. His voice was low, half to himself. “Was this a thriller or a character drama?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
There were definitely no guns, or car chases, not even blood.
But somehow it felt like the most violent thing imaginable.
Psychological warfare in a jazz rehearsal room.
Abuse disguised as mentorship.
A teacher who is either a sadist or a prophet.
Or both.
And the lead?
That itch.
That hunger.
That fear of being mediocre.
Every artist would recognize it.
And that's what made the story so damn intimate.
It wasn’t just about drumming.
It was about obsession.
The mentor character barely needed description: bald, intense, sharp-tongued. But every line he spoke felt like a dagger. You heard the voice in your head. You didn’t need casting yet.
It doesn't have any sugarcoating.
Or inspirational speeches.
The ‘teacher changes the student, student becomes great’ arc - sure, it was there.
But it was covered in bruises, spit, and bloodied drumsticks.
…and the final moment wasn’t resolution - it was a question mark.
Then, a more pragmatic voice chimed in.
The kind that echoed.
Then Stephen, still processing, asked the question that snapped them back to earth.
“How do you even plan on filming this?”
His voice was stunned.
Not doubtful.
Just reverent.
…Jazz drumming.
In a claustrophobic practice room for almost 90% of the movie.
How do you keep that cinematic?
Who is going to fund a story like this? Unless it’s Regal, of course.
Stephen blinked, still staring at the screen, mind churning.
He glanced at Alex, who was leaning forward now, already mentally building shots.
Who even gets jazz anymore? He wanted to ask - but he already knew the answer.
Nobody does. And that’s exactly why the script worked. Because it didn’t care. It didn’t beg to be liked.
But that doubt was met with something else.
This was not a safe bet.
But nothing Regal ever touched was.
This was a dare.
A cinematic tightrope.
It demanded someone brave enough to treat silence like a gunshot.
A director who knew rhythm, tension, humiliation. Someone who could turn sweat into suspense.
And then, quietly, they reached the end of the document.
There it was - The title of this project.
Plain bold text.
Just a word.
They both whispered it aloud at the same time, as if rehearsed:
“Whiplash.”
They read the title earlier, understanding the script, and reading it now again in this moment hit them differently.
Stephen’s skin prickled.
Goosebumps.
They had just read the story - but now, that one word reframed everything.
That’s what this was about.
That tension in the chest before a crash. That unbearable pause before something snaps. The unseen toll of chasing perfection.
Whiplash.
Now they wanted to make it.
Not just vaguely consider it. Not someday.
Now.
Suddenly, the energy in the room shifted - again.
They didn’t speak in cautious tones anymore.
They leaned in.
Like pre-production had already begun.
Scene by scene, they started breaking it down.
Camera angles.
The layout of the practice room. How claustrophobic they could make it feel without actually changing the set.
Where to position the drums for maximum impact.
Low lighting. Sharp contrasts. Blood on the sticks.
The score - not just jazz but jazz used like a weapon.
Percussion that followed the mental rhythm of obsession. Long silences broken by brutal flurries of sound.
The whole film would move like a song: slow build, false calm, then crash into chaos.
And then, naturally, they came to the next question.
“The teacher.” Stephen said.
Alexander didn’t reply immediately.
The film revolved around two people - one kid on the brink of greatness and collapse, and the man who pushed him to both.
They had talked about the student already. The kid was obvious.
But the teacher?
The mentor?
The ghost in the room, the storm wrapped in authority - that was harder.
Stephen had a few ideas. He was about to list them.
Big names. Men with prestige. The kind that got financing.
Safe.
But Alexander? He didn’t hesitate.
“I want Ross.” He said.
Stephen blinked. “I am sorry, what?”
“I want Ross for that role.” Alexander repeated it, calmer this time - like it wasn’t up for debate.
Stephen let out a breath through his nose - half disbelief, half awe. “You mean the Ross? The guy who gives veteran directors a run for their money?”
Alexander nodded. “That’s the one.”
He remembered the first time he saw him - how could he forget?
It was during the auditions for [Death Note].
Not on screen or in a polished clip. But live, in that cramped, overheated casting room.
Ross wasn’t even trying. Just reading a few lines.
But the moment he spoke, the room felt like it had dropped ten degrees.
Alexander, overwhelmed, had stood up and clapped like an idiot.
It wasn’t cool and definitely wasn’t composed.
And it definitely wasn’t the impression you wanted to make on someone you idolized.
Then came the autograph incident.
A stupid misunderstanding with the crews - his team and Regal’s -
It turned into a running joke among the assistants: the day that nearly ended with a flipped table.
Stephen glanced at Alexander and saw the dry tension in his expression, the way his jaw clenched slightly.
He understood now.
Alexander wasn’t pitching Rose because he was a fan.
He was doing it because he truly believed Rose was right for the role.
Even Stephen had to admit it - he could see it too.
He leaned back in the chair, rubbing the side of his face. “Jesus.”
“I know.” Alexander replied, quiet but sure.
Stephen still had to ask, even though he already sensed the answer. “Why him?”
“Because I see him in the part.” Alex said plainly. “I don’t mean 'it’d be nice' or 'he would be interesting.' I mean I see him. Frame by frame. That’s him.”
There was no ego in the way he said it.
No performative confidence.
Just clarity.
That kind of clarity scared the hell out of Stephen.
Because it wasn’t just bold - it was committed.
Still, he pressed on. “You realize there is a 95% chance he turns you down on the spot, right?”
Alexander gave a faint, knowing smile. “Regal would probably say ninety-nine.”
“So how are you going to convince him?”
That was when Alexander’s moment of bravery began to crumble - just a little.
He looked down at his hands. “I don’t know.”
It wasn’t loud or desperate. But it was honest.
“I don’t know how to even get in the same room as him, let alone convince him to read a script from a first-time director.”
That’s when Alexander’s boldness cracked like a glass dropped quietly on carpet.
Stephen sat back for a moment, thinking. Then quietly asked. “Should we ask Regal?”
Alexander winced. “He could do it. You know he could. He would convince Ross before lunch was over and somehow make it seem like Ross asked him for the part.”
“So?”
“But he won’t help.”
That hung in the air.
Stephen got it now.
Regal didn’t believe in doing things for people. He believed in putting them in position - then seeing what they did with it.
He gave tools. Not outcomes.
Alexander had been given a script.
Now it was his problem to solve.
Alexander sighed, rubbed his eyes, and leaned back. “I guess I will just try. Reach out through someone. Send the script.”
Stephen studied him, then finally said. “I will help.”
Alexander looked over. “What?”
“I mean it. I will get you five minutes with someone who can push it across Ross’s desk. I can at least do that.”
Alexander stared at him, trying to read the intent.
Stephen added, more softly. “And I would have done this whether I was working on this film or not. I just want to help.”
For a moment, Alexander saw it.
Not the rising star or the professional.
But the kid.
The same Stephen who once watched [Following] and reached out a hand to Regal - not because he wanted something in return, but because he believed in something.
And now, Alexander understood why Regal had chosen him.
Just like Stephen was beginning to understand why it was Alex.
Their collaboration was still in its infancy. But something was already clicking.
Alexander blinked, a little stunned. “Thank you.”
Stephen smirked. “Don’t thank me yet. Wait till we see if we survive Ross’s reaction.”
Alex chuckled, nerves and gratitude blending into a shaky smile.
For now… it was enough.
….
Regal stared at the glowing [ITEMS] tab in the system interface.
•──────────[ITEMS]──────────•
» [Whiplash | Movie | Price: 3.5M EP | S-Rank] ×1 (Consumed)
ⓘ This script has already been consumed. Direct narration, adaptation, or execution available at user discretion.
•──────────────────────────•
It was the script of [Whiplash] - the same one he’d just forwarded to Alexander.
He had purchased the rights a week ago from the [Bulletin Board], intending to keep it for himself.
The vision had already started taking shape in his mind, frame by frame - he had even rehearsed how he would pitch it to Stephen during their next creative meet-up.
But then things changed.
Stephen needed something now, not in a year. And Regal, despite every instinct that pulled him toward directing it himself, had to face reality.
He couldn’t stretch himself thinner than he already was. Between final preps for [Harry Potter], and the simmering storm with the Red Studio board, there simply wasn’t room - not if he wanted to do [Whiplash] justice.
And Stephen… was the one who reached out when no one else did.
Regal closed his eyes for a second.
He hadn’t realized how possessive he had been.
Of stories. Of outcomes. Of control.
But he could let go. Not to just anyone - but to someone who had earned it.
Alexander Tobias.
His assistant director for both [Death Note] and [The Hangover].
He is young, sharp, five years older than Regal, yet still newer to the industry than most would assume. He had learned more on Regal’s sets than any workshop could teach, and he carried that education with quiet intensity.
Regal trusted him.
He believed in him.
•─────•
[Name:] Alexander Tobias
[Skills:]
→ Direction (Rank: A)
→ Writing (Rank: C)
[Traits:] Doubtful, Perseverance
•─────•
He knew Alex still struggled with doubt. He’d seen it in the silent hesitation before takes, the way he would triple-check blocking even when he was right.
But that same doubt had also taught him caution. Discipline. Resilience.
And now… maybe it was time Alex led his own symphony.
Regal exhaled and leaned back in his chair. It still stung to let it go - but it didn’t feel like a loss anymore.
It felt like the right call.
.
….
[To be continued…]
●──────●◎●──────●
Comments
Halycon404
The thing about Whiplash I guess is it's comparatively cheap. I didn't particularly like it. None of my music friends or I did. I get why other people like it. No music people do. The entire "Not my tempo" scene was just like.. MFer, setup a metronome if you want an exact tempo for practice! No one can just look at a page and then just do perfect mechanical precision. The human brain is analog, it drifts.
David Morehouse
It's definitely nice to see Regal work more on scaling the stories, and see him have some character development as well! I'm excited to see how Whiplash turns out!
