Welcome to Auteur, a newsletter that dives deep into the world of film and asks: What can we, as brand builders, learn from this?

Film is one of the richest mediums we have for understanding how narrative, aesthetics, and language can come together to not only make an audience feel something—joy, rage, melancholy—but also make them do something. 

Our goal as brand builders—marketeers, designers, strategists—is the same. We’re here to create worlds that are recognisable and compelling. We’re here to tell stories that feel both personal and universal. And we’re here to create campaigns that resonate so deeply, that our customers and clients become lifelong customers and clients.

Thank you for joining us! Auteur is written and curated by Thursday—a team of strategists, designers and developers based in the historical city of Winchester. We work globally with the ethos that being different isn’t enough—what truly matters is being interesting. 

Written by Shope—our in-house strategist. 

Our first edition explores the thunderous, nail-biting world of Whiplash (2014). Damien Chazelle’s psychological drama follows Andrew Neiman, a young jazz drummer pushed to his limits by a tyrannical instructor, Terrence Fletcher. Spoiler alert—a few quotes and scene depictions lay within, but nothing that will detract from the magic of watching it for yourself.

Every great film, much like every great brand, has a defining concept or conversation that they own.

Initially, the clearest and most resonant idea that leaps off the screen is perfection at all costs. Every frame of Whiplash asks: What is justified in the name of greatness? How far is too far? To be clear, it’s nowhere near as far as Fletcher—the relentless conductor of the prestigious Shaffer Conservatory’s Studio Band—takes it. His methods are precise and unforgiving. With an all-black uniform and distinct lack of hair (or body fat), it’s clear every fibre of his being is focused on unlocking musical excellence.

“There are no two words in the English language more harmful than 'good job’”.

Beneath the weight of his tyranny, however, lies another quieter idea: practice makes perfect. Andrew, the introverted, obsessive young drummer is hell-bent on becoming the greatest of all time, and visually the film is filled with work-in-progress motifs that reflect this: the walkman on which he listens to Buddy Rich, the frenetic scribbles on his sheet music, the plasters on his hands.  

A claustrophobic intensity is maintained throughout the entire film, and heightened with piercing sound design. Faces are slapped, chairs are thrown, profanities are screamed, and of course, drums are struck over, and over, and over again. It feels almost like a war movie, with the stakes further communicated through tightly-cropped close-ups and a camera that pans, tilts and wipes at speed. We see pools of sweat on the floor, blood on cymbals, mouths twitching in concentration, hands scabbed through repetition.

And this energy is all generated with such subtlety. Dialogue is clipped, colours are warm and muted, and the film is mostly set in one room. This is a lesson in how contrast—good vs bad, new guard vs old guard, young vs old, loud vs quiet—creates tension, and tension captivates. 

Precision matters. Damien describes the film as “a film of right angles” and this exacting feel is not only reinforced by Fletcher’s methods, but underpins the entire film stylistically. You’d think this may render the Whiplash world sterile and flat, but quite the contrary. The focus creates an almost-uncomfortable emotional depth. In one of the most pregnant scenes in the film, Andrew is unable to find the right beat and Fletcher menacingly instructs him with no more than 4 words at a time:

“Not quite my tempo.”

“You’re rushing.”

“Dragging, just a hair.”

“Rushing.”

“Dragging.”

Less is more. Less is power. It’s easy to create bloated brands with multiple moving parts, but by doing so we create confusion—in the minds of our customers, and in the hands of our team members. 

The film is mostly set in one room—the Studio Band’s rehearsal room. The room, bathed in warm, candle-lit tones, bordered by mahogany walls and filled with the metallic shine of the instruments, becomes the heart of the drama. We return to this space again and again, and as the film progresses, it takes on deeper layers of significance—hope, anger, frustration, and ambition all simmer in its confines.

This is a lesson in how consistency—whether in a physical space, a brand message, or a visual style—can create meaning over time. Newness isn’t always the answer. The repetition of this one room heightens its emotional resonance, making each return feel charged with anticipation.

Prompt: How consistent is the setting of your brand? Is there a key element—be it a visual motif, a message, or a value—that you return to again and again? How can you reinforce that consistency to build deeper meaning for your audience?

Thank your reading, and I’d love to hear if and how this made you consider your brand building efforts a little differently.

Until next time,

Shope