The Apprentice review: Roy Cohn and Donald Trump’s dark alliance becomes high drama

In many ways Roy Cohn is one of the linchpins of the 20th century, a man whose influence on global political and social life resonates to this day. He was the prosecuting attorney who sent convicted spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg to death for leaking nuclear information to the Russians. His contribution to the McCarthy hearings resulted not only in one of the more shameful periods of American history, but served as the model for the many subsequent witch hunts that weaponized both political and judicial systems throughout modern democracies, and even had an influence on the taping scheme that led to Richard Nixon’s eventual downfall. Cohn’s irascible nature, with take-no-prisoners approach, set the stage for the greed-is-good 1980s, paved a path for the likes of Rudy Giuliani to rise from avenging attorney to America’s mayor to the fixer of a president, and, perhaps above all, molded the young mind of a tall, lanky, ambitious and slightly gormless kid from Queens: Donald Trump.

On its surface, Ali Abassi’s film The Apprentice is the tale of a teacher and a student, Cohn (Jeremy Strong) schooling a young Trump (Sebastian Stan) through a series of life lessons that would serve not only as the basis of the best-selling Trump: The Art Of The Deal, but also the ideological backbone of a self-proclaimed billionaire’s business empire…and future presidency. The dynamic between Cohn and Trump is deeply entwined with the heady times of 1970s New York, where the city was being ripped apart and on the verge of bankruptcy, and a few visionaries with more chutzpah than moral scruples found opportunities on the gritty streets to heal the big apple from its rot and make their fortunes balloon along the way.

Yet, The Apprentice is also an almost archetypal story of a son trying to please the father, something akin to a Greek myth or sordid soap opera. Donald, along with his developer father (being sued by the government for discriminating against Black people), is seen driving his Cadillac (with DJT plates) up to one of their dilapidated apartment complexes, going door-to-door to get cash from his hapless and downtrodden tenants.

Fred Trump (Martin Donovan) had plenty of ambition and success, of course, by any normal measure, yet here he’s presented as slightly jealous of what he hath wrought with the son he brought into the family business. Fred’s perhaps the least dimensional of the portraits here, but he’s a key foil to both explain some of Trump’s more sociopathic tendencies and to contrast with the Machiavellian competence Cohn could bring to his protégé.

Donald’s older sibling Fred Jr. (Charlie Carrick) bore much of his father’s scorn, eventually succumbing to the unrelenting pressure by turning to drink. It’s another overt contrast for Donnie; instead of drinking, he proudly proclaims abstinence, all while popping amphetamines to keep up his hectic schedule.

The introduction of Cohn into Trump’s life at Le Club—a members-only establishment where the mob lawyer held a kind of court, spending a fortune to entertain his guests—is particularly impactful. We see the young Trump sitting awkwardly at a table, the majority of his more noticeable idiosyncrasies yet to develop, an almost shocking representation of a humble and anxious man exuding normalcy. He’s chatting up a date with poorly aimed braggadocio and self-centeredness, testing out his burgeoning prowess at self-promotion just as he’s entering this world of power players. It’s when he’s alone, awkwardly waiting for something to happen now that he has entered this den of iniquity, that the piercing eyes of Cohn set upon him from an adjoining private room. It’s both chilling and thrilling to witness.

Cohn, as played brilliantly by Jeremy Strong, is serpentine in looks but feline in movement, a chimeric resemblance that is immediately captivating. Yet it is the exquisite subtlety of Sebastian Stan’s take on the Donald that truly impresses, as from these initial moments of awkwardness to the brash lunacy of the closing scenes, there’s such wonderful attunement to how he builds the character from unsure yet driven youngster to the one of the most imitated, vilified, and celebrated individuals of the age.

Stan’s impressive performance allows for an intricate construction of this character on both emotional and physical grounds. There’s not a frame where the take on DJT feels like a mere imitation, and it’s in its precision over a wide time span that truly makes it remarkable. The subtle quirks we’ve seen for decades—the OK-shaped fingers making accordion movements, the pursed lips, the glaring crinkled eyes, the increasingly pointed language—all emerge over the era the film covers. The voice is not the same gravelly one that so many comedians make part of their parlor tricks, but the subtle intonations and tics are absolutely present as we witness them being shaped and developed, just as Trump himself is rising within the world that he has set out to dominate.

Around him, Maria Bakalova once again shines as the strong-willed Ivana, proving her Oscar-nominated turn in Borat Subsequent Moviefilm was no fluke. Martin Donovan, Mark Rendall, and Joe Pingue head up the rest of the ensemble cast, terrific faces that give the period film another dose of authenticity. Part of the film’s fascinating structure is how subtly and convincingly Cohn is sidelined by Trump as both he and his buildings rise. But there are also a few explosive moments that will get plenty of attention, primarily from those who will discuss the film while never seeing it.

The first is Donald’s alleged rape of Ivana, first detailed in her divorce proceedings but recanted after a financial settlement. It’s a relatively staid scene, free from aggrandizement or ornamentation outside its gaudy setting. The camera actually steps back, the vignette feeling as appropriately troubling as it feels invasive.

The second takes place at one of Cohn’s famous parties, the crème de la crème of society there to engage in some debauchery. Upstairs the future president accidentally witnesses the kneeling figure of the host being thoroughly sodomized in a room full of brawny men. It’s a key plot point, particularly after the stories of “gay cancer” become central to the relationship between the pair, but again, it’s tackled in a way that never overplays its hand.

Like in Angels In America, Tony Kushner’s Tony and Pulitzer-winning play that has Cohn as a lead figure, there’s a refusal to admit to this aspect of both his personality and his health crisis, publicly blaming his illness on liver cancer. Yet the point here is to see how the Donald reacts—or, in this case, doesn’t react, the lack of empathy for his mentor perfectly in keeping with the same cutthroat attitude taught by Cohn himself. Beyond the dramatic irony of being hoisted by one’s petard, Cohn’s tragic end is directly contrasted with a weaponized callousness that had been fostered in Trump for years.

And this, perhaps, is the most critical part of this telling, for Trump is seen, justifiably, as the manifestation or even culmination of what Cohn failed to be. It wasn’t Cohn’s death that brought about his downfall, it’s that a conniving, closeted, Jewish lawyer was never going to gain the political power that his tall, blonde, and equally mendacious student would achieve. There’s a level of acceptance for Trump that Cohn simply could never achieve, be it on the gossip pages, a game show, or at the ballot box. Trump may be the monster that Cohn helped craft, but despite his money and his connections, Cohn was never going to be able to grab the golden ring because of who he was, regardless of what he accomplished.

Abassi, who previously brought Border and Holy Spider to Cannes, further solidifies himself as one of the most exciting talents of his generation. The music selection is fantastic, picking out period-appropriate tracks that are wonderfully integrated and a far cry from the run-of-the-mill selections that often populate films covering this era. Kasper Tuxen’s lensing is almost documentary-like, allowing Aleks Marinkovich’s production design and Laura Montgomery’s costumes to shine. Shout out as well to the hair and makeup department, where the construction of Trump’s hair is nearly as intricate as the buildings being erected in Midtown.

There are those who will dismiss The Apprentice as needless humanizing a villainous character, and others convinced there’s no way a fair film could be made about their near-messianic leader. Even more will be frustrated by what may at first feel like a middle-ground approach, eschewing certain hard truths in favor of a more generalist telling. One need only look at Barry, the 2016 film about a young Barack Obama, to see just what pitfalls Abassi and his team were up against with a telling such as this. While Barry plays as the rise of a future beloved figure, with any missteps more charming than egregious, the tale of Trump and Cohn is both far more intricately realized and also far more sinister in its universal tale of the nature of power, influence, and betrayal.

People of all political stripes and prejudices should give The Apprentice a try, for it is nothing short of extraordinary. The performances are stellar, the pacing both restrained and engaging, the realization of Cohn and Trump’s world is top-notch, and the dynamic between the two is as captivating as any. For those able to take the film on its own terms, to be in equal parts fascinated and repelled by the behaviors of those captured therein, The Apprentice stands as a masterclass in observing this compelling, consequential mentor/protégé relationship—one that continues to shape global headlines.