Now that it is known who will inhabit the Oval Office from 2025-29, a recent biopic of Donald Trump called The Apprentice has benefitted from renewed interest.
A Canadian-Danish-Irish-American co-production, it blends a touch of cinematic opportunism with astuteness, vibrancy, and an earnest attempt at understanding the man whose unlikely political comeback has gone down in US history.
This cinematic exploration of Trump’s life holds undeniable artistic allure, especially with Sebastian Stan’s portrayal. Known for his transformative acting, Stan captures Trump so convincingly that you forget that you are not watching the man himself.
An open-ended arc
Most biopics of political or business leaders air after they retire or die. The Apprentice is a rare exception. Trump has lost none of his power. Indeed, after the November election results, he has been handed more power than he was in 2016.
The film’s bold and uncompromising approach to Trump’s character was crafted without his consent and refrained from flattery. For this, the filmmakers faced push-back and legal challenges from Trump’s team and reluctance from distributors, yet the production team and cast were seemingly undeterred. The film’s trailer was released a day before the only TV debate of the 2024 US presidential campaign, stirring anticipation and sparking public discourse.
The Apprentice unfolds as an open-ended arc, beginning with a young Donald’s brash proclamation to a female companion at an upscale New York nightclub. “I think billionaires are born, so I think they have it in their genes.”
He surveys the wealthy diners around him who are oblivious to his presence, foreshadowing the path he will take. In contrast, near the film’s end, a seasoned, self-assured Trump confides to a journalist: “I was born with a killer’s instinct.” Trump, therefore, moves from youthful hesitancy and disbelief before growing almost arrogant.
Impact of Roy Cohn
Key to Trump’s transformation is his encounter with the Machiavellian lawyer Roy Cohn, portrayed by Jeremy Strong. In a dimly lit corner of that same nightclub, Cohn’s fascination with Trump propels him to mentor the young man, shaping him into the figure who dares to chase his lofty ambitions.
Trump’s father was deeply sceptical of his children’s potential and had a distaste for those who were not as wealthy or who were socially marginalised—particularly black Americans. This complex father-son relationship led Donald to choose to earn more money and be less empathetic with the vulnerable. This brutal meritocracy took no prisoners, including his troubled brother Fred, the family’s black sheep. Although there are hints of his father’s oppressive influence, the film leaves much of it unsaid.
In Roy, Donald finds a surrogate godfather—a shrewd mentor and forceful enabler who appears at a pivotal moment in his romantic youth, still carrying roses for his first wife, the Czech model Ivana Zelníčková. Roy guides him through the labyrinth of legal loopholes and moral ambiguity, securing Trump’s dreams with ruthless pragmatism.
