"Attack, Deny, Never Admit Defeat": The Ruthless Rules That Built Trump in The Apprentice

Bustling streets of 1980s New York. Manhattan at night. Towering skyscrapers and coked-up businessmen in three-piece suits. From the first shot ( captured on 35mm film in a boxy 1.85:1 aspect ratio, reminiscent of the television aesthetics of the time ) director Ali Abbasi sets the tone for The Apprentice. The setting itself becomes a statement, reflecting the world in which young Donald Trump is trying to carve out his place.

Written by the esteemed veteran reporter Gabriel Sherman, this film boldly embraces a journalistic lens to tell its story. However, as is often the case with such ambitious projects, it faced a storm of opposition and defamation claims that threatened its release. Despite the film receiving an electrifying eight-minute standing ovation at the prestigious Cannes Film Festival, it encountered significant hurdles in securing a theatrical distribution.

In the wake of defamation lawsuits, many producers hesitated to back the project, fearing the potential fallout. Yet, amidst this turmoil, a beacon of hope emerged in the form of producer James Shani and his indie marketing and distribution company. With their support, the film ultimately carved out a small theatrical release, allowing director Abbasi to retain final cut, ensuring his vision remained intact.

The film firstly introduces the pivotal relationship between Trump ( Sebastian Stan)  and Roy Cohn ( Jeremy Strong) , one of the most influential figures in his early career. When Trump first meets Cohn, he is still a young man seeking to step out from under his father’s shadow. There is almost an underdog quality to him, something that makes him momentarily relatable. Not to fret, that relatability quickly erodes. Cohn is portrayed as the devil on the shoulder, the puppet master shaping Trump into the man he is destined to become. 

He instills in Trump a philosophy that seems like ultimately will define his character. The three rules of success, which Cohn articulates early in the film, become a chilling refrain:

1. Attack, attack, attack.

2. Deny everything.

3. Never admit defeat.

   
   

We see how these rules begin to shape and mold Trump’s approach not just to business but to life itself. They ultimately take on a sinister tone when repeated in the final scene of the film by Trump himself, now at the height of his power, being interviewed. Through this transformation, we witness Trump becoming increasingly ruthless, selfish, and detached from anything outside his business ambitions.

Trump’s relationship with Cohn mirrors his dynamic with Ivana Trump (played by Maria Bakalova, best known for her breakout role in Borat). In the beginning, Trump pursues Ivana with an almost naive attitude toward love and family. He envisions a stable life with her, but as his obsession with power and success grows, their relationship begins to deteriorate.

This decline is portrayed in several unsettling scenes, mainly the rape scene, in which Trump’s attitude toward women is clearly denounced, without overtly delving into contemporary political discourse. A feat that the movie is able to carry to the end without leaning too much into a devilish caricature of Trump’s character. But its perspective is not neutral. Instead, it presents Trump’s worldview through a detached lens, allowing the audience to witness his actions and draw their own conclusions. Rather than moralising, Abbasi constructs a stark and unsettling portrait of unchecked ambition.

One of the rare glimpses into the intricate shell that Trump has meticulously constructed around himself emerges in the wake of his brother's passing. In a striking moment of vulnerability, we find him sitting on the edge of his bed, teetering on the brink of tears. When Ivana reaches out to comfort him, he recoils, rejecting her touch and sharply stating, "Don’t look at me." This poignant scene powerfully illustrates his deep-seated belief that vulnerability equates to weakness, a notion he feels he cannot afford to entertain.

This mentality is not just a fleeting reaction; it is deeply rooted in his upbringing and his complex relationship with his father. A pivotal moment in the film comes during the inauguration of Trump Tower, where Fred Trump, portrayed by Martin Donovan, delivers a chilling line: "You made it. You’re a killer." While these words are intended as a form of praise, there is an almost palpable sense of discomfort and resentment in Trump's reaction to them. It’s as if Trump himself is acutely aware that he has been molded into something monstrous, yet he steadfastly refuses to confront this reality.

The entire cast brought their A-game in this movie. Sebastian Stan deserves credit for his portrayal of Trump, which he clearly received, being in the run for an Oscar and having accumulated a series of nominations for his performance. Rather than leaning into impersonation, he brings depth and nuance to the role, attempting to explore what shaped this man into the figure he would ultimately become. Even his facial expressions and accent are subdued, avoiding the risk of slipping into satire, something that, given the meta nature of the film, could have easily happened. His performance captures the gradual erosion of any remaining humanity, making the audience both fascinated and repelled by his transformation.

Jeremy Strong as Cohn is as chilling as ever. His method acting allows him to disappear into this role, shaping Cohn from a ruthless, cutthroat lawyer to a man ultimately stripped of influence and power. By the end, Cohn is reduced to a ghost of a man. Strong’s physical transformation, his demeanour, everything he brings to this character, allows the audience to truly grasp his descent.

The Apprentice is not a political takedown but rather a character study, a chilling portrait of ambition, mentorship, and the cost of power. While Ali Abbasi’s direction ensures that the film remains engaging, there is an undeniable underlying tone that shapes the audience's perception. The absence of any effort to humanise Trump is in itself a statement.

There is no room for compassion or empathy here. By the end, what remains is something chilling, the final scene almost ominous, not just for who he is, but for the realisation that society continuously enables men like him. It is not just about Trump; it's not about politics, it is about the systemic entitlement that fosters figures like him, men who see dominance and oppression as their right. The three rules of Cohn especially ring the point. That is the true horror The Apprentice wants to unveil, not just who Trump is, and the flaws he as a human might have, but how the world we live in perpetually elevates this strive for power above else, often at the expense of others, as something that needs to be praised.

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