‘The Apprentice’ movie review: Sebastian Stan and Jeremy Strong’s powerhouse bromance steals revolting origin story

The Apprentice delves into the early years of Donald Trump's transformation with eerie accuracy and a twisted bromance.

Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice is a grim, disturbing yet enthralling ride through the early years of Donald Trump’s transformation from a brash, grasping real estate scion into the moral vacuum the world has come to know. But unlike the steady diet of headlines and scandals we’ve been fed for decades, The Apprentice tries to offer up something different: it’s not just about Trump, but rather a reflection on how power corrupts the corruptible, and how one man, with the right/wrong mentor, can turn ambition into moral rot.

Sebastian Stan takes on the daunting task of embodying the young Trump, long before the bloated caricature of campaign trails and Twitter tirades, and he does so with a cartoonish physicality. Stan captures Trump’s essence with unnerving accuracy, bringing to life the exaggerated pouting, simian hand movements and slack-jawed smirk. 

But it’s his portrayal of Trump’s emotional trajectory through which Stan captures the subtle unease of a man who, early on, hasn’t quite figured out who he is, but already knows he’s willing to break any rule to become somebody. That somebody just happens to be a figure who will haunt America’s political landscape for years to come.

The heart of the film is Trump’s relationship with Roy Cohn, the infamous lawyer who once helped send the Rosenbergs to the electric chair. Played with a chilling, reptilian intensity by Jeremy Strong (channelling the cold cunning of Waystar-Royco), Cohn slithers through the film as the real architect of Trump’s darker impulses. Virulently homophobic, Cohn sees in Trump a kindred spirit, someone willing to play dirty, lie, and cheat to get what he wants — and someone who, crucially, is too morally pliable to resist. 

Beneath the power plays and cutthroat scheming, The Apprentice sneaks in their twisted bromance under the guise of a political biopic. Abbasi’s subtle suggestions paint their bond as something perversely intimate. Their partnership crackles with a kind of degenerate affection, a mutual recognition of shared depravity, where loyalty is defined by how far one is willing to sink. 

Scenes where the two of them plot, whisper, and connive are filled with the kind of oily camaraderie that makes your skin crawl, like watching Faust before he fully understands the deal he’s signed. There’s a subtle eroticism to their exchanges — a push and pull that’s not overt, but the charge lingers in their glances and quips, imbuing their corrupt partnership with a queasy, intimate heat. 

The performances are key to the film’s success. Strong’s Cohn is a study in manipulation and cynicism, his smooth, fake-tanned exterior barely concealing the roiling, bitter contempt beneath. Watching him blackmail judges, coach Trump on how to bully the press, or casually destroy lives feels disturbingly prescient. Stan, meanwhile, pulls off the incredible feat of making Trump’s early blundering feel almost pitiable… almost. It’s only when you see the glint of self-serving cruelty in his eyes that you remember exactly who you’re dealing with.