Tepid ‘Apprentice’ is trumped by shallowness
Finally, after years of political divisiveness stoked by Donald Trump, we now have something we can all agree on … Donald Trump. Or, at least the version of him presented in “The Apprentice,” a Hollywoodized chronicle of the former president’s early years when the aspiring New York real estate developer came under the influence of unscrupulous attorney Roy Cohn. No matter where you stand on the once – and possibly future – POTUS, the consensus will likely be that this “Apprentice” should be “fired!” And toot sweet.
As scripted by journalist Gabriel Sherman, the dull would-be satire is neither humorous nor insightful. It just kinda sits there languidly as fine performances by Sebastian Stan as Trump and Jeremy Strong as Cohn ruefully go to waste. Both are perfectly cast, with Stan nailing all the subtle tics and mannerisms of an increasingly arrogant young man desperate to prove himself to his doubtful father, and Strong projecting the utter soullessness of a prig prone to boast about being responsible for the execution of Ethel and Julius Rosenberg.
It starts out on solid footing, as fate and ambition on the part of Trump, bring him and Cohn together in the restroom of the trendy Manhattan watering hole, Le Club. Impressed by Trump’s obsequious enthusiasm to sit at his knee, Cohn gives the kid a break, even going so far as to represent him in a housing discrimination case brought by the feds. In no time, Cohn’s eager student is being schooled in the three basics of narcissistic assholery: “attack, attack, attack”; “admit nothing, deny everything”; “claim victory, and never admit defeat.”
Words Trump continues to live by whether in the court of law or court of public opinion. And it is this philosophy that has endeared him to tens of millions of voters and caused unrelenting anguish for all who despise him. With Trump, there’s no between. He’s the epitome of polarization. Why is that? Don’t expect “The Apprentice” to tell you. Sherman and director Ali Abbasi have little interest in exploring what makes Cohn and Trump tick, beyond the latter’s well-known, deep-seated daddy issues.
They opt for the traditional superficiality of a TV biopic, content to simply recreate all the key moments with insufficient context and stirring little curiosity. You’d be better off watching a newsreel. It would certainly provide depth and be more absorbing. “Citizen Kane” this is not. It’s closer to a Lifetime adaptation of Orson Welles’ masterpiece about a tight-assed titan determined to win over his unloving guardian through any means necessary.
As Trump’s not-so-doting daddy, Martin Donovan looks the part of a callous malcontent disappointed that one son, Fred Jr. (Charlie Carrick), grew up to be an alcoholic airline pilot; and the other, Donald, was a born troublemaker whose recalcitrance grew too extreme for even military school to squelch.
Donald’s “Rosebud” was a single word of approval from a man who didn’t have it in him to love his sons. Donovan gets Fred Trump’s coldness down pat. So much so that at times, thanks to Stan’s remarkable portrayal, you come within a hair’s breadth of summoning a modicum of empathy for The Donald.
More often, though, you’re repelled by Donald’s willingness to act as a cipher, as pliable as his renditions of the truth. He’s so desperate to be accepted by seasoned associates – especially the ones in Manhattan who flat-out dismiss the kid from Queens – that you almost feel embarrassed for him. This Trump is weak, lacks integrity and is incapable of compromise. He craves the respect no one is inclined to give him. To most, he’s a joke. Labeled as Cohn’s adoring sycophant, he follows his mentor like a lost puppy. That was the case in the 1970s anyway. When the film’s second half fast forwards to the 1980s, the roles are reversed, with Cohn’s scorched-earth approach to life rapidly catching up with him.
His throne has been usurped by the monster he created, with Trump heartlessly waving him off, especially after Cohn contracts HIV. This is also when Strong is at his best, harnessing that same combination of victimhood and self-hatred he brought so brilliantly to life as Kendall Roy in “Succession.” It’s a complete 180 from the air of superiority he projected earlier in the film, when all (except Fred Trump) who came into the presence of Cohn bowed to his royal highness, whether he was holding court at Le Club or asking – and being granted – favors by New York’s most influential pols.
Strong consistently delivers on whatever the script asks of him. Does it top Al Pacino’s Emmy-winning take on the same character in Tony Kushner’s “Angels in America”? No way. But he’s a close second, particularly in his physical transformation, whether it’s the virile bon vivant on top of the world early on or the gaunt. ghostly figure afflicted with AIDS.
He’s hardly The Donald’s only object of disdain. So too are the women in his life, namely his mother Mary Anne (Catherine McNally, struggling with a Scottish brogue); and lover, Ivana (Maria Bakalova), whom he relentlessly pursues, not so much in the name of love but as a trophy wife who’ll enhance his image on the red carpet. In his early scenes with Bakalova, Stans renders Trump a lovelorn teenager, as the Czech beauty repeatedly rebuffs her future husband until she finally surrenders to his newly adopted “attack, attack, attack” strategy.
Unfortunately, that “attack, attack, attack” approach grows particularly ugly when the marriage starts to sour, culminating in the infamous night Trump allegedly “raped” Ivana. It becomes the most drastic example of The Donald’s impulse to exert power over anyone who challenges him. In turn, Bakalova is superb at expressing the shame and humiliation inflicted upon her. It also foreshadows the multiple allegations of sexual assault that will become a large part of Trump’s reputation.
Making a cameo is Don Jr. in diapers. That he is referred to by name is indicative of filmmakers who feel the need to spoon-feed their audience. The result is a movie that strikes a tone of condescension as it works overtime painting Trump as a pathetic loser employing conceit and deception to pump up an inflated ego. It’s meant as neither damning nor vindicating, just Donald being Donald.
Essentially, you learn nothing new. Even more dissatisfying, you have no better understanding of how this aspiring autocrat became such a dour, thin-skinned crank seemingly incapable of expressing joy or happiness. Do we need a two-hour movie to tell us he thrives on grievance and revenge? It’s nothing we haven’t already gleaned from watching the real thing 24-7 on cable news. But as I said, love him or hate him, few will dispute that “The Apprentice” isn’t just lazy, it just doesn’t work.
Movie review
The Apprentice
Rated: R for sexual assault, language, drug use, sexual content and some graphic nudity
Cast: Sebastian Stan, Jeremy Strong, Maria Bakalova, Martin Donovan, Catherine McNally and Charlie Carrick
Director: Ali Abbasi
Writer: Gabriel Sherman
Runtime: 2 hours
Where: In theaters Oct. 11
Grade: C