THE FILM «THE APPRENTICE»: Hollywood as a Battlefield
Source of the photo: IMDb.com
Donald Trump’s victory in the U.S. presidential election became a genuine sensation and a crushing defeat for the American Democrats. Their eternal opponents gained a majority in the Senate and will likely secure control of the House of Representatives. Trump himself enacted a personal vendetta after losing to the Democrats in 2020.
The election campaign coincided with the release of a biographical film about the 47th President of the United States from director Ali Abassi, in which a young and diligent businessman Donald John Trump (played by Marvel actor Sebastian Stan), a real estate trader in Manhattan, enlists the support of famous lawyer and blackmailer Roy Cohn (in this role, the star of ‘The Heirs’ Jeremy Strong), takes over the whole of New York.
Cinema, of course, cannot literally impose messages on the audience, but its power is undeniable. What role did the film The Apprentice: The Rise of Trump (2024) play in Trump’s victory? And did it play any role at all? Masquerading as a moderately sharp satire of the victor of the current presidential race, The Apprentice depicts Cohn as a modern-day Dr. Frankenstein, crafting the future President by instilling in him three fundamental business principles, which Trump later repeats as his own while working on The Art of the Deal:
- Attack, attack, attack.
- Admit nothing, deny everything.
- Declare victory and never acknowledge defeat.
The brilliant actor Sebastian Stan, despite his reluctance to humanize his character, imbues young Trump with what can only be described as «growing confidence» — a willingness to follow Roy Cohn anywhere, as long as Cohn helps him build the iconic hotel on 42nd Street. And, of course, avoid real estate taxes in the process.
This paints a vivid portrait of a wild capitalist unburdened by the illusions of conscience. Cohn preaches what he practices, and Trump, with unwavering dedication, adopts these principles into his own life. The film seems like an exposé — essentially saying, «Look who you’re electing (or have elected) as president». Yet the truth is that The Apprentice wasn’t funded by a Democrat but by an ardent Trump supporter, billionaire Dan Snyder, the former owner of the Washington Commanders.
As Variety reported, Snyder, who invested in The Apprentice through the production company of his son-in-law, Mark Rappaport, was initially convinced that his money was being spent on a laudatory ode to the 47th president. However, after watching a rough cut of the film, he allegedly demanded that director Ali Abbasi and screenwriter Gabriel Sherman destroy the footage. Yet, no further action was taken.
Trump himself lashed out at the film, calling it a «cheap, libelous, and politically disgusting hatchet job» supposedly aimed at «harming the greatest political movement in history — Make America Great Again».
Ali Abbasi, however, seemed unfazed by Trump’s insults on Truth Social. «Thank you for your response, @realDonaldTrump», the director posted alongside a screenshot of his reply. «I’m happy to talk further if you’d like. Today is a busy day with lots of press for #TheApprentice, but maybe I can call you tomorrow».
So why does this scandalous portrayal of Trump — depicting him sexually assaulting his wife (Ivana, who had once accused Trump of rape during divorce proceedings but later retracted the claim), taking amphetamines, undergoing liposuction, and getting hair transplants — continue to perform reasonably well in cinemas?
Perhaps it’s because, despite the protagonist’s moral repulsiveness, he embodies an archetype with all the privileges and advantages on his side: an absolute cynic who strides through life, casting aside the defeated.
Republican values — marriage, family, politics — are also prominently displayed on screen. This well-crafted, vibrant, and compact film ultimately settles on a simple truth: «There’s no explanation for this guy other than his eccentricity, immoral determination, and greed». But who could be surprised by that today? The same principles, in essence, are upheld by Trump’s opponents, the American liberals, though cloaked in a veil of humanistic populism. And the audience senses it — and votes accordingly.
Is The Apprentice a campaign ad for Trump? It’s hard to say. Cinema, especially American cinema, regardless of whom it recruits under its banner (Abbasi, after all, is an ethnically Iranian filmmaker raised in Denmark), is a powerful medium and a distributor of specific ideologies. It plays a significant role in shaping our worldview and moral values and reinforcing social norms.
Hollywood is a battlefield where representatives of various ideological perspectives, knowingly or not, fight for the hearts and minds of viewers worldwide, especially within its homeland of America.
Outwardly apolitical, Hollywood cinema carries hidden messages that gently dictate how viewers should live. Truly, mass-market films serve as a showcase for the interests of the ruling ideology, presenting them as truthful and natural depictions of life. Yet, they are anything but — these systems are artificially embedded into society. The illusion that cinema (especially documentaries) represents the objective truth of life makes it a potent tool of ideological control and, at times, a pillar of political power.
Consider the screen cult of muscular men who decisively took the law into their own hands to protect the interests of ordinary Americans and uphold conservative (read: Republican) family values. This trope faithfully served America during Ronald Reagan’s era. By the end of another Republican’s presidency — George H.W. Bush — Hollywood produced what can be seen as a true conservative manifesto: Forrest Gump (1994).
One of the greatest films in cinema history, it doesn’t just tell the story of a kind-hearted man with autism from Alabama but also celebrates Republican ideals — family, faith, and honest work. The film’s ideological undertones are evident in its portrayal of Forrest as a Vietnam War hero, akin to John Rambo, while anti-war activists (read: left-leaning Democrats) are depicted as unappealing outcasts.
Forrest Gump is a figure who bridges America’s past and future, uniting different social groups and fostering renewed American unity. Isn’t this what Trump speaks of today, promising to unite America and make it great again?
American cinema frequently portrays characters willing to step over others to achieve their goals. This is how young Trump is depicted in The Apprentice, how Jordan Belfort is shown in The Wolf of Wall Street, and how Jessica Chastain’s character is portrayed in Scenes from a Marriage.
But Forrest is almost childishly kind to those around him and accepts any work as a given. At the same time, he effortlessly achieves everything that any American (or otherwise) careerist could dream of — from international sports victories to media fame and an unparalleled business career. None of this feels like mere luck. Robert Zemeckis’ film subtly echoes the Protestant work ethic foundational to capitalism — virtue, obedience, and honest labor.
A similar message is conveyed in the social-realist melodrama The Pursuit of Happyness (2006), based on the real-life story of American millionaire Chris Gardner (played by Will Smith), who rose to become a top-tier stockbroker after enduring numerous financial failures and struggling through shelters with his young son in tow.
This morally conservative film, created during George W. Bush’s presidency, portrays Gardner not as a greedy, cynical Wall Street mogul but as an incredibly hardworking individual — ambitious and intelligent, striving to achieve more for himself and his child.
During Bush Jr.’s tenure, Hollywood largely ignored the heroism of American soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan but instead produced the testosterone-fueled action epic 300 (2006), which celebrated martial honor, unyielding bravery, and the often-overlooked truth that freedom is never free.
Beneath the layers of blatant «non-history» (the film is based on Frank Miller’s graphic novel) lies a stylized depiction of the ancient Battle of Thermopylae and Sparta’s defense of the young institutions of the West. The Persian horde, driven forward by whips, is met by a small band of Spartans motivated by their convictions and commitment to the law.
Debates about how to deal with Sauron and Saruman mirrored American discussions on the war in Iraq. The Lord of the Rings trilogy (2001), based on the work of conservative writer J.R.R. Tolkien, became another Republican hit in Hollywood, perfectly fitting the post-9/11 worldview.
Amid the ruins of the Twin Towers, Mel Gibson’s Braveheart (1995) resonated with a generation of American youth who signed up to fight terrorists rather than invite them to join in «constructive dialogue».
It’s said that since then, American liberals have never forgiven Mel Gibson.
Gran Torino (2008), by another American conservative as iconic as classic Hollywood itself — Clint Eastwood — feels like a requiem for a changing America (not necessarily for the worse) and for a dignified life that inevitably comes to an end. Eastwood’s old-fashioned, lonely, and good-hearted racist curmudgeon comes to realize that his exotic Hmong neighbors embody traditional social values far more than his own dysfunctional nuclear white family.
Cinema, of course, cannot literally impose messages on the viewer, contrary to popular belief. Studies have shown that audiences have a more complex relationship with what they see on screen.
Even children, during various research studies, have demonstrated a nuanced approach to screen images, proving equally capable of distinguishing between different forms of on-screen violence.
It has been established, for instance, that during the 1990s, despite television, cinema, and music becoming more aggressive and the rise of violent video games, real-world crime rates actually declined.
Films themselves cannot directly cause violence, discrimination, Islamophobia, genocide, or the imposition of political ideologies. They merely play a role in shaping our perception of the world around us.
Cinema teaches us to adapt, exposes us to diverse viewpoints, spreads ideas, and challenges seemingly ordinary social norms.
Likewise, The Apprentice, chronicling the period when Trump’s star first rose over Manhattan, turning into a beacon of Reagan-era capitalism, offers no clear answers. It merely subtly shapes the viewer’s perspective. Then again, every era has the President it deserves. In dark times, Britain had Churchill — hardly a saint. For the U.S., it’s Trump.
