The Apprentice is not a political film. It is not interested in grand statements or moral judgments. Instead, it offers something far more powerful: an intimate character study of the man behind the myth. This is not the Trump we see in headlines, debates, or social media battles. This is the young Donald, the product of a cutthroat father, a warped value system, and an America that rewards audacity over authenticity.
At its core, the film is a story about identity and ambition. It dissects how ego is constructed, how a persona is shaped not through self-discovery, but through the endless pursuit of power, validation, and attention. Thematically, it explores masculinity, insecurity, capitalism, and the seductive nature of control. Yet, it does all of this without overt commentary. It never tells you what to feel. It simply presents the truth as it was, and trusts you to reckon with it.
Sebastian Stan delivers the performance of his career. There are moments when you forget you’re watching an actor. He completely vanishes into the role, capturing not only the cadence and posture of a young Trump, but the vulnerability, the desperation, and the quiet rage beneath the surface. This isn’t impersonation. It’s transformation. Stan brings humanity to a figure who has long been larger than life. He gives us a Trump who is broken, insecure, and deeply human.
The supporting cast is strong across the board. Jeremy Strong as Roy Cohn is chilling. His scenes with Stan are electric, filled with subtle power dynamics and unspoken emotional manipulation. Maria Bakalova also deserves praise for her grounded, empathetic portrayal of Ivana. Every performance serves the story. No one is playing for caricature. Everyone is locked into truth.
Ali Abbasi directs with an assured, unflinching eye. He understands that restraint is power. He resists the urge to editorialise, instead creating a mood of observation. The camera often lingers a beat too long, catching glances, twitches, or pauses that reveal more than any line of dialogue could. It is confident, character-driven direction that trusts the audience’s intelligence.
The pacing is tight in the first half, setting up the world and character arcs with precision. The second half slows just slightly, but never loses grip. Each scene builds on the last, gradually unspooling Trump’s descent from uncertain boy to media-obsessed force. Abbasi knows exactly when to hold tension and when to let it snap.
The film’s cinematography isn’t just about aesthetics; it’s an essential storytelling device. The handheld style is carefully controlled not chaotic, but observational. It gives the illusion of real-time discovery, as if we’re in the room, listening in on conversations that were never meant to be recorded. This technique is particularly effective during heated discussions, backroom deals, and morally ambiguous decisions. The camera often lingers just long enough, as if hesitant to intrude further, but too compelled to look away.
Composition plays a significant role in how power dynamics are visually conveyed. Close-ups are often used to emphasize dominance or vulnerability, while wide shots with isolated figures reinforce the idea of power being wielded behind closed doors. The blocking of characters within the frame feels unforced yet strategic. Conversations are often filmed at oblique angles or through reflective surfaces, subtly reinforcing the themes of deception and calculated ambition.
Visual Aesthetics
The Apprentice is a triumph in visual storytelling, fully immersing the audience in the world of 1970s and 80s New York through its deliberate and meticulous cinematography. The film adopts a textured, almost voyeuristic aesthetic, one that feels more like unearthed documentary footage than a polished biopic. The choice of aspect ratio, a slightly boxy frame reminiscent of the era’s television broadcasts, immediately transports us back in time. It narrows the field of view just enough to create a sense of intimacy, making the audience feel like they’re peering into moments they were never meant to witness.
The color grading is a standout element. Muted browns, deep yellows, and desaturated blues dominate the palette, emulating the look of 16mm and early video footage from the period. There’s a distinct grain to the image, whether achieved digitally or through actual film stock, that further enhances the illusion of stepping into a bygone era. The lighting, while naturalistic, is never flat; shadows stretch across faces in dimly lit rooms, evoking the feeling of secrecy, ambition, and power struggles unfolding just outside the public eye.
Camera Work
The cinematography in The Apprentice thrives on its handheld, fly-on-the-wall approach. The camera rarely settles completely, always breathing with the characters, moving just enough to make the audience feel present but not distracting from the performances. Unlike more chaotic handheld styles seen in modern cinema, this is a restrained approach, one that feels journalistic rather than theatrical.
The framing choices are deliberate, often positioning characters within cramped spaces, half-obscured by objects in the foreground, or framed through doorways. This not only enhances the sense of secrecy but also mirrors the idea that these are private moments captured without permission. The lack of overtly cinematic compositions is precisely what makes the film feel so real, every shot feels as if it was captured by an observer in the room rather than a filmmaker trying to craft a perfect image.
There are also moments where the camera pulls back and allows the environment to play a role in the storytelling. Scenes in office spaces, dimly lit hotel rooms, or smoke-filled lounges are all filmed with a quiet patience, letting the audience soak in the era’s atmosphere. The occasional use of slow zooms is particularly effective, subtly amplifying tension without drawing attention to itself.
Technical Mastery
The filmmakers made specific choices in their camera and lens selection to authentically recreate the look and feel of the 70s and 80s. Here’s a breakdown of the technical execution:
•Cameras: The film was shot using the ARRI Alexa 35 digital camera. To emulate the look of 16mm film, the production reduced the effective sensor size, capturing footage that closely resembled the grainy texture of period news footage.
• Lenses: The cinematographer chose to shoot on 35mm film, which immediately gives the movie a rich, grainy texture that evokes the era without ever feeling like pastiche. The lenses are mostly vintage Zeiss and Cooke primes, which offer a soft, almost dreamlike quality to the image, especially in close-ups. The shallow depth of field is used sparingly but with great effect, pulling us into the internal world of the characters. Certain sequences, especially the slower dramatic scenes, are shot with longer focal lengths to compress the space and heighten tension. The use of handheld cameras in more intimate or volatile scenes adds a subtle rawness, creating the feeling that we’re eavesdropping on moments we were never supposed to see
• Aspect Ratio: The film’s choice of a slightly narrower aspect ratio (likely 1.66:1 or 1.85:1) is a crucial decision in reinforcing the time period. It avoids the ultra-wide framing of modern films, instead bringing a sense of confinement and intimacy that aligns with the era’s cinematic and television standards.
• Color Grading: Two distinct LUTs (Look-Up Tables) were applied during post-production: one to emulate the characteristics of 16mm film and another to replicate the analog video aesthetic of the 1980s. This dual approach allowed for a seamless visual transition between different eras depicted in the film
• Lighting: The lighting is meticulously naturalistic. Soft tungsten hues dominate interiors, giving the film an amber glow that feels both nostalgic and suffocating. Shadows are embraced, particularly in office and corridor scenes, to reflect the secrecy and power games at play. Exterior scenes, especially during twilight or night, use practical sources to enhance realism. Neon signs, desk lamps, even TV monitors are used as diegetic sources that shape mood without drawing attention to themselves.
Use of Space and Environment
The film immerses the viewer in the texture of the 70s and 80s, not just through production design, but through how space is used. Offices feel like cages. Boardrooms echo with silent competition. Nightclubs shimmer with the illusion of status. Every location is chosen with purpose, showing the environments that shaped Trump’s rise.
Consistency and Intent
Every visual decision in the film feels intentional. The cinematography evolves subtly over time. Early scenes are more composed, more polished, mirroring the aspirational world young Trump is entering. As he becomes more powerful, the visuals grow darker, more fragmented. There’s a visual arc to match his moral descent. The final act, especially, uses framing and negative space to show isolation, even when Trump is surrounded by people.
Watching The Apprentice is a strange experience. You find yourself empathising with someone you thought you had no empathy for, considering that we are in real-time experiencing what the world looks like should the ambitions and plan of Young Donald come to fruition. It doesn’t try to redeem or vilify Trump. It simply opens a window into his formation and lets you feel what he felt. That’s rare. That’s powerful.
Emotionally, the film is tragic. Not in a traditional sense, but in the way it shows how a boy, robbed of love and validation, becomes a man addicted to the spotlight. Intellectually, it challenges you to reconsider how power is created, and who gets to wield it. It never preaches. It simply presents the cost of becoming someone the world cannot ignore.
The Apprentice is one of the most engaging, provocative films I’ve seen in years. It respects its audience, its material, and its craft. It is not a political takedown or a puff piece. It is a character study executed with precision and restraint. And it is carried by a transformative performance from Sebastian Stan that deserves every ounce of praise it will receive.
A masterful film that uses cinema not to judge, but to understand.