Are monsters born or created? And are they going to be elected again in November?

Director Ali Abassi’s film about Donald Trump, from a script from journalist Gabriel Sherman, toys with the first question while riding the wave of fear or glee (depending on your political leanings) inspired by the second. Playing with a subtle Frankenstein motif, Abassi’s film focuses on Trump’s career in the 70s and 80s and his relationship with lawyer and political fixer Roy Cohn, who by the 70s had already made a name for himself as the man who ensured that Julius and Ethel Rosenburg would be executed for spying; was representing every mobster in New York; and had developed a well-earned reputation for being a shark, ready to turn anyone to chum.

When the two meet, Trump (Sebastian Stan) is managing apartment buildings owned by his oppressive father (Martin Donovan) and dreaming of building his first luxury hotel on 42nd street in New York. Developers laugh at him – New York is seedy, crime-riddled and broke, and luxury hotels aren’t on anyone’s priority list. But after a chance meeting with Cohn (Jeremy Strong) in a members-only club, Cohn takes a shine to the naïve but ambitious blond kid in a mediocre suit. The first half of The Apprentice shows Trump and Cohn’s relationship, with Cohn showing Trump how blackmail, vengeful lawsuits and media manipulation are the keys to the kingdom – and it works. With Cohn’s help, Trump manages to dodge property taxes, starts schmoozing with Rupert Murdoch and learns Cohn’s three tenets of life and business, which Trump would later repeat as his own in the book The Art Of The Deal: One, Attack, attack, attack. Two, Admit nothing, deny everything. And three, claim victory and never admit defeat.

Along with politicians and city officials who are easily seduced by nationalist dreams of making New York great again and a media landscape ready to swoon over a man who represents good ol’ American capitalism, these tenets serve Trump well in business – and as we know, would later come to define his political career. Cohn was often described as a lawyer who had contempt for the law, and it’s easy to see how his attitude could have influenced a president with utter contempt for democracy and the institutions of politics. Cohn’s understanding of how narrative can be crafted and presented as truth creates Trump’s reputation, and also protects Cohn. Cohn was gay at a time where the AIDS crisis was beginning, but his refusal to come out publicly and his presentation of a ruthlessly aggressive form of masculinity kept his sexuality an open but unweaponized secret.

As the film moves from the 70s to the Reagan-era capitalism of the 80s, Trump’s success soars, while Cohn’s life begins to crumble, and the power dynamic between the two men switches. As Trump undergoes liposuction, pops diet pills and gets surgery on his scalp to hide a bald spot, some body horror underscores the Frankenstein metaphor: the creature has been stitched together by lies, vanity and ego, and is now on the loose.

The performances in The Apprentice are nothing short of remarkable. Trump is a cartoonish figure who has been caricatured and comedy impressioned to death, but Sebastian Stan brings a subtlety and realism to even Trump’s well-known mannerisms, gently pursing his lips and making his particular speech pattern feel natural. As we meet Trump’s father and his alcoholic older brother Freddie, we see young Trump’s insecurities and desire to prove himself. When he meets Ivana (brilliantly portrayed by Borat actress Maria Bakalova) Stan even imbues Trump with some awkward charm – and then gradually shifts his performance so any vulnerability or interest in other people is replaced with ego, aggression and an ability to abuse and discard anyone who isn’t actively enabling him. Scenes of him having temper tantrums when city officials confront him over underpaying construction workers show his growing entitlement around his work, and this entitlement bleeds into his personal life. As Trump becomes threatened by Ivana’s individual success, he becomes increasingly disparaging of her and, in one upsetting scene, rapes her – an event Ivana claimed happened while under oath during a divorce deposition though she later walked it back. The inclusion of this feels defensible in one sense that we know Trump is a sexual predator, but along with a completely unnecessary scene showing Cohn having sex, the taste level of the scene’s graphic nature is deeply questionable.

While Stan is impressive, Jeremy Strong is incredible. Quickly becoming known as one of the greatest actors working today, Strong brings a steely, shiver-inducing ruthlessness to Cohn who often stares unblinking like a predator beast eyeing up a snack. Speaking quickly and brashly, firing off insults and casually destroying lives, Strong’s Cohn is vain and magnetic. For the first half, at least. In the second half, as Cohn’s health begins to decline, Strong manages to evoke real pathos, showing how power, privilege and money can’t protect from everything. On the AIDS Memorial Quilt, Cohn is commemorated with a square that says ‘Bully, Coward, Victim’, and Strong conveys all those qualities.

There are some fascinating and some frivolous Easter eggs laced throughout The Apprentice, like the origin of his fake tan addiction, early questions about whether he would ever go into politics, a nod to MAGA, and cameos from people like Andy Warhol, showing how Trump rubbed shoulders with all of New York’s important figures. But there are questionable gaps too, including any reference to Trump’s actual politics or the rise of reality television and the role the media played in glorifying corrupt poster boys for capitalism. But amidst the references to now famous Trumpisms and recounting of actual and fictionalised events, what’s lacking is a distinct P.O.V. Trump’s career is remarkably documented, filmed and televised, and in the absence of new or revealing information, a film about him requires some psychological insight, and The Apprentice doesn’t have any to offer. Sure, Sherman notes Trump’s unsupportive father and the sad fate of his brother – but lots of people have distant parents and family tragedies without turning into sexual abusers, pathological liars and fascist leaders. No further insight is offered into the man, making The Apprentice frustrating as a character study, and insights into how political and media institutions enabled him aren’t explored enough for the movie to work as a commentary on or satire of the American Dream.

By the end of The Apprentice, I felt like I had watched two episodes of a twelve episode limited series, and felt frustrated that I wasn’t being offered more insight, perspective or a distinct point of view. Unluckily for all of us, Trump’s status in American and global politics mean we’ll be seeing many more portrayals of him onscreen for years to come (hopefully featuring only one onscreen presidency.) The acting in future portrayals may not be as good as this one, but they may offer more answers.