Abbasi’s Apprentice tells a far different story, with three scenes that mirror the grand bargain between Goethe’s Faust, a fictional scholar who received everything the world could offer, yet remained unsatisfied, and Mephistopheles, the agent of Lucifer, a cunning, demonic force, who made a bet with God that he could purchase the soul of Faust in return for wealth, fame, power, and all the pleasures of the flesh, even Helen of Troy, before being taken down into Hell, where a long awaited payment could finally be collected.
The first scene that demands our attention occurs about 28 minutes into the film, when a young Trump — played almost perfectly by Sebastian Stan in an Oscar-nominated performance — is initiated by Cohn into the dark arts of power after witnessing blackmail and extortion. Donald (he is not yet Trump, or even Faust, for that matter) sits inside Cohn’s townhome, silent, speechless, unable to process the use of such flagrant immorality. “I don’t know what I just saw,” he mumbles, rationalizing his own complicity as he sits far away from Cohn on the couch, in a lame attempt to remain pure. Cohn orders him to come closer as he prepares the first of many lessons: This is a nation of men, not laws, and men can be bullied, shamed, bribed, threatened, and seduced. “There is no right or wrong,” Cohn tells Donald. “There is no morality, there is no Truth, with a capital T. It’s a fiction, a construct. It is man made. Nothing matters except winning — that’s it.”
The conversation, which pulls the veil from 27-year-old Donald’s eyes over the worthiness of virtue, recalls the admission Mephistopheles makes to Faust upon appearing inside Faust’s study, out of a vaporous cloud, when he introduces his wondrous abilities to God’s once faithful servant: “Let foolish little human souls / delude themselves that they are wholes / I am part of that part, when all began / was all there was / part of Darkness before man / Whence light was born, proud light, which now makes futile war / To wrest from Night, its mother, what before / was hers, her ancient place and space.”
In both cases, while terms of an agreement have been established, a pact requires consecration. Midway through the film, a critical exchange of values between Donald and Cohn is illustrated in a short burst of scenes. Donald stands on the cusp of his breakthrough project, renovating the dilapidated Commodore Hotel in Midtown, having convinced Hyatt’s Jay Pritzker that he has already secured a generous property tax abatement from the City’s Board of Estimate. Of course, this is untrue, so Donald rushes over to his mentor’s home in the middle of the night, frantic, helpless, desperate to secure the greatest favor yet from his patron. “I’ll do anything, whatever you want,” Donald begs. “You can’t turn fishes into loaves,” Cohn replies, about to slam the door on his subject. “I’m begging you, Roy. I believe in this. I’m begging you, Roy, please, just make the call.” Donald is vulnerable and frenzied. His fate lies in Cohn’s hands; only Cohn’s voice — a call to a higher power — can make a difference in his life. Cohn hesitates before telling Donald that he’ll use his influence on the mayor the next morning. “Be glad he owes me,” he nods before they embrace. Donald, near tears, in an uncharacteristic show of gratitude, whispers, “I love you. I love you.”
A complete unknown stands before his benefactor, promising anything he wants in return, so long as this dark force uses his mysterious powers to influence the direction of his life. Have we not seen this before?