Darkness and Light in the Rise of Power: The Apprentice and In the Garden of Beasts

Nurturing Our Brightness in a Dark World

I realize I’m a bit behind the times writing on these two pieces of media, as I’m playing catch up on some key 2024 films in advance of “awards season” (no need to get me started on the deeply flawed and biased institutions they are—I’ll simply say this: I enjoy the prompt to explore additional films via the larger nomination lists (especially foreign and independent films), and take little stock in winners/losers). I’m also a bit of a cinemaphile—watching upwards of 200+ films/year. In a past life, I worked on independent films behind the camera, and as a producer. Moreover, a past version of myself (and future one?) has always dreamed of being a documentary filmmaker. I digress.

As I mentioned in my last entry, I spent part of New Year’s Day in a small cinema in Mexico watching The Apprentice (2024) with a group of around 20 other expats. Later, I had dinner at a cozy Italian restaurant, where packed tables of celebratory families and friends gathered in communion for the year ahead. As I sat at my small corner table, in observation, contemplation, these are the thoughts that arose…

Illuminating the Balance

In a small restaurant on New Year’s Day, two pendant lamps hang like silent witnesses. Their exteriors are painted black, merging with the dim shadows of the room, ominous and foreboding. But inside, they glow gold—the warmth of their reflective surfaces spills outward, softening the darkness, creating halos against the darkness. This juxtaposition resonates like a metaphor for the human soul—a glowing orb of good, surrounded by the ever-encroaching dark.

The human condition is complex, and Homo sapiens have long been identified as one of the most dangerous species to exist on this planet due to our capacity for reason, emotional responses and the development of sophisticated methods for inflicting violence (heck, these traits are what kept our species alive so long ago). Yet these aspects of human nature and society continue to threaten and overshadow the goodness and light of our more evolved human spirit. It takes work not to get sucked into the more toxic parts of our human society, such as:

• Moral Corruption: The tendency to prioritize self-interest, power, and ambition at the expense of empathy, fairness, and justice.

• Fear and Apathy: The unwillingness to act or speak out against injustice, driven by fear of personal loss or indifference to the suffering of others.

• Hatred and Division: The cultivation of prejudice, bigotry, and actions that dehumanize and divide individuals and groups.

• Greed and Exploitation: The unchecked desire for material gain and dominance, often at the cost of ethical considerations or the well-being of others.

• Deception and Manipulation: The intentional twisting of truth to serve one’s own ends, eroding trust and fostering cynicism.

The darkness isn’t always loud or overt—it creeps in through subtle compromises, passive inaction, or the normalization of harmful behaviors. It’s a force that, left unchecked, leads to the loss of personal integrity and societal cohesion.

The light—the “glow”—is the intentional choice to act with kindness, courage, and ethical awareness, both in small, everyday interactions and larger, more challenging moments. It is the light of morality and resilience that keeps the darkness at bay, but it is not guaranteed; it requires fuel. Only through the active pursuit of compassion, humility, and intentionality can we nurture this glow and counter the ever-present tension between light and darkness—a universal struggle that ultimately shapes the character of individuals and the collective spirit of communities.

Sitting beneath these lights, I’m reflecting on two figures whose stories embody this tension between the black and the gold: Donald Trump, as explored in The Apprentice, and Adolf Hitler, whose rise Erik Larson masterfully recounts in his book In the Garden of Beasts. Their trajectories show us what happens when the blackness overtakes the light—when ambition, narcissism, and an unchecked hunger for power consume the soul, casting its shadow far beyond the individual.

The Apprentice: The Making of a Persona

In Ali Abbasi’s The Apprentice, Donald Trump’s rise in 1970s New York is laid bare. Sebastian Stan plays Trump not as a caricature but as a man shaped by his environment—a son of privilege who becomes the student of Roy Cohn, the infamously ruthless lawyer who teaches Trump the art of never apologizing, always attacking, and spinning every failure into a victory.

Trump learns that power lies not in truth but in perception. Abbasi uses cinematic tools to highlight this transformation: the cold, sharp angles of Manhattan skyscrapers mirror the unyielding ambition of Trump’s ascent, while scenes of opulent excess juxtapose with the moral vacuity of his choices.

The narrative unfolds like a Greek tragedy, where the protagonist’s hubris—his unrelenting belief in his own infallibility—leads to his eventual unraveling. Trump’s relentless pursuit of success, shaped by Cohn’s mantra of power at all costs, is a reminder of how the cultivation of a public persona can obscure the human beneath it.

In the Garden of Beasts: Witness to a Slow Descent

Erik Larson’s In the Garden of Beasts offers a different lens: that of a reluctant observer to the rise of evil. The book chronicles the experiences of William Dodd, America’s ambassador to Germany in the early 1930s, and his family as they navigate the increasingly oppressive and violent Nazi regime.

Dodd’s initial naivety mirrors that of the world at large—a belief that Hitler’s bluster would fade, that diplomacy would prevail, that reason could contain chaos. But as the book progresses, the reader, along with Dodd, witnesses the slow erosion of democratic institutions, the rise of unchecked propaganda, and the chilling normalization of violence.

Larson’s narrative is suffused with a sense of foreboding, a realization that the world stood by as darkness gathered. Dodd’s attempts to sound the alarm were largely ignored, dismissed as overreactions. The story is not just about Hitler but about the conditions that allowed him to thrive: economic despair, social unrest, and a collective unwillingness to confront uncomfortable truths.

We are the observer, watching a passenger train (Europe) bound for disaster (WWII) and know the devastating ending, but can’t divert the weight and velocity from its track.

Parallels of Power and Personality

While their contexts differ—Trump emerging in the freewheeling capitalism of 20th-century America, Hitler rising in the aftermath of World War I and the Treaty of Versailles—both men harnessed their respective environments to build power through manipulation, fear, and a tenuous relationship with the idea of truth. For both, truth was/is not an immutable value but a tool to be bent, reframed, or outright discarded to suit their ambitions. This fluidity with facts allow(s/ed) them to construct narratives that resonate(d/s) with their audiences, exploiting fears and desires while obscuring their deeper intentions. By shaping perception rather than adhering to reality, they both demonstrate(ed) how dismissing truth can create pathways to unchecked power—and devastating consequences.

Both Hitler and Trump understood the power of narrative—how shaping a story could obscure reality and command influence. For Hitler, it was grandiose speeches and the chilling vision he laid out in Mein Kampf, casting himself as Germany’s destined savior. For Trump, it was his carefully constructed persona as the master dealmaker, immortalized in The Art of the Deal. Both men knew that perception often mattered more than truth and wielded this understanding to galvanize their supporters and deflect scrutiny.

At the core of their approaches was an inability—or refusal—to see beyond themselves. Trump’s steadfast refusal to admit fault mirrors Hitler’s unwavering belief in his predestined greatness. These traits, rooted in a need for admiration and a lack of empathy, ripple outward with consequences that extend far beyond the individual. Their actions, driven by self-interest and delusion, leave trails of harm that are both personal and global, reshaping lives and societies in ways that linger long after the narrative fades.

Reflections on Darkness: The Lessons of History

The pendant lights return to my mind—the black and the gold. Darkness, in its many forms, has the capacity to overtake even the brightest of souls if left unchecked. It often begins quietly, seeping into cracks created by fear, apathy, or convenience. As Elie Wiesel writes in Night:

“For the dead and the living, we must bear witness.”

Wiesel’s words resonate as both a call to action and a warning. The Holocaust did not erupt overnight. It was the product of countless incremental choices—by leaders, citizens, and institutions—that allowed hatred to fester, truth to erode, and violence to grow. It serves as a stark reminder of how easily the darkness can thrive when vigilance falters and morality yields to inaction.

At the heart of such moments lies a profound question: Do we accept the situation as it is, adapting to what may become a grim new reality, or do we stand against it, risking everything in defiance? This choice is more than a calculation of survival—it’s a reckoning with identity, with the lines we draw for ourselves and the courage it takes to uphold them.

Art Spiegelman’s Maus brings this struggle into sharp, intimate focus. Through his father’s harrowing account of survival during the Holocaust, Spiegelman illustrates the tension between adaptation and resistance. Each decision—whether to comply, to flee, or to fight—carries both immediate consequences and far-reaching implications. It’s a choice that defines not only individuals but entire societies, shaping the lines between complicity and defiance, between sacrifice and endurance.

And Then The Flash

The moment of choice—the flash—is where the soul is tested. In The Apprentice, we watch Trump face a series of pivotal moments: choices to embrace Roy Cohn’s ruthlessness, to prioritize perception over principle, and to lean into the shadows instead of stepping toward integrity. These decisions are not just moral compromises—they are building blocks of a persona that thrives on manipulation and dominance. In Erik Larson’s In the Garden of Beasts, we see a world at a similar crossroads, with individuals and nations grappling with their own defining moments. Do they resist the growing darkness, or do they adapt to it, letting it shape their reality?

Sitting in my small New Year’s Day restaurant, I imagine that flash as the moment where the gold and the black meet—a fragile instant when the soul decides which light to follow. The glow of the pendant lamps is not guaranteed; it requires attention and care. It must be cultivated through daily acts of courage, compassion, and integrity. Without those, the darkness encroaches, slowly but inevitably.

As we step into 2025, the lessons of these narratives feel particularly urgent. The rise of powerful, damaging men is not just their story—it is ours. Their ascent is enabled by the systems that allow them to flourish, the people who support them, and the moments where silence becomes complicity. These stories force us to examine our own choices, the ways we perpetuate or resist the darkness in our lives and communities.

But these stories are also about resilience—about the light that persists despite overwhelming shadows. They remind us of the power of those who choose to act, to speak, and to nurture the golden glow within themselves and others. The flash of choice is not just a test; it is an opportunity, one that comes to all of us in moments both small and large. The question is whether we are willing to see it and embrace what it demands of us.

Nurturing the Glow

The choice between light and darkness is not a single moment; it is a lifelong series of decisions, each one shaping the soul and its ripples in the world. As Wiesel reminds us, we must bear witness—not only to the darkness but also to the light, to the possibilities of goodness, connection, and courage. Bearing witness means not only acknowledging the harm but actively choosing to foster the hope and humanity that counterbalance it.

Let us be like the pendant lights—halos of gold against the encroaching black. Their glow is not passive; it is cultivated, fueled by intention, reflection, and action. Let us nurture that same glow within ourselves, choosing the light again and again, especially in the moments when it feels hardest to do so.

Because in the end, it is these choices—the small, persistent acts of kindness, courage, and integrity—that determine whether the light endures. It is these choices that shape not just our own lives, but the world we leave behind for others.