It starts with a scream. Not a literal one, but a sonic assault of screeching violins composed by the late Scott Walker that tells you, immediately, that things are about to go very wrong. If you haven't seen The Childhood of a Leader, you’re missing out on one of the most polarizing, intense, and strangely prophetic pieces of cinema from the last decade. It’s a period piece, sure. But it feels like a horror movie.
Brady Corbet, making his directorial debut here, didn't want to make a cozy historical drama. He made a film about how a monster is born. Set in France in 1919, right as the Treaty of Versailles is being hammered out, the story follows a young American boy named Prescott. He’s living in a drafty, gloomy manor with his high-ranking diplomat father and his devout, frustrated mother. The atmosphere is thick. You can almost smell the damp wood and the dying embers in the fireplace.
People often go into this expecting a biopic. It isn't one. While it draws some loose inspiration from Jean-Paul Sartre’s short story of the same name and maybe a dash of John Fowles, it’s mostly an original, terrifying look at how ego, neglect, and a crumbling world order can twist a child's psyche into something unrecognizable.
Why The Childhood of a Leader feels so visceral today
The film is divided into "tantrums." That’s a bold choice. Instead of traditional chapters, we see First Tantrum, Second Tantrum, and so on. It’s honest. Anyone who has dealt with a defiant child knows that feeling of escalating dread, but Prescott isn't just a "difficult" kid. He’s a budding sociopath who realizes, quite early on, that the adults around him are just as fragile and hypocritical as he is.
His father, played with a cold, detached authority by Liam Cunningham, is busy redrawing the map of Europe. He’s part of the machinery that is accidentally setting the stage for World War II by crushing Germany under impossible debt. The irony is heavy. While the father tries to dictate the future of nations, he can't even control his own son. The boy starts throwing stones at parishioners. He refuses to eat. He locks doors. He manipulates the servants.
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Honestly, the way Corbet shoots this is genius. He uses 35mm film that looks grainy and underexposed, almost like you’re watching a nightmare recovered from a time capsule. It’s claustrophobic. You’re trapped in that house with a boy who is slowly realizing that power isn't about being right; it's about who has the loudest voice and the strongest will.
The Scott Walker score is a character of its own
We have to talk about the music. Scott Walker, the legendary avant-garde musician, created a score that is so loud and so dissonant that it actually caused some people to walk out of theaters during its initial run. It doesn't sit in the background. It lunges at you.
When the credits roll—and especially during that final, dizzying sequence—the music swells into a chaotic, industrial roar. It mimics the industrialization of war and the rise of totalist regimes. It’s not "pretty" music. It’s the sound of a world breaking apart. Without this score, The Childhood of a Leader would just be a well-acted period drama. With it, the movie becomes a sensory experience that leaves you feeling physically drained.
The cast is doing some of their best, weirdest work
Robert Pattinson shows up, but probably not in the way you’d expect. This was right in the middle of his "I’m going to work with every weird indie director I can find" phase, and he’s brilliant here. He plays a family friend, Charles Marker, who has a secret connection to Prescott’s mother (Bérénice Bejo). Pattinson’s role is small but pivotal, especially when the film jumps forward in time for its shocking coda.
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Bejo is equally haunting. As a mother who is deeply religious but emotionally stunted, she tries to beat the "sin" out of her son. It doesn't work. It only teaches him that violence is the ultimate form of communication. The kid, played by Tom Sweet, is a find. He has these huge, unblinking eyes that seem to be recording every failure of the adults around him. He doesn't look like a villain. He looks like a porcelain doll that’s been cracked.
Making sense of that wild ending
The ending of The Childhood of a Leader is what people usually argue about. We jump forward several decades. The grainy, brown-hued world of 1919 is gone, replaced by a harsh, modern, almost fascist aesthetic. We see a massive crowd. We see the "Leader" we’ve been watching the whole time, now fully grown and in power.
It’s a jump-scare of an ending.
Some critics hated it. They thought it was too on-the-nose. But if you look at the historical context of the Treaty of Versailles, the movie is arguing that the 20th century’s greatest horrors weren't accidents. They were "raised" in the rooms where the peace was signed. The film suggests that the seeds of authoritarianism are sown in the home, in the church, and in the halls of diplomacy. When you deny a child—or a nation—agency and dignity, and instead offer only punishment and hypocrisy, you shouldn't be surprised when they grow up and burn the house down.
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What you should watch for in a rewatch
If you’ve already seen it once, you need to watch it again with a focus on the lighting. Note how Prescott is often silhouetted. He’s a shadow. He’s a blank space where a person should be. Also, pay attention to the dialogue regarding the "Peace Treaty." The film does a great job of showing how the men in the room think they are being "fair," while the audience knows they are basically creating the blueprint for the next thirty years of global suffering.
Quick facts about the production:
- It won the Best Debut Film and Best Director awards at the 72nd Venice International Film Festival.
- It was shot in Hungary, which doubled for the French countryside.
- The film’s budget was relatively low for its scale, which forced Corbet to use creative angles and long takes to hide the lack of massive sets.
- Robert Pattinson actually plays two roles, though many people miss the first one if they aren't looking closely.
Real-world takeaways from a fictional nightmare
Watching this movie isn't exactly "fun," but it's vital. It challenges the idea that "great leaders" are born. Instead, it posits that they are manufactured by their environments. It’s a study in the "Great Man Theory" of history, but turned inside out and shown as a pathology.
If you're a fan of directors like Michael Haneke or Stanley Kubrick, this is right in your wheelhouse. It shares that same cold, clinical gaze at human failure. It doesn't ask you to sympathize with the boy. It asks you to watch him, the way a biologist might watch a virus under a microscope.
Next steps for the curious viewer:
- Watch the film on a high-quality sound system. Seriously, do not watch this on your phone. The Scott Walker score is 50% of the experience, and you need the low-end frequencies to feel the dread the director intended.
- Read about the Treaty of Versailles. Understanding just how disastrous those negotiations were in real life makes the subtext of the film much sharper. The "Father" character is basically a composite of several real American diplomats who were in way over their heads.
- Check out Brady Corbet’s follow-up, Vox Lux. It’s another film about the birth of a certain kind of modern icon (this time a pop star played by Natalie Portman), and it shares a lot of the same DNA regarding fame, violence, and the end of the world.
The film is a reminder that the monsters of history didn't emerge from a vacuum. They were children once. They were ignored. They were punished. And eventually, they learned how to make the rest of the world feel exactly as small as they did.
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