The Echo of Fascism in Childhood: A Leader's Childhood

Are humans naturally evil, or is evil the product of a learning process?

Sometimes a news story, a photograph, or even just a sentence comes across us, and we wonder: Where does all this evil come from? When I've pursued this question in recent years, similar faces keep popping up in my mind: "world leaders in love with their power." Men who look us straight in the eye and lie recklessly. Then Brady Corbet's film "The Childhood of a Leader" resonates in my memory. Because it reminds me that evil is not ordinary, but systematic. It shows that leadership is not merely a political ascension, but also a psychological deformation and a pedagogical construct. While Corbet's 2015 debut feature may at first glance appear to be a dark portrait of 20th-century fascism, it becomes clear as time goes by that its true target is not the past, but the present.

CONSTRUCTED EVILS

Winner of the "Best First Film" and "Ufuklar Best Director" awards at the Venice Film Festival, "A Leader's Childhood" truly excels at visualizing a topic still too often to be discussed or given the opportunity: the political character shaped in childhood. Throughout the film, Corbet gently poses the question: Is evil innate, or is it taught? And perhaps most shockingly, this question has permeated not only philosophy but also directly into life, the streets, classrooms, social media, and children's rooms. "A Leader's Childhood" approaches its audience with a mastery unexpected from a debut film. The film not only offers an aesthetically striking cinematic experience; it also becomes one of the rare examples of a film that questions, through the language of cinema, the germination of fascist mindsets in childhood. Today, we are witnessing the growth of a generation shaped by the isolation of the digital age and a system that encourages anger. But we also observe how the children of previous generations—today's leaders—corrupt and destroy those around them. In this context, Corbet's film is not merely a portrait of a period; it is a contemporary cinematic text that reveals the dark mechanisms of today's and tomorrow's leaders.

CHILDHOOD, POLITICAL SPACE

The Wall (Le Mur), a book of short stories by Jean-Paul Sartre, one of the most influential thinkers of the 20th century, published in 1939, is one of the defining texts of existentialist philosophy. It holds a personal significance for me: Senmova, my first short film in Esperanto, drew both thematic and formal inspiration from this book. Brady Corbet, in his film The Childhood of a Leader, also draws from Sartre's story of the same name; however, instead of adapting the text word for word, he reconstructs its philosophical underpinnings in contemporary language. From Sartre, he borrows not just a title but also the ache of identity, the question of existence, and the tense relationship between ideology and the individual. The film centers on seven-year-old Prescott, the child of a diplomat father stationed in Paris after World War I and a German mother raised within strict religious norms. Prescott's childhood is shaped by oppression, authority, punishment, and emotional isolation. In his home, discipline, fear, and class hierarchy reign, not love, equality, or freedom. The identity ambiguity experienced by Lucien in Sartre's text, along the axes of gender, class, belonging, and existence, here permeates Prescott's character. Fascism is not only an ideological process but also a psychodynamic one. Repressed childhood can transform into a pathological desire for power. Prescott's story develops around questions such as "Who am I?", "What does it mean to be oneself?", and "Is one constructed through the eyes of others?" Corbet's Prescott is as Sartre's Lucien:

Childhood is not a place where a leader is born; it is a laboratory where he is constructed, distorted, and manipulated.

PRESCOTT'S AROUND

The film is divided into three parts. The first part follows Prescott throwing stones after leaving church; the second part rebels against his family and locks himself in his room; and the third part follows him standing up in front of the guests and taking the stage. While this structure resembles a dramatic narrative, Corbet crafts it like a musical symphony. Scott Walker's compositions become elements that carry the narrative, not accompaniment. In the final scene, Prescott appears as an adult. He has become an authoritarian leader who rules not his family, but a nation. We understand that the film tells the story of how a tyrant is constructed, not the birth of a leader. Of course, the narrative lacks some context; Prescott's transformation could have been supported by more interior scenes. Some transitions rely too heavily on symbolism. However, this doesn't weaken the film's power. On the contrary, we can consider that its openness to interpretation elevates it beyond the typical biographical narrative. So, is it justified to fear children growing up today? In my opinion: Yes. Because the system that raised them is the same, if not more rigid.

Not love, but reward and punishment, not equality, but hierarchy, not dialogue, but obedience. The authoritarian, empathic, narcissistic figures we surround ourselves with today… Just like Prescott, they grow up to direct the repressed anger and desire for control of their childhood against a nation, a society. There's no need to mention their names. Because they all emerged from the same dark laboratory. They carry the same ghost within them.

PEDAGOGY AND PATHOLOGY

The film presents a striking pedagogical picture. Every figure that shapes Prescott's inner world—mother, father, nanny, priest—is either oppressive, manipulative, or utterly neglectful. None of them establish a true, ontological connection with him. Therefore, Prescott fills his emotional void with power. This is the prerequisite of fascism. An individual who cannot relate to others learns the power relationship. We've moved past today's leaders; children are no different. The violence of capitalism masked by digital aesthetics, the narcissistic nature of social media, the invisible pressure within families, the achievement-obsessed norms of education… These create fertile ground for the proliferation of new Prescotts. Whether it's the one who stabs someone in the Kadıköy market, the one who attacks traffic with a tire iron, or the one who threatens chess players on the beach… Every child, unless shaped by love and knowledge, carries within them the dark legacy of power. Brady Corbet's The Childhood of a Leader demonstrates with compelling cinematic language how this legacy is incarnated from childhood onward. If the individual fills his "nothingness" with fear, authority, or resentment, more oppression results. The fascist leader is first a "nothing." Then that nothingness is imbued with power.