Is ‘The Studio’ Fun but Shallow? No, Seth Rogen’s Series Is Addictive Because It Gets to the Heart of the New Entertainment Malaise

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A satire of the film industry must be hilariously sharp and daring to succeed. It needs to provide a fresh perspective on how Hollywood operates (or fails to do so) today. That’s the high standard “The Studio” has set for itself, and I believe Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg’s Apple TV+ series about modern movie studio dynamics meet that challenge admirably. “The Studio” isn’t just captivatingly engaging; it’s insightful to the core of the film industry today. However, some critics have been less than enthusiastic due to its in-your-face presentation style, which some viewers find overbearing (such as the use of single takes with rushing cameras and a fast-paced percussive score that intensifies each scene).

While some viewers may perceive the show as being wide and unoriginal compared to something fresh and thought-provoking, let me assure you, they’re mistaken! Admittedly, “The Studio” does carry influences from well-known precursors such as Robert Altman’s “The Player,” as well as “Entourage” and “Birdman.” However, if you take a closer look beyond the surface, you’ll discover what makes it so uniquely innovative.

Matt Remick, the overzealous and outspoken head of Continental Studios, portrayed by Rogen as a blend of brashness and awkwardness, embodies the necessary traits you’d expect in someone in his position. He understands the rules of the game and desires to conquer it – to produce blockbusters, to be respected among peers. However, Matt is also deeply misguided and comically naive. He perceives himself as a Cinema Connoisseur. He frequently talks about the golden era of cinema, his dedication to traditional filmmaking, and the prestigious projects he aims to create. He believes he adores movies, much like his affection for his vintage Corvette (which he sells to Zac Efron for $2 million).

However, it’s not true that he genuinely appreciates cinema. What Matt seems to adore are the symbols or markers of movies. He’s a mix of an enthusiastic groupie and an older film buff dressed up as a professional. If you pay attention to him, his taste leaves much to be desired (his idea of “classics” includes movies like “Mannequin” and “Encino Man”). Essentially, he’s a connoisseur of commercialism, with a deep attachment to the entertainment he consumed in his youth. Is this surprising? Perhaps not. But here’s an interesting twist: Matt is so preoccupied with projecting the image of himself as a “creative” studio boss who desires the admiration of talented filmmakers, that he embodies the character of a movie executive in a satire of Hollywood whose entire persona is nothing more than a performance.

Each character in “The Studio” can be described as such: Sal (played by Ike Barinholtz) is a cunningly deceitful production VP, Quinn (portrayed by Chase Sui Wonders) presents herself as an innocent creative executive but is anything but, Maya (Kathryn Hahn) is a marketing whiz who embodies brash publicity strategies, and everything they say seems to be strategically planned and politically motivated, especially when they claim to be sincere.

In “The Studio,” it’s no different for the directors and actors who make appearances as themselves. They might as well be telling fibs, whether it’s Anthony Mackie flattering Ron Howard, his director from “Alphabet City,” a movie that seems to be a disastrous blend of “Taxi Driver” and “Midnight Run” (and things get worse when we reach the endless motel sequence Matt spends an entire episode building up the courage to ask Howard to edit it out), or Zoë Kravitz carefully planning her most subtle “spontaneous” reaction to her Golden Globes win, all while negotiating terms for her next project. The intriguing aspect of “The Studio” is that every character speaks with the cunning deceit of a corporate sociopath. Even in the exceptional episode where Sal and Quinn engage in a battle of betrayal, culminating in the two arguing fiercely and Sal breaking down to save his career, nothing that happens – the arguments, the emotional outbursts – is genuine. It’s all about maneuvering for advantage.

The pivotal joke of the series lies in how Hollywood, fueled by social media’s influence, has transformed into an environment where ambition for status is so overpowering that it seeps into the very films being produced. In “The Studio,” each movie on their production slate serves less as a story and more as a collection of symbols. This applies to their poor productions, such as “Kool-Aid,” a franchise film intended to capitalize on the Kool-Aid Man’s popularity in the same way “Barbie” did for its namesake. (An episode featuring an unexpectedly diverse cast for this film is a masterclass in how self-proclaimed ‘woke’ actions can snowball.) It also applies to their better productions, like Howard’s 70’s style remake and Sarah Polley’s romantic drama that concludes with a single-take shot serving no real purpose other than being difficult to execute (mostly due to Matt frequently getting in the way, and his only reason for involvement was to boast about backing a film with such a shot).

In essence, the world of Hollywood and its satirical counterparts have historically revolved around the fundamental conflict between art and profit. At its best, a studio executive like Robert Evans embraces both these aspects. However, during its worst, filmmakers often clash with executives who prioritize test scores and catering to audience preferences. The story “The Studio” explores a different perspective. Matt Remick, despite appearing to operate with a robotic mindset shaped by AI, secretly aspires to be like Robert Evans. His approach to business is to disguise his allegiance to the very principles he’s intended to undermine. “The Studio” questions: If those in power are acting this way, can the movies themselves not just be mimicking quality?

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2025-04-23 22:48