Seth Rogen’s Hollywood Satire The Studio Is a Scathing Comedy

In the debut of The Studio, an enthusiastic Hollywood executive, portrayed by Seth Rogen, expresses his vision to his assistant: “If I had my way,” he says, “we’d be working on something extraordinary, like a new Rosemary’s Baby or Annie Hall. Instead of films directed by creepy individuals.” Suddenly, the opportunity arises for him to make that vision a reality. Upon reaching his workplace, Continental Studios, Rogen’s character Matt Remick learns that his superior has been dismissed. The studio’s volatile CEO (Bryan Cranston) presents him with an offer: take over the job, but only if he agrees to produce a Kool-Aid movie. Without a moment’s hesitation, Matt enthusiastically accepts: “Oh! Absolutely!

In the opening minutes of the Apple TV+ comedy, it becomes clear that the new head of Continental is deeply immersed in the film industry. He lacks a personal life, with no partner, children, or active social circle. His expertise in cinema – from blockbusters to indies and foreign art films – is unmatched, even among passionate cinephiles. Although he appears well-intentioned, having promoted his assistant to a creative executive position when he was given the promotion, his ambition to thrive in an industry grappling with technological change, labor strife, audience fragmentation, and post-pandemic theater decline has him acting like any other spineless corporate executive. This is exactly how the filmmakers and actors that Matt admires view him. To make matters worse, he’s so insecure about being rejected that he sinks into a self-deprecating comedy routine, giving “The Studio” – created by Rogen, Goldberg, Huyck, Gregory, and Perez – the rhythm of a “Curb Your Enthusiasm” spin-off.

The show titled The Studio, set in the present day, offers a lively, humorous, yet insightful overview of an industry grappling with the ongoing conflict between art and commerce, a struggle that has been going on since studios like Warner Bros. were helmed by their founders. Remarkably, it stands as the top new series of 2025 and is one of the most incisive self-portraits Hollywood has produced in a long time—a testament to its ability to both glorify and satirize itself.

Writers who venture into television production often present their shows as lengthy films, implying that the cinematic form has some inherent superiority. However, much like ‘The Studio’, which is a proud advocate of cinema – particularly traditional, non-IP-based movies – it is also unafraid to admit its TV origins. The series is characterized by its engaging episodes, each one dropping Matt, his team, and frequent celebrity guests, often playing themselves, into a fresh predicament every half-hour. An intriguing LA noir subplot involves the studio chief, dressed in a trench coat and fedora, taking it upon himself to unravel the mystery of a missing reel from Olivia Wilde’s ‘Chinatown’ remake. In another episode, set at a gala for Matt’s oncologist girlfriend (Rebecca Hall), he finds himself in a tricky situation trying to convince her colleagues that the Johnny Knoxville zombie movie he’s producing is equally valuable as their life-saving profession. This episode also features an escalation of Matt’s insecurities reminiscent of ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm’.

Matt plays an exceptional antihero due to his ability to serve as a contrast for those around him. His tactical concessions can be detrimental to Quinn, who has yet to develop full cynicism. The indifferent Sal (Ike Barinholtz) is adored by the talent despite his disregard for art, much to Matt’s frustration. In contrast, Maya (Kathryn Hahn), a marketing executive known for her cynical and trend-following nature, makes Matt appear principled. Matt’s actions, driven by guilt and a yearning for approval from a maternal figure, lead him to propose a profitable producing deal to his bitter predecessor and mentor, Patty (Catherine O’Hara). Despite being selfish, cowardly, and foolish, Matt’s genuine passion for film prevents us from rooting against him, especially when it means allowing Sal or Maya to fill Continental’s roster with a Powdered Drink Mix Cinematic Universe.

Indeed, it’s not just the questionable KoolAid project, where Matt attempts to reinvent as a self-aware Barbie-like creation by acquiring a Martin Scorsese script on the Jonestown cult’s Kool-Aid drinking tragedy, that the studio is working on. Rogen and his team also develop an Indiewood period drama directed by Sarah Polley, featuring Greta Lee, which Matt finds it hard to resist meddling with during an unexpected visit that leaves the entire crew on edge. The executives experience a range of emotions from laughter, tears, and joy while watching a crime drama penned and helmed by Ron Howard. However, they doze off during an ill-fitting, mind-numbing ending, extending the runtime to nearly three hours. The dilemma is that Howard has final cut, and no one at Continental seems brave enough to challenge him regarding his disappointing finale.

Can the traditional method of financing artistic projects, where commercially successful works fund personal or passion projects (often referred to as the “one for them, one for me” approach), continue to work under the economic pressures of the 2020s? Or are creators like Matt Remick forced to keep producing more and more commercial works while putting off their personal projects, which they claim justify such work, until a financially advantageous moment that may never arrive? Who exactly is this “them,” if not the executive who prioritizes pleasing their boss over supporting a creator’s vision, like by creating an animated Kool-Aid Man TikTok dance video instead of defending the original idea? Essentially, the problem lies within the office itself.

The Studio references a vast pool of cinematic wisdom similar to Matt’s personal archive, referencing classic films such as the 1964 propaganda gem “I Am Cuba” and poking fun at recent trends like Christopher Nolan’s dominance and the “Smile” horror series. What makes this show feel remarkably modern is its insight that Hollywood isn’t merely experiencing a decline; it has plunged so deeply that the industry yearns for the small-scale action epics and manipulative Academy Award contenders (like Howard’s “A Beautiful Mind”) it was producing at the dawn of the new millennium, amid a nostalgia wave for the revolutionary New Hollywood of the ’70s. In this aspect, its most significant touchstone is Robert Altman’s cherished 1992 movie “The Player”.

In a fresh and understandable rewording: The film, The Player, presents a humorous take on the life of an overly stressed studio executive, portrayed by Tim Robbins as Griffin Mill. This character is consumed by his competitive rivalry with a colleague and mysterious threatening letters from a spurned screenwriter. As the story unfolds, Griffin manages to escape punishment for murder, even receiving a promotion to the position of studio head. Interestingly, in the new series The Studio, Bryan Cranston plays a character named Griffin Mill who shares the same name as the protagonist of The Player. It’s unclear if this character is meant to be a literal reprise of the original or merely a reference, but he certainly embodies the debauched behavior associated with the 1960s and 1970s Paramount head Robert Evans. Regardless, the name choice suggests that the predecessors’ ruthless actions led them to rise in their careers, only to become today’s profit-driven, uncreative executives. The popular Kool-Aid dance on TikTok is a favorite of Mill’s.

Despite its somewhat dismal portrayal of the film industry by 2025, The Studio remains anything but depressing. Its quick-paced humor, Seth Rogen’s anxious yet brilliant performance as the lead character, and the realistic depictions of behind-the-scenes podcasts and sales pitches at theater owner conventions, coupled with delightful cameos from self-effacing celebrities (an homage to The Player), ensure an engaging viewing experience. What truly sets it apart is its ability to convey both frustration and affection in a way that few contemporary Hollywood self-portraits have managed. In contrast, period dramas such as Damien Chazelle’s tumultuous Babylon and Quentin Tarantino’s nostalgic Once Upon a Time .. . in Hollywood seem like elegies for a medium that has already passed away. Modern satires, including the now-canceled 2024 Marvel spoof The Franchise, often present an image so hollow and unattractive that one might leave convinced that there’s no more value to be found in American cinema.

In simpler terms, “The Studio” understands that the battle for the future of cinematography is worth waging, despite the fact that those in charge may be inexperienced and the situation on set might be challenging. Matt admits to Patty in the opening episode that he entered this line of work because of his passion for films, but now he worries that his role could potentially harm them. He describes his new position as a “grinder.” However, when everything aligns perfectly and a good movie is made, it remains enjoyable forever.

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2025-03-08 07:06

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