The Studio: A refreshing delight

In an age of media where the regurgitation of pre-existing IPs reigns supreme and Hollywood seems determined to destroy its own legacy, Seth Rogen’s The Studio is an unbelievably welcome surprise, managing to hilariously highlight, through 10 incredibly sharp and precisely crafted episodes, the absurdly precarious inner workings of the industry where box office is the one and only concern.

Matt Remick (Seth Rogen) is a studio executive at Continental Studios (an amalgamation of all the biggest Hollywood studios), who after his boss, Patty Leigh (Catherine O’Hara), refuses to forego her artistic integrity, is made studio head. The series follows as Matt alongside his team of executives, who all turn in pitch-perfect comedic performances, Sal (Ike Barinholtz), Quinn (Chase Sui Wonders), and Maya (Katherine Hahn), attempt to keep the studio afloat and deal with the various catastrophes that arise across the different projects the show revolves around each week; ranging from deciding who has to give a director the note that their film will be cut in half, how to cast a politically correct Kool-Aid movie, or how to get the CEO of the studio, Griffin Mill (Bryan Cranston), on stage for a pivotal presentation after he’s consumed a life-threatening amount of magic mushrooms.

The show maintains an incredibly light and digestible format

The show maintains an incredibly light and digestible format, opting for bottle-episodes that have little connection from episode to episode outside the final two (which culminate in an incredibly satisfying finale that reincorporates all the projects being worked on across the season) and all harness a rapid-fire sense of pacing that is aided by the show’s commitment to presenting each individual scene as a single-take. This shrewd structural decision, which doesn’t rely on continuity between episodes, gives it the freedom to experiment with genre and allows for it to continuously feel inventive, whether it be the noir aesthetic the fourth episode adopts as Matt and Sal attempt to search for a vital missing reel of footage, a one-take episode that follows the crew of an upcoming project attempting to capture the crucial final shot of the film, or a cat and mouse rivalry episode that delves further into Sal and Quinn’s personal lives.

This episodic structure also facilitates an eye-watering display of celebrity cameos to be featured throughout the season as Matt navigates different projects at Continental, all of whom perform with a delightfully playful self-awareness as they at once play into and subvert the audience’s perceptions of them. This is particularly notable in how Ron Howard’s well-established down to earth persona is dismantled in episode three, in favour of a petty, grudge-holding child with a vendetta against Matt, whilst guests with reputations like Martin Scorsese’s, as having a sincere and earnest desire to make powerful cinema, is leaned into all the more in the opening episode in order to amplify the cringeworthy sting of Matt’s betrayal.

It so wonderfully balances its real-world critiques of the corporate commodification of art

However, perhaps what sets The Studio apart from other satires is how it so wonderfully balances its real-world critiques of the corporate commodification of art, with a comedic absurdity as the executives scramble through increasingly desperate attempts to preserve their positions by pushing creatively bankrupt content. Moments such as when Sal brings in the director of Smile, Parker Finn, to direct a rip-off called Wink (spoiler alert: it’s about a group of ghosts that kill people by winking) feel at once hilarious for how absurdly devoid of originality they are, and yet never feel out of the realm of possibility that these very conversations are being had in Hollywood. This is strengthened by how the show never loses itself in the thrill and amusement of watching these characters struggle to keep the studio afloat, always willing to delve into the more unlikeable, superficial, and profit-chasing aspects of their personalities, with the butting heads of these astronomically large egos as they attempt to constrain, exploit, and wager artists’ creativity for their personal gain proving to be some of the most impactful and hilarious moments of the show.

Episode seven, “Casting”, a particular stand-out, is perhaps the clearest example of this as it astutely highlights the often performative nature of studio-heads’ attempts at diversity in films of the modern era. In this case, we see the team flail to finalise casting of the Kool-Aid man and his family in the titular film, as they deliberate over offensive connotations and stereotypes that attaching actors of certain races could potentially be perceived as by the public. At one point, even resorting to calculations of America’s racial demographic in order to try and accurately emulate diversity rather than having a genuine desire to be inclusive.

The Studio succeeds for how it preserves a surprising amount of sincerity throughout

In spite of all its satirical, and at times necessarily cynical, critiques of Hollywood and the filmmaking process, The Studio succeeds for how it preserves a surprising amount of sincerity throughout, in the end feeling like a love-letter to the artists without whom there would be no business, and the impossible trials and tribulations the Hollywood system places in front of them. It never adopts a fatalistic mantra of “cinema is dead” or attempts to demonise the executives (for as much as it portrays them as buffoons throughout) but rather presents them as humans with their own good intentions and flaws. Matt is not presented as an anti-art, money-grubbing jerk so much as he is an everyman with an earnest desire to make good films, which is repeatedly squandered by a crippling desire to be liked by everyone, or even just acknowledged in a Golden Globes speech. In fact, Matt’s adamant desire to convince a group of elites to recognise all cinema as a respectable art-form, while simultaneously attempting to pass an exceptionally vulgar poop joke through censorship constraints, is perhaps a perfect summation of The Studio’s ability to simultaneously mock and commend the studio system.

The Studio is available to watch on Apple TV.