The Apple TV+ series “The Studio” is, on several levels, a contradiction in terms. It’s a TV show about the making of movies. It’s an act of self-indulgence that works as a shrewd parody of self-indulgence. Most of all, it’s a lament for a lost era of extravagance, investment and originality — that is itself the product of extravagant investment in an original idea.
This irony is, foremost, a comedic strategy, and a successful one. Matt Remick (Seth Rogen), the newly promoted head of the fictional Continental Studios, may fancy himself the second coming of legendary Paramount chief Robert Evans, but the reality of modern Hollywood delivers one rude awakening after another. Hence the contrast between how “The Studio” presents Matt’s life — in an endless procession of single-take scenes, preceded by a faux-film-grain title card and tricked out with vintage cars and earth-toned outfits — and what he actually spends his days on: IP slop (a Kool-Aid Man origin story) and horror schlock (Johnny Knoxville hunting zombies who infect their prey with projectile diarrhea). That these loglines are barely exaggerations speaks to the “Studio” team’s well-earned frustration as much as their comedic chops or observational powers.
However tongue-in-cheek, the opulence of “The Studio” is nonetheless no joke. The project is loosely inspired by Rogen and his longtime creative partner Evan Goldberg’s experiences with Sony, a yearslong collaboration that imploded in spectacular fashion when their political satire “The Interview” triggered an email hack in 2014 that offered a revealing, often damaging peek into the industry’s inner workings. “The Studio” brings the full weight of the duo’s Rolodex — and Apple’s pocketbook — to bear. (In addition to Rogen and Goldberg, who direct every episode, Peter Huyck, Alex Gregory and Frida Perez are all billed as co-creators. I would watch an episode of “The Studio” about the credits of “The Studio”!) No less a luminary than Martin Scorsese plays a pivotal role in the premiere, leading a roster of guest stars that includes Ice Cube, Zoë Kravitz, Zac Efron and Olivia Wilde, all playing themselves.
But “The Studio” is not a story about public-facing celebrities — nor, likely, is it for those A-listers’ more casual fans. Matt wants to believe he’s an artist. At the end of the day, though, he’s a suit, and the small cadre of regular players who endure amid the revolving door of high-profile visitors are too. Working out of a palatial Mayan Revival office, Continental’s core team is composed of Matt’s best friend Sal Seperstein (Ike Barinholtz), the VP of production; his ex-assistant Quinn (Chase Sui Wonders), newly promoted to creative executive; and marketing czar Maya (Kathryn Hahn), whose outfits and commercial instincts alike push the boundaries of good taste. Matt succeeds his own mentor Patty (Catherine O’Hara), who’s been defenestrated by CEO Griffin (Bryan Cranston) in a deflating capstone to an illustrious career. Patty, who pivots to freelance production, has obvious parallels to ousted Sony head-turned-“Spider-Man” producer Amy Pascal, one of the hack’s most high-profile casualties.
If you’d recognize that reference even without the help of a review, then “The Studio” is made with your interests in mind. Scorsese is, of course, an icon in his own right; directors Parker Finn (“Smile”), Sarah Polley (“Women Talking”) and Owen Kline (“Funny Pages”) are less so, but they’re given cameos regardless. The 10-episode season also works in appearances from Netflix co-CEO Ted Sarandos and Puck partner Matt Belloni, allusions to “put pictures” and a climactic set-piece at CinemaCon in Las Vegas — the 2025 edition of which will unfold during the series’ spring run. “The Studio” is so inside baseball I half-expected Brad Pitt to stop by and start chatting sabermetrics — “Moneyball” screenwriter Aaron Sorkin is already on the call sheet, so it wouldn’t be a stretch.
Luckily, it’s not my job to triangulate whether the scale of Apple’s expenditure squares with these bits’ potential reach. Instead, it’s to say that “The Studio” nails the absurdity and indignity of the modern movie business, in part by hewing so closely to the conventions of TV. Cutting against the countervailing trend for expensive, prestigious comedy shows, there’s precious little serialization in “The Studio.” Besides a two-part finale, every episode is almost entirely self-contained, a complete farce unfolding in 40 minutes or less. “The Oner” is a meta look behind the scenes of filming an extended take that is itself one long, extended take; “The Missing Reel” is a detective story with neo-noir voice-over; “The Golden Globes” unfolds at the titular awards show.
As writers, directors and producers, Rogen and Goldberg have the feature experience (“This Is the End,” “An American Pickle”) to know their subject, but are also versed enough in TV (“Preacher,” “The Boys”) to use the medium to their advantage. Matt’s Sisyphean struggle to make something worthwhile in a world that rewards disposable trash is embodied in each frantic fire drill, which only resolves to start all over again the next week. A jangly, percussion-heavy jazz score by Antonio Sanchez ups the panic factor, echoing the composer’s work on “Birdman” more than a decade earlier. But unlike that Oscar winner, the effect here is far from self-serious.
“The Studio” is a lavish spectacle about how lavish spectacles came to be an endangered species. On occasion, this dissonance can be distracting. The one time TV is mentioned on this TV show, it’s with derision, and Continental staffers lamenting their employer’s potential Big Tech acquisition on Tim Cook’s streaming service come even closer to breaking the fourth wall. But for the most part, “The Studio” leads by example. It’s the funny, glitzy, audacious output of a distinct creative vision. Doesn’t that make you yearn for more?
From Variety US