First Impressions: The Studio (Apple TV+)

The Studio “The Promotion”/”The Oner”
Created by Seth Rogan, Evan Goldberg, Peter Huyck, Alex Gregory & Frida Perez
Written by Seth Rogan, Evan Goldberg, Peter Huyck, Alex Gregory & Frida Perez (“The Promotion”) and Peter Huyck (“The Oner”)
Directed by Seth Rogan & Evan Goldberg
Airs Wednesdays on Apple TV+

With its exquisite set design, impeccable cinematography, and incredibly assemblage of creative talent, Apple TV+’s The Studio purports itself as a highbrow prestige satire of its own very world – a designation both its opening episodes, “The Promotion” and “The Oner”, often earns with a unique blend of filmmaking aesthetic and comedic undertones. Given its pedigree, this is not really a big surprise; what is unexpected, however, is how The Studio‘s first two episodes are relentless machines of dramatic momentum, sprinting from scene to scene and cameo to cameo with a barely-harnessed frenzy – which, as a by product, never gives itself a moment to pause and consider the people behind its collection of personalities and idiosyncrasies. While it makes for effective satire, it also keeps the audience at arm’s length of its characters – which, one note as they often are in the show’s first hour, are still something the series will need, should its attempts at long-form storytelling find any resonance in their sentimental evisceration of the 21st century entertainment business.

The Studio centers its story on Matt Remick (Rogan, who also co-directs, writes, and produces), studio executive at Continental Studio on his first, unexpected day as president of the studio – itself in a tailspin after a handful of poorly-performing films, leading to the firing of his boss and mentor Patty (Catherine O’Hara, bringing exactly the manic energy you’d hope for). Matt is, by most measures, a putz cosplaying as a functioning executive; known for bringing the $3.9 billion franchise MK Ultra to the company, Matt seems to have mostly coasted along with a deep knowledge of film and a clear ability to dress and act his way through the motions of being a competent executive.

As a focal point for the series, Matt is a perfectly fine vehicle, the anxious center from which the energy of both episodes flow – “The Promotion” focusing on Matt’s sudden ascension to his new role, and “The Oner” on a cascading disaster of a day on a film set. It allows The Studio to build incredibly effective sequences of comedy and tension, usually stemming from Matt’s uncanny ability to make the clumsiest, short-sighted decisions possible in most situations. It’s not quite a schlemiel archetype, but close enough for The Studio to offer up scenes of Matt tripping and breaking his nose while running through a live film set, or awkwardly breaking to Martin Scorsese and Steve Buscemi that he’s willfully killing the movie he bought from them for $10 million (while getting booted from Charlize Theron’s party, no less).

When The Studio is building towards these sequences, usually in incredibly long, occasionally indulgent one-shots, it hums, its observations about the sad state of the film industry (“The Promotion” centers on Matt trying to figure out how to make a Kool-Aid movie, initially centering on Scorsese’s Jonestown massacre script) or the tenuous relationships forged between creatives and executives coming to life with the show’s indelibly sharp scripts. Matt, with his idealistic dream to pursue profits while securing his creative legacy, is constantly a man out of his depth (and his era, his costuming and car choice suggesting a man a few decades too late to the Hollywood hey day he idolizes), and that makes the crescendo of uncomfortable disasters he finds himself at the center of a kinetic, often hilarious center for the show’s many cameos and bit roles (my favorite in the first two being David Krumholtz in “The Promotion”) to play off of.

However, whenever The Studio infrequently pauses to consider the constant ascent and plight of our protagonist, or tries to integrate the rest of its ensemble into the main narrative, some of the show’s superficiality becomes a bit bare (a problem many series of its ilk struggles with; a recent example that comes to mind is Hulu’s Reboot). Some of this comes from it being a series with a strong voice; characters like Kathryn Hahn’s Maya, the head of marketing clinging to relevance, or Ike Barinholtz’s Sal Saperstein (stepping back in front of the camera after the disappointing Running Point), a slightly coked-out executive holding a bit of a grudge against his friend’s sharp ascent, are strong, but particularly one-note in these opening hours, which does make The Studio feel a bit thin at times, overloaded with a few too many one-dimensional elements it can juggle in any given scene.

These moments don’t overwhelm any of the show’s incredibly strong elements (Antonio Sanchez’s frenetic score being another personal highlight), but at times, it does seem to deceive the implied depth of the show’s cinematic and satirical ambitions. Though The Studio thankfully doesn’t hold its tongue with its depiction of the streaming universe it happens to exist it, there are times where its many elements feel a bit simplistic; Matt’s bumbling nature, Patty’s slightly unhinged personality, and Maya’s overbearing desperation are all a bit singular in their functions (same goes for Bryan Cranston’s Griffin Mill, the CEO who giggles and claps when he sees an animated, TikTok-dancing Kool-Aid man animation), their presences offering a sense of consistency, but never really revealing any kind of depth, either as a vehicle for pathos or metaphor – which makes their presences a bit confusing, especially when the series steps back and tries to offer up these same character elements as ambiguously endearing, or just tries to fill space, as it has to do during the 44-minute opening episode (“The Oner” and its 29-minute running time feels much more akin to the pace and vibe The Studio is aiming for).

However, The Studio holds its focus on the industry its satirizing long enough to make it an intriguing pair of opening episodes, anchored by its confidence to construct itself around incredibly technical, extended sequences where its directorial and narrative choices find a balance between bleak and silly, without undercutting the clear love for cinema and its history deep within the heart of its creators. With such a strong foundation, there’s obviously an abundant amount of potential in its creative premise and incredibly talented cast – however, there are a few signs the show may lean a little too far into navel gazing, surface-level reflections on its industry, rather than investing its characters enough to make their plight through the chaotic, often disappointing world of making films in the 2st century to provide any sense of emotional resonance and dramatic balance.

Grade: B