Hollywood … it’s where movie magic happens. Or, more often, where producers, stars, executives, and screenwriters fight tooth and nail over half-baked plotlines and beloved IP. This is the side of Tinseltown that Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg’s latest project, The Studio, tackles—and it’s exactly as sardonic and chaotic as one would hope.
Since rising to Hollywood fame in their mid-20s, Rogen and Goldberg have borne witness to the perpetual industry shifts of the past two decades. The studio climate that championed and gave life to the likes of Superbad and Pineapple Express does not exist today, and it hasn’t for a while. As movie theater attendance continues to decline, production costs rise, and inflation and interest rates squash many chances of a profit, studios today are often on pins and needles—hungry for a smash hit that may never arrive.
It’s within this setting of anxiety and disillusionment that we meet The Studio’s protagonist, Matt Remick (played by Rogen), an endearingly nerdy and bumbling exec at Continental Studios who just really loves movies. After his mentor, studio head Patty Leigh (Catherine O’Hara), is fired, Remick is faced with the Sisyphean task of assembling a new slate of films to earn Continental both big bucks and big acclaim. With delusional colleagues breathing down his neck and movie stars on his ass with never-ending demands, Remick often finds himself in uncomfortable—even devastating—situations. (He had to turn down a passion project from Martin Scorsese! Martin Scorsese!)
As the series wraps its first season on Wednesday, it’s only right to honor the films that sprang from Remick’s early reign at Continental. Are these all great movies? No. Are they all tolerable movies? Also no. However, I’m convinced that each and every one of them would offer something special to the modern cinescape, whether that’s audible groans in theaters or simply quality reaction GIF material. I don’t know what financial gains (if any) Continental would reap from these movies, but I do know that each one has qualities worth celebrating.
Most Likely to Elicit a Lawsuit: Kool-Aid (Scorsese’s Version)
The saying “All press is good press” would probably not convince the Kraft Heinz Company to let this project fly scot-free, no matter how many artsy focus pulls on cups of Kool-Aid Scorsese included. And that’s really a shame because, as Scorsese himself says to Matt, the Jonestown cult massacre is “a story we all know about but not one that we really know about.”
So true, Marty. How many times have I sat twiddling my thumbs and thought to myself, “What actually went down in Guyana?” Not many, but I’m certainly curious now. I want to see Jim Jones (played by Steve Buscemi) shot with dolly zooms while lecturing his followers about apostolic socialism and later popping Quaaludes alone in his hut. With Jordan Belfort and The Wolf of Wall Street, Scorsese has tackled manipulative narcissists before, and he could do it again—but it wouldn’t be easy. As Scorsese himself says to Matt about the whole Jonestown story: “It’s sprawling, it’s big … it’s fucked up.”
Kraft Heinz has never been particularly litigious. Instead, it’s more often been the defendant in past lawsuits, such as a class action suit last year alleging the company lied to customers about the ingredients in its mac ’n’ cheese. (I don’t think many will be surprised if the court does in fact rule that the mac contains artificial preservatives.) However, I find it … likely that Kraft Heinz would take issue with its product becoming the title of a film about history’s largest mass murder-suicide, no matter how much awards buzz it promised or how many times Scorsese described it as a meditation on hero worship.
In a perfect world, the company’s execs would consider that an association with a long-awaited Steve Buscemi Oscar win could be huge for their sales. But, alas, major corporations typically opt to cover their asses, so I have a feeling this film’s release would result in a highly publicized legal battle, with the word “Kool-Aid” used in a courtroom more than it ever has been or will be again. (Also, in light of recent news, Bill Hader has the chance to do the funniest thing ever.)
Most Notable Indicator of Societal Decline: Kool-Aid (Studio-Approved Version)
Unfortunately, I have no doubt that this movie—an animated schlockfest with Ice Cube voicing the titular Kool-Aid Man—would be an extreme box office success, just as Bryan Cranston’s CEO character, Griffin Mill, predicts. I’m not inherently against brand IP movies (I still listen to all of Ryan Gosling’s Barbie songs on repeat), but something about this particular case makes me understand what the anti-capitalists are on about. I don’t know that I’d be able to mentally, emotionally, or spiritually handle seeing a walking advert for red dye 40 on screens around the world.
On The Studio, the execs’ biggest hurdle with Kool-Aid is ensuring that a politically correct cast will “mathematically be representative of America racially,” but this was never the real issue with this particular movie. As Matt clocks from the beginning, this project would send the film industry down a rabbit hole of “Let’s take x product, milk it for all the nostalgia it’s worth, and pretend that we had a creative vision all along.” Which brand icon would be next? I predict the Trix rabbit or Furby, though neither of those characters has “the soul of a Black man” that got Continental so psyched about Kool-Aid. Maybe a safer bet would be a film not on a figure but on a place, such as the legendary Hidden Valley Ranch or the fabled Land O’Lakes.
A Kool-Aid movie would have the most devastating effect on an already aggravating group: tweenage boys. Every guy from the ages of 10 to 15 would deliver an ungodly number of “Oh yeah!”s on a daily basis and make that phrase their entire personality for the better part of six months. We all saw what happened with A Minecraft Movie. I also fear this movie could lead to a resurgence of young women dyeing their hair with Kool-Aid: a trend I once eagerly jumped on and am now thoroughly haunted by. We owe it to our youth to not let this happen.
Most Likely to Become a Cult Classic: Duhpocalypse
This film has all the makings of a niche rewatchable: Johnny Knoxville wielding a samurai sword, an ice cream truck on fire, a diarrhea-spraying zombie, etc., etc. Duhpocalypse would instantly fall into the beloved pantheon of movies I’d actually want to watch with my idiot brother and/or my most spacey stoner friends. There’d be nothing better than turning on Duhpocalypse while lounging on the floor and eating pizza straight out of the box on the coffee table.
This film would definitely tank at the box office (despite Knoxville’s brilliant idea to retail theater soda cups as Diet-rrhea Coke) and receive a Rotten Tomatoes score somewhere in the range of 10-20 percent fresh. However, I have no doubt it would find a second life among the “no thoughts, just vibes” guys of the world, who’d track it down on sites with names like MoviesRUs and FreeMovie123XY.
Shitsplosions would become all the rage among Duhpocalypse’s tiny but mighty audience, with fans screen-printing T-shirts of Josh Hutcherson’s shit-covered face above the line “I got dooked!” And think about the top-tier Reddit posts of Knoxville delivering platitudes about death right before chopping Hutcherson’s head off … endless meme potential.
There’d be a small subset of fans praising the movie’s brilliant commentary on “medical disinformation in the social media age,” but let’s be real: They’d be few and far between. No one cares about topical themes when zombies and epic bowel movements are involved. In the vein of the Snyder cut, Duhpocalypse would also give rise to an avid subset of viewers clamoring for a “shit in the mouth” cut to finally be released. (Unfortunately, Continental Studios would have long buried the footage on account of it being too gross.) Eventually, this movement would culminate in the movie’s director, Oscar winner Spike Jonze, giving a moving speech about the importance of art that makes us uncomfortable. Is Duhpocalypse really so different from Requiem for a Dream?
Best Use of a Joint for Thematic Expression: The Silver Lake
As Matt notes (continuously) in conversation with director Sarah Polley, the joint that Greta Lee lights in this film’s closing scene really “bookends the movie,” hearkening back to the start, when her character promises that she’ll quit smoking. “I love a bookend; I’m always looking for a bookend,” Matt explains, and honestly … same. Sure, Matt’s idea to insert this detail at the last second derails the entire shooting schedule, but these are the falls one must take to create poignant, marijuana-laced cinema.
Matt completely depleting Polley’s morale and precious shoot time makes for one massive tidal wave of secondhand embarrassment, but I still can’t deny that the callback plays well. It’s exactly the kind of satisfying final shot that any mid-budget, awards-baity period piece strives for, and I can safely say that watching Lee flick a joint into a pristine hillside pool at sunset makes my pretentious little heart grow three sizes. Also, it’s a movie set in Los Angeles in the ’60s … not having a joint would be criminal.
Smoking aside, this film is the lesbian love story we have not seen since the likes of Carol. I’m hoping that the production team was able to work around Matt’s complete shit show of a set visit and get their oner shot in the books, which Matt (before proceeding to screw it up) describes as “the ultimate cinematic achievement.” Picture Lee’s character cruising down Sunset Boulevard, finally living her truth and finally unencumbered by Matt’s car parked in the middle of the driveway.
Most Likely to Make Madame Web Not Seem So Bad: Blackwing
The specifics of this film are muddy, which is probably not a great sign. Nor is the fact that Matt has to practically beg Zoë Kravitz to do it, eventually granting her first-dollar gross in order to seal the deal. In other words, even if Continental didn’t make a cent of profit on this movie, Zoë would still get her fair share of dough. It’s also not very reassuring that the person most excited about this movie getting made is Zoë’s agent (played by David Krumholtz), who describes Matt caving to the first-gross deal as him “thinking like a rational Jew-man being.” (He’s Jewish too, so I guess he’s allowed to say that?)
In her speech to Continental Studios’ stakeholders, Kravitz describes Blackwing as “a ruthless killer with a lust for justice” and a “[vampire] assassin who works in the shadows to keep the torch of freedom lit,” which would all be very well and good if it didn’t sound like AI-penned copy from a YA book jacket. Who are these vampires Blackwing is killing? What’s her credo? More importantly, does “lust for justice” mean she’s horny for human rights lawyers? And, if so, do we have a romantic subplot on our hands?
While I suppose that, as a general rule, it’s good to eliminate vampires, I’d like to better understand why they can be killed by only one woman in a black bodysuit who carries a red Glock dipped in holy water. If you thought “He was in the Amazon with my mom when she was researching spiders right before she died” was bad, get ready for drivel like “The one thing the kings of the underworld fear most is the queen of the night” or “You bloodsuckers may have started this fight, but I’m going to finish it!” No matter how many sexy women’s Halloween costumes this film spawns, it’s destined to go down in infamy.
Most Likely to Make Film Bros Cream Their Jeans: Rolling Blackout
“I’m kind of single-handedly keeping film alive,” says Matt, watching the dailies of this neo-noir detective story shot on actual film. This proclamation is cringey enough on its own, so imagine how bad things would get when thousands of film bros who also feel this way about themselves lost their minds over this movie. The same contingent of dudes who wear Criterion Collection baseball caps and pride themselves on their one-line Letterboxd reviews would have a field day with this grainy, moody feature and make you feel inferior for not seeing it at an independent art-house theater (on its premiere date, no less).
With Rolling Blackout being a clear homage to Chinatown (or is it more just a rip-off?), filmsplainers would have reason to discuss the 1974 classic with hot takes like “Yeah, it’s all about how power corrupts” and pepper their analysis with the phrase “moral ambiguity.” This would also be a prime opportunity for cinephiles to boast about how they knew Zac Efron was a generational talent after seeing The Iron Claw and ponder his next career moves. (My money would be on a Christopher Nolan period piece.)
Film bros also love juicy behind-the-scenes deets. When the story inevitably leaked that director Olivia Wilde stole her film’s reel so that the studio would let her reshoot her own cameo, movieheads would go to town theorizing about what really happened and what the lost reels really contained. The rumor mill would also churn out some truly inspired ideas about Zac and Olivia’s beef while filming: e.g., Zac funding the film’s wrap party only so that Olivia would look stingy in comparison, Olivia going way too hard on the alcohol during the shoot, Zac hoarding coke in his trailer, and who knows what else.
Most Compelling Evidence That Movies Should Be Shorter: Alphabet City
Unless you’re someone whose cousin’s death completely upended your life, you’re going to walk out of this movie. As it turns out, Ron Howard couldn’t read audiences’ minds as to what makes for a good ending to a gritty thriller. Between option one (taxi shoot-out) and option two (surreal, never-ending motel sequence), Howard thought to himself, “Let me find the nearest La Quinta.”
Never mind that this sequence has no connection to the rest of the film’s plot—Howard moved full steam ahead with a level of entitlement only a former TV child star could possess. He really should’ve put his tribute to his deceased cousin aside to spare the audience 45 minutes of what the fuck?-ing. While Howard’s confidence in the sequence is admirable, it’s like … dude, not everyone is down for a movie that goes from Dave Franco bleeding out in a taxi to Anthony Mackie wandering through a motel holding hands with a random child.
There are already so many people who complain that movies are too long nowadays. Alphabet City could be the straw to break the camel’s back in this divisive discourse on movie length, permanently shifting the tide in favor of the “two hours and under” crowd. Between this, The Brutalist, and Adrien Brody’s speech for The Brutalist, there would simply be too much evidence in favor of brevity.
