Frank Lloyd Wright never built a Hollywood studio building in the Mayan Revival style in 1927 to “literally be a temple of cinema,” to borrow a phrase expressed by a tour guide in the first episode of The Studio. But if Wright did, it would undoubtedly look a lot like the awe-inspiring Continental Studios headquarters at the center of this new series starring Seth Rogen. Rogen plays Matt Remick, a Hollywood exec who loves movies — or at least loves what movies used to be. He worships at the temple of cinema but also senses that the temple has been overrun by the Philistines with little real faith. Worse yet, Matt worries he might become one of them if he isn’t already.

You can see it on Matt’s face in the episode’s first moments. Shot, like each scene in the episode (and series), to look like an unbroken take, the opening scene begins with footage from a crass-looking action blockbuster starring Paul Dano, then segues into an insecure Dano discussing the take with director Peter Berg, who reassures him he produced “excellent spit.” After witnessing this, Matt pauses a moment in disbelief, wondering if this is why he really got into the business. It’s not the last time he’ll wear that expression.

In theory, things should be looking up for Matt. Sure, Berg doesn’t remember his name, Dano doesn’t want his input (or even care that he liked Dano’s directorial debut, Wildlife), and when Berg makes a reference to seeing him at “Charlize’s party,” Matt has to fake knowing what he’s talking about. And, okay, Matt’s not that thrilled that he’s taking a series of meetings with reps from Jenga and Rubik’s Cube out of a corporate desire to build franchises around recognizable brands. But he’s found a strategy he likes: give lip service to what corporate wants while focusing on making the sort of movies he wants to make the next Rosemary’s Baby or Annie Hall, but ideally not one directed by “a fucking pervert.” But, as Matt’s assistant Quinn (Chase Sui Wonders) points out, “Turns out perverts make great movies.” Sometimes, you have to make compromises in this business.

But just how great does that compromise have to be? Created by the longtime team of Rogen and Evan Goldberg (who co-direct each episode), with Frida Perez, Alex Gregory, and Peter Huyck (the latter two veterans of Veep, White House Plumbers, and other projects), The Studio is set in a Hollywood where the desperate desire to create the next big thing regularly gets transformed into attempts to imitate the last next big thing. Of course, Matt can only do so much about this poverty of creativity. He’s an exec but he’s not the head of the studio. Until, suddenly, he is.

When arriving at work, Matt is greeted by Sal (Ike Barinholtz), a close associate with whom he has a complicated relationship. It turns out that CEO Griffin Mill (Bryan Cranston) has shown up unannounced. What’s more, studio head Patty (Catherine O’Hara) is nowhere to be found. Could a change be coming? Could Sal soon be the one in charge of Continental? Sal thinks so but then so does Matt. But whatever happens, they promise it won’t get in the way of their friendship. Matt’s filled with conflicting emotions, but they’re not that conflicting. Mostly he’s thrilled. Knowing he’s about to be promoted or fired he promises to give Quinn a raise, a promise she thought he’d previously made just to keep her around. “I did,” Matt tells her. “But I also meant it.”

That mix of sincerity and maneuvering has served Matt well so far, but will it last? When Matt meets Griffin, the boss doesn’t take long to get to the news. Yes, Patty’s out, and yes, Matt’s up for the job. But he has to make a case for himself: He’s worked there for over two decades, he’s had successful projects, he’s wanted to be the head of Continental since he was a kid. That’s fine, but Griffin’s heard a rumor he needs to address: Is it true that Matt’s into “artsy-fartsy filmmaking bullshit” and that he cares what actors and directors think about him? After assuring Griffin that he’s concerned with the bottom line, Griffin gets to the real question: Can he build a “huge, four-quadrant” film around Kool-Aid? Matt’s response: That’s exactly the sort of film they should be making. Can he do it? “Oh, yeah!”

If Matt doesn’t immediately realize he’s made a Faustian bargain, it becomes clear soon enough. After telling Variety that “prestige films and box-office hits: Those are not mutually exclusive,” he has to find a way to implement that vision and implement it with Kool-Aid. Meeting with his inner circle, Matt finds the Kool-Aid idea gets a mixed reception. Quinn doesn’t know what to say, but Maya (Kathryn Hahn), Continental’s marketing head, loves the idea. Sal’s apparently enthusiastic, however, as is Tyler (Dewayne Perkins), who immediately starts figuring out how to promote the film despite there currently being nothing more to it than the idea of a Kool-Aid movie. Matt’s been told that Kool-Aid should be his Barbie and has a plan to thread the needle by imitating what he feels made Barbie work: hiring a writer and director with vision and letting them make the “auteur-driven, Oscar-winning Kool-Aid film.”

This proves a bit easier said than done. A meeting with Mitch White (David Krumholtz) reveals that the talent pool available to them might be shallower than they thought. Wes Anderson? Guillermo del Toro? Forget it. And as for the Barbie comparison, Mitch memorably sums it up: “People wanna fuck Barbie. I wanna … Ain’t nobody trying to fuck the Kool-Aid Man.” Like much of this episode, it’s a crude but perceptive observation. Barbie has sex appeal, as well as thematic depth and cultural resonance. Kool-Aid Man … well, he bursts through walls and says, “Oh, yeah.” Nicholas Stoller would like to pitch for it. Mitch won’t even ask the other guys.

Sal advises a one-for-them, one-for-me strategy. And, conveniently, Matt has a meeting with Martin Scorsese that week, which should take care of Matt’s “one-for-me.” A call from Griffin saying he needs Kool-Aid to be in the works by Friday adds a sense of urgency to the meeting, so Matt agrees to meet Stoller. Things seem to be taking care of themselves, especially after Stoller (gamely playing himself) delivers a perfectly serviceable pitch for a Kool-Aid movie involving in-jokes about other logos, family togetherness, and female empowerment that Matt knows is what Griffin is looking for. The one-for-them should be squared away.

Then, mid-meeting with Scorsese, a lightbulb goes off. Scorsese (also playing himself) has an idea for an ambitious movie about Jonestown. That’s the cult whose members famously took their own life drinking poisoned Kool-Aid. (Actually, as one character later points out, it was Flavor Aid, but everyone thinks it’s Kool-Aid, so who cares?) What if Scorsese just calls the movie Kool-Aid? That could be Matt’s Kool-Aid movie!

It’s a funny moment but also one of the least plausible in an episode that’s otherwise just a bit off from how Hollywood seems to work. Matt has to have been a shrewd operator to get this far and yet he can’t recognize this as an historically bad idea? Still, the rest of the episode wouldn’t work if Matt didn’t have a lapse into idiocy (largely spurred by the idea that his Hollywood peers are making fun of him), so maybe it’s best just to go with it.

What about Stoller? Matt says he can “get fucked” because he’s got “a real filmmaker.” (Again, Stoller is being an excellent sport. He’s also friends with Rogen and Goldberg and has collaborated with both of them multiple times on some very good films and TV shows.) This dismissal will have consequences. The Scorsese decision will have even more immediate consequences when Maya flips out at the idea. She’s not appeased by Scorsese’s idea to have Steve Buscemi play Jim Jones, either, particularly when tests reveal that audiences know his name or his face but not both. (Even Maya and the rest of the team can’t pronounce his name.)

The good news? Maya has whipped up a teaser with a dancing Kool-Aid Man doing a dance that’s taken TikTok by storm and would be perfect for the Stoller vision of a Kool-Aid movie. Then, after making an impassioned argument for the Scorsese take, Matt marches into Griffin’s office and shows him the dancing Kool-Aid Man teaser and gives him Stoller’s pitch.

Griffin loves it! And when Matt tells him he bought Scorsese’s Jonestown script to keep it from ever being made Griffin thinks he’s a genius. So now what? Matt has two problems: Stoller has no interest in coming back, especially after being advised to stay away from Continental by the still-bitter Patty. And he has to tell Martin Scorsese that not only is he not making his Jonestown movie, but his Jonestown movie will never be made.

First stop: Patty’s, where Matt fights his old mentor, alternating between rage and despondency. She’s also pretty mad at Matt, whom she accuses of stabbing her in the back. Matt’s eager to mend fences and to get her to help him bring Stoller back to the Kool-Aid movie. It’s another instance of Matt being capable of sincere emotions while simultaneously serving his own interests. He does seem to care about Patty. He also cares about what she can do for him. Fortunately, that feeling is mutual.

Beneath the high emotion, Patty remains a canny operator. She proposes an absurd production deal for herself in return for her help with Stoller that Matt then negotiates down to something more reasonable. The meeting ends in a hug followed by an unexpectedly inspiring talk. When you “make a good movie,” Patty tells him. “It’s good forever.” She then goes on to tell him he’ll make a great studio head because he had the best teacher. It’s unclear if Matt recognizes these as echoing the dying words of Paul Dano’s character in the action film that opened the episode.

Regardless, Matt still has to do some killing of his own. At Charlize Theron’s party, Matt tries to steer Scorsese away from shop talk, a move that instantly betrays to Scorsese that something’s up. “This performance, it’s inauthentic,” the director tells him. Then, the truth comes out (after Matt passes the buck to Sal). This leaves Scorsese shocked and angry. He lays into Matt even before learning that Matt had schemed to kill the movie. Theron kicks them out, but they can’t escape without having an awkward conversation with Steve Buscemi, who reveals this was to be Scorsese’s last movie. They keep the news of the project’s death from Buscemi but can’t get out of earshot fast enough to hear Buscemi asking Scorsese if he’s crying. Nonetheless, as the episode winds down, Sal and Matt relax by the pool, drinking martinis, eating popcorn, and admiring GoodFellas. They know great movies when they see them. They just don’t know how to get them made.

This first episode gets The Studio off to a promising start, throwing out sharp satirical points but letting Rogen’s performance as Matt keep everything grounded in his sincere desire to be the kind of studio boss he dreamed of being. He wants to make art and continue the legacy of the films that made him fall in love with movies in the first place. That’s never been easy, but it’s arguably harder in 2025 — when hard-to-capture audiences seemingly only want franchise films built around familiar names, streaming and other alternatives draw would-be moviegoers away, and studios respond by always taking the most risk-averse path—than in most eras. If The Studio was all snark and no heart it might grow tiresome. But, for now, at least, it holds out the possibility that maybe Matt and those around him with similar desires will find a way to make a movie that’s good forever, not just profitable for its moment. That’s still possible, right?

• The Continental Studios building is a pastiche of other Wright creations in the Mayan Revival style, particularly the Ennis House. That private home has its own ties to movies. You’ll recognize it from the original House on Haunted Hill, Blade Runner, and other films. Patty’s striking home is the Harvey House, which was built in 1949 and designed by John Lautner. (It’s home to Mitch Glazer and Kelly Lynch in real life.)

• Maya’s inability to pronounce anyone’s name (or even common words) seems likely to become a running gag. Maya’s outfits seem even more likely to be a highlight of future episodes.

• “I killed one of Warren’s movies in ’88, and he never slept with me again.” One episode in and this is starting to feel like one of the most quotable shows on television.

• Here’s a question: Is this Griffin Mill the same Griffin Mill who’s the protagonist of Robert Altman’s 1992 Hollywood satire The Player, or is the show just tipping the hat to an obvious inspiration? If the latter, it’s not the only homage. The long takes echo The Player’s first scene, a long take that calls attention to itself by referencing other long takes, like the opening of Touch of Evil. If the former, what happened in the years in between? It certainly wouldn’t be out of the question that the success Mill enjoyed at the end of that film would put him in the position to be a CEO a few decades later. Will this become clearer with future episodes or is it best not to overthink it?