Apple TV+ ‘The Studio’ Episode 9 Review - A Hilarious Satire on Hollywood’s Obsession with IP

Episode 9 of The Studio, titled “CinemaCon,” takes everything that’s been building over the past few episodes—the mounting pressure, the IP obsession of the fictional Continental Studios, and Matt Remick’s desperate attempts to inject art into nonsense—and throws it into a blender. What comes out is possibly the series' funniest, most absurd, and sneakily insightful episode yet.

The premise is simple but ripe with comedic tension. CinemaCon, the real-life annual Las Vegas-based gathering where studios showcase their upcoming slates to theater owners and the press, is the stage for Matt’s grand announcement. The centerpiece of his presentation? A movie adaptation of Kool-Aid. Yes, the talking jug of flavored sugar water. The entire project is intended as a cheeky reflection of Hollywood’s obsession with turning nostalgic brands into billion-dollar blockbusters. But Matt has a vision—he doesn’t want a soulless, committee-built, kid-friendly commercial. He wants Barbie, but more “director-driven.” Aesthetically ambitious. Philosophically bold. He believes, naively, that he can pull it off.

As the episode unfolds, you watch in increasingly giddy horror as the entire endeavor unravels in front of a live audience. From the moment Matt steps on stage, it’s clear something’s going to go wrong. The tension is built with exquisite timing. The crowd's confused reaction snowballs into discomfort, and the film clip—which is supposed to be a bold, artistic preview—only furthers the awkwardness.

Then come the reactions. The director of the Kool-Aid film, Nicholas Stoller, panics and flees after a pointed question about using AI for animation. Ice Cube, who was roped into the project in some inexplicable role, storms off in protest. That leaves Matt alone in front of a crowd that's starting to boo—not for the Kool-Aid movie being bad, but for it being everything they didn’t want: a parody of itself that somehow takes itself seriously.

The real strength of the episode lies in how it manages to toe the line between complete absurdity and scarily accurate industry critique. This isn’t just a comedy of errors. It’s a pointed commentary on what the film industry has become. Executives chasing nostalgia because it’s safe. Filmmakers trying to carve meaning into properties that were never meant to carry a message. AI creeping into creative processes. The entire system melts into itself like a fever dream of ambition, branding, and algorithms.

And yet, the show doesn't get preachy. Its charm lies in the characters. Matt Remick continues to be a perfect tragicomic figure—he’s earnest, he’s trying, but he’s hopelessly deluded about how much control he actually has. His relationship with studio boss Sal is tense and full of veiled threats, while his interactions with Quinn Hackett are layered with mutual manipulation. Everyone around him is either eyeing their exit or trying to survive the freefall.

Visually, the episode keeps up the show’s signature sleekness. There's a polished, cinematic quality to the way the scenes are framed—even the chaos on stage feels like it’s being directed with precision. The camera glides, lingers, moves at a breathless pace, and yet never feels confusing. The editing is sharp without being overwhelming, and the tone is consistent: irreverent, sharp, and constantly walking the tightrope between satire and farce.

If there’s one criticism to level at this otherwise stellar episode, it’s that the pacing occasionally runs ahead of itself. There are so many moving parts, so many jokes flying at once, that it becomes easy to miss some of the subtler character beats. It would’ve been interesting to see a moment or two where Matt reflects—really reflects—on whether he’s become the very executive he once hated. The show tends to hint at his inner turmoil without fully exploring it, which works for its pace but might leave some emotional arcs undercooked.

But honestly, that’s a minor nitpick in what’s otherwise a standout piece of television. “CinemaCon” does what The Studio does best—punches up at the Hollywood machine with a knowing grin and razor-sharp writing. It never needs to break the fourth wall to make you feel like you’re in on the joke, and it trusts its audience to follow the madness without spoon-feeding morals or commentary.

By the end of the episode, as Matt walks off stage in a swirl of confused boos and industry eye-rolls, you’re left with a strange mix of satisfaction and pity. You laugh, but you also wonder how far this man—and the show—will go to hold a mirror to an industry that’s forgotten how to laugh at itself.

Episode 9 doesn’t just hit its stride. It sprints. And if this is where the show’s heading as it closes out its first season, it might just stick the landing harder than anyone expected.

Final Score- [9/10]