The Studio, on Apple TV+

In a way, you could say Continental Studios’ upcoming tent-pole is sort of a Marvel movie, because back in the 1980s, Marvel Comics released five promotional comics featuring the Kool-Aid Man. It was a little weird at the time, but a big-budget Kool-Aid Man movie is a daunting task for Matt Remick, but he had to feign enthusiasm to get promoted to run the studio. He wants to be Robert Evans, but his insecurities are only too obvious in writer-creators Seth Rogan, Evan Goldberg, Peter Huyck, Alex Gregory, and Frida Perez’s 10-episode The Studio, which premieres today on Apple TV+.

Remick loves movies, so he wants his talent to love him back. Instead, they usually blow him off, at least until sleazy CEO, Griffin Mill, promotes him to studio chief, replacing his mentor, Patty Leigh. However, Remick soon offers her a lucrative producing deal to keep her in the fold. He will have many challenges shepherding Kool-Aid, as well as the rest of his upcoming slate, including Ron Howard’s Alphabet City and a Sarah Polley art film.

Fortunately, his core staff remains more-or-less loyal to him, including his hard-drinking buddy Sal Saperstein, his freshly promoted former assistant Quinn Hackett, and the caustic head of marketing, Maya Mason.

Obviously, The Studio takes a great deal of inspiration from Robert Altman’s The Player. It even pays homage to Tim Robbins’ character, the original Griffin Mill. It also features many real-life show business celebrities playing themselves, but some are considerably funnier than others. Frankly, the surprise scene-stealer is Dave Franco (as himself), who pokes fun at his image and career, while going for some big laughs. He even provides perhaps the funniest recap narration in TV history for the concluding episode, a two-part continuation.

Zoe Kravitz is also a very good sport. However, even though filmmaking legends Ron Howard and Martin Scorsese fully commit, their storylines are more cringy than humorous.

Indeed, the writing and execution varies wildly throughout the ten installments. The opener is an okay set-up, but episodes two, three, five, and six set-up excruciatingly uncomfortable situations that just keep piling on, rather than puncturing the tension. However, episode seven has some of the funniest TV/streaming writing of the 2020s that absolutely skewers Hollywood’s DEI mindset. Honestly, there is no way this episode could have been produced three or four years ago. Ice Cube is also savagely funny as himself.

The two-part conclusion, set during CinemaCon, is also vintage door-slamming farce that even pays tribute to Weekend at Bernie’s. It is mostly either feast or famine with The Studio, but episode four, “The Missing Reel,” is sort of an okay middle of the road offering, mostly because Zac Efron’s droll self-portrayal. It also somewhat amusingly uses elements of film noir.

The Greatest Beer Run Ever, on Apple TV+

Well into the 1950s, the northern Manhattan neighborhood of Inwood was considered the most rural area in the borough. Technically, it could still be. Traditionally, it was also predominantly Irish Catholic. Not surprisingly, the locals took exception to antiwar protesters who casually smeared the troops as “baby killers.” Out of that shared frustration, Chickie Donohue, a peace-time veteran and Merchant Marine, hatched a scheme to deliver beer to his neighborhood friends serving in-country. Much to everyone’s surprise, especially the soldiers in combat, Donohue followed-through. His real-life adventure is now the subject of Peter Farrelly’s The Greatest Beer Run Ever, which premieres today on Apple TV+.

Donohue still lives at home, because he and his mother think it would be a waste to pay rent while he is gone for months at a time with the Merchant Marine (who also have a crucial role to play during times of war). However, that means there are plenty of opportunities for arguments with his anti-war activist sister. During a gripe-session with the “Colonel,” the bartender at their local watering hole, Donohue latches on to a crazy idea to deliver beers to the troops in Vietnam, as a way to express their appreciation. However, it was not a totally unrealistic idea for Donohue, because there happened to be a supply ship leaving for Saigon that still had a vacancy.

With a duffle bag full of Pabst and a list of names and general locations, Donohue sets off, naively heedless of the chaos and danger he would be stepping into. For the sake of dramatic cohesion, Farrelly and co-screenwriters Brian Hayes Currie and Pete Jones compressed Donohue’s months-long mission into a 72-hour pass—over the final days of January, 1968, thereby raising the dramatic stakes, as those who know their history will immediately understand.

Clearly, Farrelly is going for a Good Morning Vietnam vibe, but Greatest Beer Run proves that is easier said than done. It so obvious Farrelly and his co-writers feel duty-bound to criticize the war, without attacking the troops in the way so many New Left protesters did. As a result, the film twists itself into pretzels, not infrequently questioning the motives and integrity of the government and top military brass, while attempting to sympathize with the enlisted men. It almost reaches Jekyll-and-Hyde extremes.

Indeed, Coates, the war correspondent played by Russell Crowe is supposed to be one of the good guys, but his smug moral superiority is absolutely nauseating. Regardless, he cannot help comparing unfavorably with Donohue, whom Zac Efron portrays winning earnestness—and nebbishness, very much contrary to his image. This is definitely some of his best work.