What Would We Do If We Ran A Major Studio?

Even though it's not the same thing as running a tiny production company, the question has already lurked in my head. What if I was lucky/unlucky enough to be Matt Remick in AppleTV's The Studio?

AppleTV’s The Studio. I have to admit, I totally get Matt Remick (Seth Rogen), just in a much, much, tinier, smaller, scale. - AppleTV

What would you do if you ran a film studio?

That’s the question Ted Hope asked his readers last week, and it’s been bouncing around in my head ever since. As someone who works in the trenches, directing, mentoring young filmmakers through the Youth Cinema Project, and juggling art and commerce, it hit a nerve. Not because I have all the answers, but because I’ve been living the problems his piece outlines. Ironically, I sort of do run a film studio. Okay, tiny asterisk, it’s my own production company, Lumos Films LLC. We're not exactly greenlighting nine-figure tentpoles, but we do handle everything from SAG contracts and union paperwork to late-night rewrites and emergency prop runs. The only difference is, we’re doing it with a handful of people, a modest camera package, and a whole lot of caffeine.

And speaking of people, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention my wife Maria Banson, who quickly became its most critical department head: our casting director. She has a gift for finding actors who are not only talented but incredibly patient with my endless line reading notes and obsession with eyelines. Plus, she keeps me honest when I get tempted to cast “that guy” just because I liked his one-man show playing at the Hudson on Santa Monica Blvd.

Lately, we’ve been watching AppleTV’s The Studio, and while we don’t have million dollar budgets or a celebrity-filled boardroom, the beats feel oddly familiar. Creative tension? You bet. Budget headaches? Of course. But we’re a boutique production company, and I think the themes in the show resonate regardless of scale. We don’t have our own sprawling backlot. Instead, we’re the team wondering if we can shoot that tricky crane shot with a ladder and some gaffer tape. That’s us.

But here’s the key difference: unlike a studio, most of what we do is creative services. Commercials, brand videos, industrials for small businesses and nonprofits. That’s our bread and butter. Narrative and original work? That’s maybe 25% of what we do if we’re lucky. I’d take what Lumos does now, mostly client work for businesses and nonprofits, and invert it. Because while branded content pays the bills (and occasionally surprises us with meaning), the stuff that fuels our soul is the narrative work. The personal stories. The weird, scrappy, joyful projects that make us remember why we got into this.

So when Ted talks about reimagining studios, I constantly find myself flipping that percentage in my head. What if narrative and creative storytelling weren’t the side hustle, but the main thing? What if the resources we spend on branded content were redirected to bold, personal films that reach a broader audience?

We DO stand for something: Our “Why” has always been there from the start.

At Lumos, our “Why” is simple: we shine a light on underrepresented stories, often by working with underrepresented creatives. Whether that’s through the people we hire, the stories we tell, or the platforms we build, we always ask: Whose story hasn’t been told yet? And who hasn’t gotten the chance to tell it?

This one’s the Lumos heartstring. It’s not a bullet point, it’s the mission. We’re not here to tokenize or chase trends. We’re here to illuminate stories that aren’t getting greenlit elsewhere, whether that means who’s behind the camera, who’s on screen, or whose truth is being told.

This is at the heart of Lumos, and it would still be at the heart if we were a major studio too. The world is richer when all of us are reflected on screen.

Pay Equity (Because… Come On.)

It’s 2025. If we’re still underpaying people, especially women, BIPOC, LGBTQ+ and disabled creatives for doing the same damn job, we’ve failed. Full stop.

This shouldn’t be controversial. Equal work deserves equal pay. Period. But somehow, when it comes to the crew, there’s still this weird sliding scale, especially for folks from historically marginalized communities. They get hired, but not always at the same rate. Or they get passed over entirely when budgets tighten, which, let’s be honest, they always do.

A real studio model would bake equity into the foundation, not slap it on as a DEI initiative once a year. That means:

• Pay transparency across departments so people know what’s standard, and when they’re being undercut.

• Standardized minimums that scale with experience because saying “We don’t have the budget” should never be an excuse to exploit someone.

• Hiring practices that eliminate the old boys’ club and favor inclusive rosters especially in keys and department head positions.

• Clear, posted salary bands on job listings (no more “DOE” or “competitive” as code for “we’ll lowball you if we can”).

Also, let’s talk about the invisible labor. The folks who end up mentoring younger staff, managing emotional dynamics on set, or fixing the problems no one else wants to touch are often women and people of color. They deserve compensation that reflects the full value of what they bring.

If we say we’re progressive, we should prove it. On the call sheet and the paycheck. A studio can’t claim to support equity on screen if it’s not happening behind the camera too.

Gender Parity in Creative and Leadership Roles

It shouldn’t be radical to say that half—yes, half—of all department heads, directors, producers, and creative leads should be women or nonbinary folks. But somehow, in 2025, that’s still treated as a bold, disruptive idea instead of just… common sense.

Parity in numbers is one thing. But parity in power? That’s the real fight.

At the studio I’d run, gender parity wouldn’t be a press release or a themed panel at a festival, it would be standard operating procedure. It would be baked into hiring policy, contract negotiations, and talent development pipelines. Every time a job opens up whether it’s DP on a tentpole or supervising producer on a mid-budget drama, there would be intentional outreach, recruitment, and mentorship to ensure women and nonbinary candidates are represented and set up to succeed.

And let’s be real: this doesn’t mean hiring less qualified people. It means recognizing that we’ve systemically excluded a massive portion of the talent pool, and it’s time to reverse that, not just with symbolic hires, but sustained leadership.

This also goes hand in hand with Pay Equity. Because representation without compensation is just optics. If women and nonbinary folks are constantly asked to lead but not paid what their male peers are paid, or aren’t given the same creative freedom, budget control, or greenlight authority, then we’ve changed the optics, not the power structure.

Parity isn’t just about filling slots. It’s about shifting the studio culture so that collaboration, care, and inclusion aren’t “feminine values” but leadership standards. Because when you change who gets to lead, you change the kinds of stories being told, and how they’re told. And audiences are hungry for that shift.

So yeah, 50% leadership representation, no “pipeline” excuses, no “we couldn’t find anyone” backpedals. We build the culture we claim to want by making it non-negotiable.

The House Always Competes

If we’re serious about building a creative ecosystem, not just a content machine, then we have to treat our internal team like more than just worker bees.

Internal mobility matters. It’s baffling how often studios will spend weeks, sometimes months, hunting for “the perfect candidate,” while wildly talented people are already inside the house running departments, solving fires, pulling off miracles on budget and deadline.

Here’s the fix: 30–50% of final-round interviews for any leadership or creative role should always include internal candidates. From development to directing, line producing to post. If you’ve been putting in the work, you should get a shot. No closed doors. No “they’re just not ready” hand-waving without real evaluation.

Because if we’re truly cultivating talent, mentoring assistants, nurturing junior editors, supporting entry-level PAs, then what’s the point if there’s no actual ladder to climb?

Letting the house compete does a few powerful things:

• It tells your team you see them. That their growth is part of the company’s story, not a side note.

• It builds a culture of trust and retention. People stay where they know they can rise.

• And it opens the door for new kinds of leadership, voices shaped by the day-to-day realities of how work actually gets done.

Gatekeeping might preserve the illusion of order, but investing in your people builds loyalty, creativity, and long-term brilliance. The next best showrunner or department head might not be across town. They might be in your editing bay, or logging footage at 11pm.

If we don’t create upward mobility in-house, we’re just another machine chewing up young talent and burning them out. And that’s not a studio worth building.

Foster Creativity (Like, Actually)

Every company says they support creativity, but more often than not, that means a Slack channel called #ideas that no one checks and maybe a whiteboard in the break room with “What if…?” scribbled in dry erase marker from 2019.

If you’re serious about fostering creativity, it has to be more than decorative. It has to be structural. Because the truth is, your next breakout project might not come from the top-floor development suite. It might come from the assistant logging dailies who’s quietly writing screenplays on the side. Or the post coordinator who’s been directing short films every weekend since film school.

Creativity doesn’t respect hierarchy. So the hierarchy needs to make room.

Here’s what that would actually look like in a studio built with intention:

• Monthly pitch sessions that are truly open, from interns to execs. A space where anyone on staff can submit a pitch deck or short sizzle, and get real feedback from the creative team. Not just “we’ll circle back,” but honest conversation and the possibility of development.

• Micro-grants and mentorships for in-house creators. Got a short you want to direct? A proof-of-concept for a pilot? Cool. Here’s a small fund, a weekend to shoot, and a senior producer to advise. Let’s see what happens.

• Internal “lab seasons” where the studio backs two or three passion projects a year made entirely by in-house talent. Give folks the shot to stretch their wings in a low-stakes, high-trust environment. Innovation thrives when there’s room to fail safely.

• Idea tracking that isn’t gatekept. Every idea submitted gets logged, tagged, and tracked. Why? Because sometimes a pitch is just early. Maybe it’s not the right fit now, but with the right collaborators or budget model, it could evolve into something gold. Don’t throw those sparks away.

And maybe most importantly, follow-through. We’ve all heard studios say, “We value creativity.” But if no one ever gets greenlit, if the same handful of creators are always given the nod, it becomes clear: the door was never really open.

The Studio - AppleTV

A creative studio has to be brave enough to say yes to something unproven. Brave enough to let surprise come in from the mailroom. Brave enough to believe that ideas can live in unexpected places, not just where the org chart says they should.

And yes, we’d make money. We’d make the big-budget stuff and the personal films, because one fuels the other. The spectacle draws the crowds, the personal work builds the brand. There’s no reason a studio can’t champion emotional, underrepresented stories and turn out blockbusters that break the bank. It’s not about picking between art and commerce. It’s about refusing to treat them like enemies.

Because what’s the point of a studio if it doesn’t take creative risks? If we’re not here to cultivate and champion fresh vision, then we’re just a vending machine for content.

Let’s be more than that. Let’s build a place where creativity is the engine, not the afterthought.

Lumos Films at work. I love my team.

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A lot of my principles stem from this book and this man: Ed Catmull’s Creativity Inc. I highly recommend his book.