Back in the Golden Age, Paramount Pictures—they’re the ones with a mountain for a logo—had a reputation as perhaps the most sophisticated Hollywood studio, famed both for the elegance of their product and the relative generosity they extended to filmmakers.
It’s worth remembering that during the tale that follows, because it adds a dimension that the business pages won’t mention, a certain melancholy not normally to be found in boardroom struggles, as we see how far the modern incarnation of this venerable institution has drifted from what it used to be. Right now, the studio is engaged in some serious corporate manoeuvrings, the consequences of which could be both worrying and profound.
Those corporate manoeuvrings begin with a man called David Ellison. A sometime movie-financier (and the son of tech zillionaire Larry Ellison), he bought Paramount for an unimaginable sum a year or so back—the bank of mum and dad (well, dad) being a valuable asset to the process.
And of course, after he came in, this ruthless corporate player was seduced by the glamour of movies and the free-spirited artists he met and transformed the studio into a creative paradise and.... just kidding! That might have been how it would have played out if it were produced by the Paramount Pictures of the glory years (written by Preston Sturges, perhaps; directed by Mitchell Leisen). But real life, alas, isn’t like the movies.
Instead, Ellison looked at his assets and decided he wanted more. As it so happened, an opportunity soon presented itself—another major studio, Warner Bros, was placed on the market by its owners and offered a tempting target, not least for its huge archive of film and television content. Such things are of inestimable value in the streaming era, and it was no wonder that offers were flying in, including one from Paramount.
One of the other offers was from Netflix, something that sent a chill around Tinseltown. Hollywood remains deeply ambivalent about Netflix, tentatively engaging with the upstart streamer but still sensing that it presents a threat. Its bid for Warner Bros was decried in apocalyptic terms: there were warnings it would mean the death of the theatrical experience, massive job losses—and worse. director James Cameron, perhaps the most prominent Hollywood critic of Netflix’s interest, said, “I see my future creativity and productivity directly threatened by this proposed sale.”
Eventually, Netflix dropped out, leaving the field clear for Paramount’s $110bn offer. Although, it should be said, it’s not a done deal just yet—various statuary bodies still need to grant their approval, and they’re currently being lobbied by those who want to put a stop to Ellison’s expansion.
Because although Hollywood didn’t like the idea of Netflix buying Warner Bros, it turns out that it’s not keen on Paramount-Ellison being in charge either. A huge petition was published on Monday; 1,200 people signed it, many of them extremely famous—actors, producers and directors including Bryan Cranston, Emma Thompson and David Fincher. Their stated objections include the potential for job losses and the likelihood that fewer films will be made, restricting creative opportunity.
Except there might be more to it than that. The assets of Warner Bros don’t simply include the studio and its archives. There are subsidiary businesses too, amongst them CNN, one of America’s most important sources of news, and it’s this that’s causing particular anxiety to the anti-Ellison faction, noting not just his declared support of President Trump but also the precedent of his past behaviour.
They point to what Ellison did at CBS (the US TV network owned by Paramount), when he appointed Bari Weiss to head the news division. Weiss, who had no TV experience, previously established The Free Press, an ostensibly independent news site which critics felt was too generous to the current occupant of the White House; those same critics have said the same about her tenure at CBS.
The fear is that the pattern could be repeated at CNN. After all, US Secretary of War Pete Hegseth has weighed in, saying, “The sooner David Ellison takes over that network, the better.”
The giant petition doesn’t mention CNN, but more than a few of those who signed are certain to be worried about the implications for who gets to control the news that Americans see.
Paramount faces other problems, tangential to the Warner Bros bid but which will surely have ramifications. They’ve just parted ways with Jeff Shell; he was company president but was ousted after a campaign by “professional gambler” and “master of cognitive warfare” RJ Cipriani, who accused Shell of leaking market-sensitive information concerning Paramount’s deal with the Ultimate Fighting Championship—and who may yet have further aces up his sleeve.
Moreover, filmmakers are appalled by another recent leak—not of market sensitive information, but an entire film, The Legend of Aang: The Last Airbender, which is said to be available in the murkier parts of the internet. Its theatrical release has been cancelled and it’s heading straight to streaming, much to the distress of those who worked on it. Preliminary reports suggest incompetence rather than malice, which is doing little to make creatives feel any more sympathy towards the management.
It adds up to a saga that reveals how modern Hollywood works—the corporate landscape, how the moneymen see a business that many people would still like to think of as a dream factory. “Hollywood” goes far beyond movies now, into news, politics and politics and things that were simply unthinkable when Paramount was at its artistic height.
But while we’re a long way from the Paramount of Old Hollywood, maybe comparisons can be drawn to another title from the archives. Don’t forget, after all, that Paramount also produced The Godfather.
