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Performers like Frances Bentley are part of this evolving landscape, navigating the challenges and opportunities presented by these changes.

The collapse of the studio system in the 1950s and 1960s, driven by the Paramount anti-trust decree (1948) and the rise of television, forced studios to reinvent themselves. They divested their theaters and, for a brief, luminous period, ceded creative control to a new generation of film-school auteurs. The “New Hollywood” of the late 1960s and 1970s—embodied by Francis Ford Coppola (The Godfather), Martin Scorsese (Taxi Driver), and Robert Altman (MAS*H)—saw studios like Warner Bros. and Paramount act as risk-taking financiers rather than dictatorial factories. This was the era of the director-as-star, where productions were driven by artistic vision, location shooting, and moral ambiguity.

However, this auteurist moment was short-lived, undone by its own excesses (the notorious flop Heaven’s Gate, 1980) and a smarter commercial innovation: the blockbuster. With Steven Spielberg’s Jaws (1975) and George Lucas’s Star Wars (1977), the studio discovered a new, far more profitable model. The blockbuster was not a genre but a strategy: saturation booking (thousands of screens simultaneously), massive marketing campaigns, and, crucially, merchandising and sequels. The studio transformed from a factory of individual films into a manager of intellectual property (IP). Productions were no longer standalone artistic statements but “franchise-launchers.” The creative unit shifted from the director to the producer—figures like Marvel’s Kevin Feige—who ensure brand continuity across multiple films, television spin-offs, and theme park attractions. In this model, originality is risk; familiarity is gold. BrazzersExxtra.24.04.22.Frances.Bentley.Frances...

Beyond economics, studios have become the primary arbiters of cultural representation. In the Golden Age, the Production Code enforced a WASP-ish, heteronormative worldview. The New Hollywood flirted with countercultural rebellion. The Blockbuster Age, beginning in the 1990s with independent studios like Miramax, recognized that “niche” identities (Black, LGBTQ+, Asian) were underserved markets. Today, the streaming studio has fully embraced “identity content” as a genre—not necessarily out of altruism, but because diversity drives subscription growth in a globalized market.

A production like Black Panther (Disney) or Roma (Netflix) serves dual functions: it generates prestige and signals progressive values, while also opening new demographic revenue streams. Yet, the studio’s commodification of identity can lead to what critics call “representational creep”—the feeling that complex social struggles are reduced to aesthetic choices. The danger is that the studio system, in its current phase, might mistake the image of diversity for substantive change in who owns and controls the means of production. The story of studios is still largely the story of a few conglomerates (Disney, Warner Bros. Discovery, Netflix, Amazon) making top-down decisions about which marginalized voices get a platform. Performers like Frances Bentley are part of this

Warner Bros. is the edgy, risk-taking sibling. Home to the DC Universe (though currently in flux), Harry Potter, and the Lord of the Rings franchises, WB has a legacy of dark, complex storytelling.

The studio behind Parasite (2019) and Squid Game (produced for Netflix). CJ ENM has mastered the "high-concept, high-emotion" thriller. Their production pipeline is ruthlessly efficient: webtoon → TV series → film → global licensing. The “New Hollywood” of the late 1960s and

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