With the tech takeover of Hollywood coming fast, legacy film studios now face an existential crisis. Paramount was swallowed by Skydance during a months-long $8 billion merger finalized in August. Warner Bros. is next, but this time the stakes may be higher.
With Netflix winning the bidding war for Warner Bros. Discovery — agreeing to pay more than $82 billion for its historic film and TV library, Burbank studios and HBO distribution stream, among other assets — the discussion has largely been focused on regulatory hurdles, stock prices, debt structure, layoffs and release strategies. The Directors Guild of America has already announced its intentions to meet with Netflix about the acquisition and what it means for theatrical distribution, while the Writers Guild of America has called for the merger to be “blocked” and Paramount has launched accusationsof foul play amid the bidding process.
Missing from the discussion, however, is the cultural value of the studio’s history for developing challenging, era-defining films, consistently pushing for innovation in the filmmaking and distribution processes and for creating space for artists to explore their creativity.
For many, the Warner Bros. shield is more than a logo; it has stood across decades as a symbol of courage throughout the industry. The studio was founded in 1923 by four Jewish immigrants — brothers Harry, Jack, Sam and Albert — who believed movies could do much more than print money and entertain audiences. The studio leveraged both its assets and reputation to bring synchronized sound to film in the late 1920s, and developed larger-than-life stars from James Cagney and Humphrey Bogart to Ingrid Bergman and Bette Davis.
Being on the lot “was magical,” Karen Sperling, Harry Warner’s granddaughter, told me after a recent studio visit. “I realized that those streets, buildings, stages, props and costumes held story upon story that belong to all of us. The lot itself holds the value of the narratives that created movie memories in each of our lives, the classic moments that have entertained us, educated us and enlightened our own personal stories … certainly mine.”
Standing out from their peers, the brothers took social and political risks in hopes of enlightening viewers, from condemning the American justice system in 1932’s “I Am a Fugitive From a Chain Gang” to warning about encroaching xenophobia in 1937’s “Black Legion” and rallying home front audiences with 1942’s World War II classic “Casablanca.”
Groucho Marx once called Warner Bros. “the only studio with any guts.” Under the leadership of Harry, the eldest brother, Warner became the first studio to pull its films out of Germany and to attack the Nazi regime in its productions — something that was a huge risk while America was still digging its way out of the Great Depression. Harry regularly campaigned on behalf of movies, framing them as a public good with a power beyond that of any individual.
“The Warner brothers felt a responsibility to history and did not hesitate to take up the fight,” Oscar-winning director Steven Spielberg said during a recent industry dinner.
The modern impact of Warner Bros. arguably began when Michael Uslan landed his 1989 “Batman” project at the studio after everyone else passed, launching the now-ubiquitous superhero genre while taking a chance on Michael Keaton, then mostly known for comedic roles. Throughout the 1990s, Warner Bros. created opportunities for directors to explore challenging subjects with films like Spike Lee’s “Malcolm X,” Oliver Stone’s “Natural Born Killers” and Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut,” while still showing it could have fun with two gems from 1995: “Twister” and “Empire Records.” Then Warner Bros. effectively changed the trajectory of cinema with the Wachowskis’ century-ending red pill, “The Matrix.”
The studio has seemingly perfected a mix of crowd-pleasing popcorn films with riskier fare in the 21st century — sometimes within the same production. It has launched popular franchises with the Harry Potter, Hangover and Dark Knight films, greenlit auteur-driven works such as David Fincher’s “Zodiac” and unleashed director Greta Gerwig’s billion-dollar smash hit, “Barbie.”
This year was arguably one of Warner’s best, as it became the first studio with seven consecutive films opening to $40 million-plus weekends, including “A Minecraft Movie,” “Superman” and “F1.” Horror hits “Sinners” and “Weapons” were two of the summer’s most talked-about flicks. Director Bong Joon Ho’s “Mickey 17” showcased Warner’s continued support of international filmmakers. And Paul Thomas Anderson’s racially charged “One Battle After Another” continues to grab headlines as this year’s front-runner for Best Picture.
Today, such a philosophy of fearlessly defending a cultural institution feels endangered if not extinct. Media conglomerates all too often treat legacy studios as IP libraries to mine for “content.” Even Warner Bros. recently celebrated “The Wizard of Oz” during its 100th anniversary despite its origins as an MGM film acquired during a 1986 merger. More recently, Disney+ has celebrated “Home Alone” among its Christmas classics despite it being exploited as IP after Disney paid $71 billion for Fox in 2017. Corporate consolidations have led to, at their worst, the destruction of entire lots (see also: MGM), as well as layoffs and fading memory of the studio’s creations.
For more than a century, Warner‘s films chronicled how America saw itself, including the optimism, the disillusionment, the struggles for justice and the fights for identity. Netflix may soon own Warner Bros. and its Burbank lot, but how it proceeds is up in the air. Will Warner Bros. evolve into a 21st-century tech company, or will Netflix use the acquisition to ground itself by adding a legacy studio? There arguably isn’t a better lot for rounding out one’s historical cred.
If the Netflix purchase of Warner Bros. Discovery succeeds, the next generation of executives has a responsibility beyond the shareholders. They have a duty to protect the studio’s legacy of courage, innovation and creativity. Continuing to invest in film preservation is essential. Keeping the door open to access classic cinema through TCM and its hub on HBO Max is also a key component for celebrating the studio’s heritage.
Warner Bros. can once again be a symbol of how great movies can speak truth to power, even when the risks are legion. The brothers took risks to invest in sound synchronization and to pursue relevant narratives that were “ripped from the headlines,” they used their own personal resources for philanthropic purpose, and they served as examples of respectable civic leadership.
Preserving that spirit is not just good for business, it’s essential to America’s cultural legacy. Warner Bros. may soon be owned by Netflix, but its soul must be preserved.
Chris Yogerst is author of “The Warner Brothers” (2023) and a regular contributor to The Hollywood Reporter.
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