studio

For the trendiest tenants in Hollywood office buildings, it’s the latest fad that goes way beyond designer furniture and art: mini studios

To capitalize on the never-ending flow of stars and influencers who come through Los Angeles, a growing number of companies are building bright little corners for content creators to try products and shoot short videos. Athletic apparel maker Puma, Kim Kardashian’s Skims and cheeky cosmetics retailer e.l.f. have spaces specifically designed to give people a place to experience and broadcast about their brands.

Hollywood, which hasn’t historically been home to apparel companies, is now attracting the offices of fashion retailers, says CIM Group, one of the neighborhood’s largest commercial property landlords.

“When we’re touring a space, one of the first items they bring up is, ‘Where can I build a studio?’” said Blake Eckert, who leases CIM offices in L.A.

Their studio offices also serve as marketing centers, with showrooms and meeting spaces where brands can host proprietary events not open to the public.

“For companies where brand visibility is really important, there is a trend of creating spaces that don’t just function as offices,” said real estate broker Nicole Mahalka of CBRE, who puts together entertainment property leases and sales.

Puma’s global entertainment marketing team is based in its new Hollywood offices, which works with such musical celebrity partners as Rihanna, ASAP Rocky, Dua Lipa, Skepta and Rosé, said Allyssa Rapp, head of Puma Studio L.A.

Allyssa Rapp, director of entertainment marketing at Puma, is shown in the Puma Studio L.A. The company keeps a closet full of Puma products on hand to give VIP guests. Visits to the studio sanctum are by invitation only, though.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

Hollywood is a central location, she said, for meeting with celebrities, stylists and outside designers, most of whom are based in Los Angeles.

The office is a “creation hub,” she said, where influencers can record Puma’s design prototyping lab supported by libraries of materials and equipment used to create Puma apparel. The company, founded in 1948, is known for its emblematic sneakers such as the Speedcat and its lunging feline logo, and makes athletic wear, accessories and equipment.

Puma’s entertainment marketing team also occupies the office and sometimes uses it for exclusive events.

“We use the space as a showroom, as a social space that transforms from a traditional workplace into more of an experiential space,” Rapp said.

Nontraditional uses include content creation, sit-down dinners, product launches, album listening parties and workshops.

“Inviting people into our space and being able to give them high-touch brand experiences is something tangible and important for them,” she said. “The cultural layer is really important for us.”

The company keeps a closet full of Puma products on hand to give VIP guests. Visits to the studio sanctum are by invitation only, though. There’s no retail portal to the exclusive Hollywood offices.

Puma shoes are on display in the Puma Studio L.A.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

Puma is also positioning its L.A studio as a connection point for major upcoming sporting events coming to Los Angeles, including the World Cup this summer, the 2027 Super Bowl and 2028 Olympics.

In-office studios don’t need to be big to be impactful, Mahalka said. “These are smaller stages, closer to green screen than a massive soundstage.”

Social media is the key driver of content created by most businesses, which may set up small booth-like stages where influencers can hawk hot products while offering discounts to people watching them perform.

Bigger, elevated stages can accommodate multiple performers for extended discussions in front of small audiences, with towering screens behind them to set the mood or illustrate products.

Among the tricked-out offices, she said, is Skims. The company, which is valued at $5 billion, is based in a glass-and-steel office building near the fabled intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street.

The fashion retailer declined to comment on the studio uses in its headquarters, but according to architecture firm Odaa, it has open and private offices, meeting rooms, collaboration zones, photo studios, sample libraries, prototype showrooms, an executive lounge and a commissary for 400 people.

Pieces of a shoe sit on a workbench in the Puma Studio L.A.

(Kayla Bartkowski / Los Angeles Times)

The brands building studios typically want to find the darkest spot on the premises to put their content creation or podcast spaces, Eckert said, where they can limit outside light and sound. That’s commonly near the center of the office floor, far from windows and close to permanent shear walls that limit sound intrusion.

They also need space for green rooms and restrooms dedicated to the talent.

Spotify recently built a fancy podcast studio in a CIM office building on trendy Sycamore Avenue that is open by invitation-only to video creators in Spotify’s partner program.

“Ambitious shows need spaces that support big ideas,” Bill Simmons, head of talk strategy at Spotify, said in a statement. “These studios give teams room to experiment and keep pushing what’s possible.”

The San Fernando Valley is back in the spotlight, thanks in part to Bravo’s reality franchise “The Valley,” where viewers may recognize a slew of Ventura Boulevard staples (we see you, Rocco’s Tavern).

Much of the show is filmed in and around Studio City, a neighborhood just west of the Cahuenga Pass, about 10 miles from downtown L.A. and within the city of Los Angeles.

That last fact is what usually throws people off guard.

“Isn’t Studio City a separate city from L.A.?” they ask.

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This is when I must reply no and launch into an explanation on the expansiveness of the 818, the identity crisis it never asked for and how its lore has endured for decades on the silver screen, from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High” to “The Karate Kid” and “Licorice Pizza,” to name a few.

See, long before Kendall Jenner bottled our area code with her tequila brand or “The Valley’s” Golnesa “GG” Gharachedaghi created her Valley Girl jewelry line (a response to a castmate’s constant gripe that the area had no vibe), Studio City was already a vibrant L.A. hub. It claimed a roster of power players — “The Brady Bunch” soundstage, Laurel Canyon News and the iconic Studio City Hand Car Wash — all of which still transcend ratings or storyline.

The neighborhood was originally formed around film producer Mack Sennett’s studio, which later became Republic Studios and then CBS Studio Center. With the studio as the focal point, the U.S. Postal Service designated its branch in that area as the Studio City Post Office, formalizing the name Studio City. Not exactly poetic, but it stuck. By the 1940s, Studio City developed into a “just over the hill” refuge for Hollywood’s working families, with new restaurants and bars abuzz.

My first memories of Studio City were hanging out with a childhood friend whose parents worked at CBS, and back then, it felt like the ultimate suburban dream. Fast forward to the mid-aughts and I got to live it myself, renting an apartment a few blocks from Tujunga Village, the neighborhood’s own “small-town U.S.A.” I spent countless weekends perusing food stands and trendy coffeehouses, the flaky bread and baked goods reviving me after hours of line dancing at Oil Can Harry’s or a booze-soaked late night at Page 71.

As one of the Valley’s most social enclaves, where nature is within reach, strip mall sushi is world-class and shaded residential streets feel worlds away from the Sunset Strip, Studio City still feels like the perfect remedy. Sure, finding parking after 6 p.m. can feel like something out of “The Hunger Games,” but on any given weekend you’ll still find me channeling my inner Katniss, circling blocks and deciphering cryptic signage all to revisit one of the L.A. neighborhoods that raised me.

Studio City must be the place. Then again, it always was.

“That’s my pot dealer!” exclaimed Michelle Phillips in a crowded movie theater in 1977. Months earlier, the Mamas & the Papas singer had only known Harrison Ford as a stoner-carpenter with a few bit parts to his credit. Now he was Han Solo in “Star Wars,” directed by a young upstart, George Lucas. Clearly the world was changing.

How much, though? Conventional wisdom about the Hollywood renaissance of the ‘60s and ‘70s suggests that starting with “Bonnie and Clyde” and “Easy Rider,” a batch of emerging auteurs shook the studios out of a rut and transformed American film. There’s plenty of truth to that: Francis Ford Coppola’s shift in 10 years from a director-for-hire on an old-hat musical, “Finian’s Rainbow,” to the auteur behind “Apocalypse Now” is just one of the era’s most remarkable achievements.

A pair of new books, though, suggest that the overall shift was only so modest, ultimately shoring up not just the old-school studio system but the social norms the interlopers were supposed to be upending.

Paul Fischer’s lively history of the new wave of California directors, “The Last Kings of Hollywood,” concentrates on Lucas, Coppola and Steven Spielberg. (New York contemporaries like Martin Scorsese and Brian De Palma are present but relatively off-screen.) Fischer has a gift for highlighting the ways that moments that we now accept as inevitable were often the product of dumb luck, pyrrhic victories and tough decisions. Coppola made “The Godfather” out of financial desperation, averse to adapting a mob novel; Spielberg’s “Jaws” was beset with mishaps, from a foolhardy attempt to train a real shark to its malfunctioning mechanical one; only when Lucas learned that the rights to Flash Gordon were unavailable did he pursue a space-opera concept all his own.

Their brashness and can-do spirit were worth cheering for: As the trio delivered films that broke box office records — ”The Godfather,” “American Graffiti,” “Jaws” and more — there were reasons to believe that big-budget films could operate outside the studio system. Lucas in particular was driven as much by resentment of the old as passion for the new. He never forgot how Warner Bros. manhandled his debut feature, “THX 1138” and was driven to muscle “Graffiti” into existence to spite the suits who said he couldn’t. In 1969, Coppola and Lucas launched their own studio, American Zoetrope, in San Francisco, with a passel of scripts in progress (including “Apocalypse Now” and “The Conversation”) and a $300,000 investment from Warner Bros. But Coppola wasn’t much of a businessman, and he had an easier time putting the office’s fancy espresso machine to work than the suite of state-of-the-art editing bays: “He ran his business like he ran a film set — on vibes,” Fischer writes.

A decade later, both Coppola and Zoetrope would declare bankruptcy, and he would split with Lucas, who’d used the success of “Star Wars” to cut his own path as a Hollywood kingmaker via his own production company, Lucasfilm. It allowed him to indulge his love of classic cliffhanger serials, and he tapped Spielberg to direct “Raiders of the Lost Ark.” But Fischer frames Lucas’ career arc as a disappointment, despite all those dollar figures — Lucas wanted to return to artsier “THX”-style fare, but needed cash flow. “If George was ever going to be independent from Hollywood, he thought he wouldn’t get there by making abstract mood poems,” Fischer writes. By the ‘80s, with two “Star Wars” sequels done, Lucas was out of the mood-poem business entirely.

While “Last Kings” focuses exclusively on directors’ relationship to movie economics, Kirk Ellis’ “They Kill People” considers “Bonnie and Clyde” and the New Hollywood from a variety of angles — filmmaking, the social turmoil of the ‘60s, America’s complex relationship with outlaws in general and guns in particular. It’s a meaty yet accessible book that captures the lightning-in-a-bottle nature of the generation’s ur-text, capturing the unlikely nature of its creation and the somewhat dodgy nature of its legacy.

“Bonnie” was such a provocation — nakedly, almost giddily violent — that its studio, Warner Bros, all but willed it not to exist. It was given a shoestring budget, was mocked by studio chief Jack Warner (who sarcastically referred to director Arthur Penn and producer-star Warren Beatty as “the geniuses”), and initially released largely in Southern drive-ins. “They figured the redneck kids would like the guns,” Penn said.

Everybody liked the guns. A few scolding critics lamented the film’s violence, especially its then-shocking bloody finale, but Beatty and co-star Faye Dunaway were deeply seductive onscreen. (Ellis notes that the two are always the best-dressed characters in the film.) And its outlaw sensibility resonated with young audiences in the late‘60s. Moreover, writes Ellis (a historical-drama screenwriter best known for “John Adams”), it represented the culmination of decades of American culture that equated American gun culture with freedom — a notion that would’ve baffled the founding fathers, who dwelled little on gun-rights matters in the Federalist Papers and other constitutional drafting documents, but gained traction thanks to gun manufacturers. “In the printed legend of American history, guns and freedom have become synonymous,” Ellis writes, but it was a new legend — stoked in part by “Bonnie and Clyde” — not America’s origin story.

It’d be a mistake to reduce the New Hollywood to the filmmakers highlighted by these two books — though, focused as they are on white men, they echo the way women and people of color were largely shut out of the system, or relegated to more marginal blaxploitation work. Artists looking to operate outside the system have plenty of inspiration to draw from in the ‘70s. Yet the books also expose how commerce does what it always does — take provocations and sand the edges off of them, then look for ways to make them profitable. In the early ‘80s, a decade after Coppola and company stormed the barricades, Paramount chief Michael Eisner shared a fresh and contradictory vision, such as it was: “We have no obligation to make history. We have no obligation to make art. We have no obligation to make a statement. To make money is our only objective.”

It would take another decade — and auteurs on the East Coast — to launch another attack on that sensibility, via films like “Do the Right Thing” and “sex, lies, and videotape.” They would help usher in the Miramax era — but that’s another story, with its own problematic twists.

Athitakis is a writer in Phoenix and author of “The New Midwest.”

After the fake video of Tom Cruise and Brad Pitt fighting went viral, a surge of AI-generated content from Seedance 2.0 flooded the internet.

Some fans were using the new AI video generator, backed by ByteDance, to refashion the finales for shows like “Game of Thrones” and “Stranger Things.” Others created battle scenes between iconic superheroes like Wolverine and Superman or between a Transformer and Godzilla.

As these Seedance videos amassed millions of views on social media, industry guilds like SAG-AFTRA and the Motion Picture Assn. have criticized the AI platform that was launched last week. Now, many major Hollywood studios are threatening to take legal action against ByteDance, the same Chinese parent that oversees TikTok.

Netflix, Warner Bros. Discovery, Paramount and Disney have all sent individual cease and desist letters, detailing the unauthorized reproduction of each of the studios’ copyrighted intellectual property.

Netflix and Warner Bros. Discovery were the latest studios to send cease and desists letter to ByteDance on Tuesday.

Netflix calls Seedance “a high-speed privacy engine” and says that they “will not stand by and watch ByteDance treat our valued IP as free, public domain clip art,” as stated in the letter. The streamer also cites the illegal use of sets derived from “Squid Game,” costumes from “Bridgerton” and character design from “KPop Demon Hunters.”

Warner Bros. Discovery looks to repurposed content, including characters from the “Harry Potter” and “Lord of the Rings” franchises, as well as superheroes like Batman, as “ blatant infringement” by ByteDance. The studio argues that it’s clear that their AI technology was trained on Warner Bros. copyrighted material “without authorization.”

“But the users are not the ones at the root cause of the infringement; they are merely building on the foundation of infringement already laid by ByteDance as Seedance comes pre-loaded with Warner Bros. Discovery’s copyrighted characters,” wrote the studios’ legal executive vice president Wayne Smith. “That was a deliberate design choice by ByteDance.”

Disney and Paramount were the first of the studios to call out ByteDance, sending their letters last Friday and Saturday. Disney accuses ByteDance of loading its Seedance service “with a pirated library of Disney’s copyrighted characters from Star Wars, Marvel, and other Disney franchises.”

“Over Disney’s well-publicized objections, ByteDance is hijacking Disney’s characters by reproducing, distributing, and creating derivative works featuring those characters. ByteDance’s virtual smash-and-grab of Disney’s IP is willful, pervasive, and totally unacceptable,” Disney’s attorney David Singer wrote, per Axios.

Paramount’s cease and desist letter was reviewed by The Times and makes similar assertions about ByteDance’s unapproved use of copyrighted material.

ByteDance has since pledged to implement more safeguards to protect copyrighted material in response to these letters.

“ByteDance respects intellectual property rights and we have heard the concerns regarding Seedance 2.0,” a company spokesperson said in a statement shared with CNBC. “We are taking steps to strengthen current safeguards as we work to prevent the unauthorized use of intellectual property and likeness by users.”

But with or without the safeguards, Dan Purcell, chief executive of Midnight Labs, an AI-powered company that specializes in IP protection for high-value entertainment, said these letters might be a bit of a delayed reaction from the studios.

“Once synthetic content is generated, it spreads instantly and at a massive scale. By the time lawyers engage, the damage is done,” said Purcell in a statement. “The only path forward is strict licensing, real-time enforcement, and consequences that actually hurt. Reactive letters won’t fix this. The industry needs to move at the speed of AI — not the speed of litigation.”

WHAT do giants typically wear?

Patchy trousers that would smother three average-sized humans and a coat with pockets large enough to conceal a massive umbrella and a sloppy birthday cake.

A giant would also need a colossal chair – at least that’s what the costume and set designers created for the Harry Potter movies.

Hagrid’s huge seat and other amazing memorabilia is just part of the latest instalment at Warner Bros Studio Tour London, near Watford, which gives fans an even deeper look behind the scenes of the movies.

Unlike the main tour, where guests just wander freely around the attraction, Mastering The Magic: Costume Creation is a 45-minute workshop that allows muggles to even create their own Potter-themed outfit.

“Films are short and can’t go into as much detail as books can, so costumes are a way of giving viewers a lot of information about a character in just 30 seconds,” our workshop leader tells us.

WAIL OF A TIME

I drove Irish Route 66 with deserted golden beaches and pirate-like islands

TEMPTED?

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My small group learns that a school-aged Harry, for example, is first seen by viewers in his battered shirt and threadbare trousers, which conveys how poorly treated he is by his aunt and uncle.

Chances are, you might have once owned the same shirt as Harry – although likely less scuffed – as much of his muggle gear was picked up from high street brands like Gap and Next.

The fictional Malfoy family, on the other hand, have money. So only the plushest and chicest materials were used here.

The thought that goes into every outfit is staggering. You probably wouldn’t have noticed that Voldemort’s emerald-coloured robes become paler and more faded throughout the final film. This is to indicate his loss of power.

And next time you’re watching The Order Of The Phoenix, keep your eyes peeled for Professor Umbridge’s cat broach.

It was picked up for around £1 by the costume designers from a charity shop. Today, it is insured for £1,000 . . . or thereabouts.

A giant would also need a colossal chair – at least that’s what the costume and set designers created for the Harry Potter movies

Don’t worry, I’m not giving away any proper spoilers. You’ll uncover dozens more secrets in these short sessions.

After learning tricks of the trade, we’re talked through the lengthy process of costume creation, from initial concept, taken from scripts, through to mood boards with fabric samples and right down to the final sketches.

Then it’s time to get stuck in – sketching our own designs and pinning scraps of fabric left over from the costumes featured in the actual films.

I choose a ruby red and black patch of fur, pairing it with a gold satin – more Malfoy territory than Potter.

And for a brief moment, I’ve played my part as a Harry Potter costume designer.

Time to celebrate with a butter beer? I’m in the right place for that.