The financial press is currently obsessed with a funeral march for Paramount Global. They track every debt repayment and every botched merger negotiation with a sense of tragic inevitability. They frame the Shari Redstone era as a Shakespearean drama of a legacy empire crumbling under the weight of Big Tech’s wallet.
They are wrong.
The collapse of Paramount isn't a tragedy. It is a long-overdue correction. The "battle after battle" narrative suggests that Paramount is a victim of a changing world. In reality, Paramount is a victim of its own refusal to accept that the "General Entertainment" model is dead. The common consensus—that Paramount needs a savior to keep the lights on and the studio intact—is a delusion.
Paramount doesn't need to be saved. It needs to be harvested.
The Myth of Scale as a Shield
The industry’s favorite lie is that you need scale to survive the streaming wars. This logic drove the catastrophic Warner Bros. Discovery merger and Disney’s bloated acquisition of Fox. The idea was simple: build a library so massive that churn becomes impossible.
It failed.
Scale without specificity is just a bigger pile of burning cash. Paramount Global tried to play the scale game with Paramount+, a service that effectively functions as a junk drawer for CBS procedurals, MTV reality rehashes, and a handful of Yellowstone spin-offs that they don't even own the streaming rights to (thanks to a legendary licensing blunder with Peacock).
When analysts cry about Paramount’s "struggles," they ignore the math of the Attention Economy. Netflix wins because it is a tech company that masquerades as a studio. Paramount is a real estate company holding onto expensive Hollywood backlots while its core product—linear television—atrophies at a rate of 10% to 15% in ad revenue per year.
Stop asking if Paramount can survive. Ask why anyone would want it to.
The Sunk Cost of the Linear Albatross
The "lazy consensus" says Paramount’s biggest asset is its reach. Between CBS, Nickelodeon, and Comedy Central, they touch every demographic.
Except they don’t. They touch the remnants of those demographics.
The linear bundle is a melting ice cube. By the time a buyer like Skydance or Apollo manages to fully integrate Paramount, the cable affiliate fees that currently subsidize the $2 billion annual losses in streaming will have vanished.
I have watched boards spend years "pivoting" to digital while clinging to the high-margin ghosts of their past. It’s a death spiral. You cannot build a bridge to the future using bricks from a house that is currently on fire.
If you want to understand the true value of Paramount, look at its parts, not the whole.
- The Studio: Paramount Pictures is a premier asset. Top Gun: Maverick and Mission: Impossible prove they can still make "events."
- The IP: SpongeBob, Star Trek, and South Park are evergreen.
- The Trash: Everything else.
The mistake every suitor makes is trying to buy the whole company to get the "good stuff." The smart move—the one the market is too terrified to suggest—is a controlled liquidation. Sell the studio to Sony. Sell the IP rights to Netflix or Apple. Turn off the lights at CBS.
Why Quality is a Liability
We are taught that "Content is King." It’s a charming sentiment from the 90s. In 2026, Distribution is the God-Emperor.
Paramount makes "prestige" content like 1883 and Tulsa King. They have high production values. They have movie stars. And it doesn't matter.
When you are competing for the same twenty-four hours in a day as TikTok, YouTube, and Elden Ring, being "pretty good" is a death sentence. Paramount is trapped in the middle. They aren't big enough to be a utility (like Netflix) and they aren't niche enough to be a luxury (like A24 or HBO in its prime).
The "battles" Paramount faces aren't external. They are internal fights against the reality of their own mediocrity. They are a "B" student trying to compete in a world where only "A+" and "F" (cheap/free) survive.
The False Hope of Mergers
Every time a new bidder emerges, the stock price bumps, and the trades write about a "strategic alignment." Let’s dismantle that.
If Skydance buys Paramount, they are a small fish trying to eat a dying whale. The debt load will paralyze them. If Apollo and Sony team up, they will strip the company for parts—which is actually the correct move—but the regulatory hurdles will take years to clear.
During those years of "regulatory review," the talent leaves. The creative momentum stalls. The brand dilutes.
A merger isn't a solution; it’s a hospice plan.
The Counter-Intuitive Truth about CBS
People ask: "How can you kill the most-watched network in America?"
Easily. Because being the "most-watched" in a shrinking medium is like being the tallest person in a sinking lifeboat. The median age of a CBS viewer is north of 60. That is not a growth engine; it’s an actuarial table.
Advertisers know this. That’s why the "upfronts"—the annual ritual where networks sell ad space—have become a desperate exercise in gaslighting. They are selling access to a demographic that is increasingly irrelevant to the modern economy.
The bold move? Shut down the network broadcast. Move the NFL rights and the three shows that actually matter to a dedicated app. Stop paying for the overhead of 200+ local affiliates that provide nothing but friction.
The Scenario the Markets Fear
Imagine a scenario where Shari Redstone refuses to sell.
The "battles" continue. Paramount+ continues to lose billions. The debt gets downgraded to junk status. The company is forced into a fire sale under duress rather than a strategic exit.
This is the most likely outcome because of ego.
In Hollywood, "legacy" is a polite word for "baggage." The Redstone family views Paramount as a crown jewel. The market views it as a distressed asset. That gap in perception is where billions of dollars go to die.
If you are an investor, you aren't looking for a "turnaround." You are looking for a butcher. You want someone who will walk into that building, identify the three things that actually generate cash, and set the rest on fire.
Stop Asking the Wrong Questions
The press asks: "Who will buy Paramount?"
The wrong question.
The press asks: "Can Paramount+ become profitable?"
The wrong question. (The answer is no, not without 200 million subscribers it will never get).
The right question is: "How much of the entertainment industry needs to die for the rest to survive?"
Paramount is the canary in the coal mine. Its struggle isn't a unique failure of management; it is the natural conclusion of an outdated business model. The "battles" they face are just the friction of a slow-motion car crash.
The industry doesn't need a "robust" Paramount. It needs the space that Paramount’s carcass will leave behind. We need that capital and that talent to stop chasing the ghost of the 20th-century box office and start building something that actually functions in a post-linear world.
Every dollar spent trying to "fix" Paramount is a dollar stolen from the future of media.
Stop rooting for the underdog. The underdog is a multibillion-dollar corporation that failed to innovate for three decades. Let it go.
Liquidate the assets. Fire the consultants. Sell the mountain.
The battle is already over. The only thing left is to decide who gets to keep the name.
