
'Harry and Meghan's Netflix deal is dead': Bosses are 'just waiting for the credits to roll' on $100m contract with 'no appetite for anything new' after 'dismal' viewing figures, insiders claim
The Duchess of Sussex has 'had everything going for her ' but the viewing figures for With Love, Meghan have still been 'dismal', an insider at the streamer reportedly said.
Meghan's lifestyle show failed to break into Netflix 's top 300 programmes for the first half of 2025 and was even thrashed by multiple seasons of Suits.
Harry's passion project documentary Polo ranked at a disastrous 3,436 out of 7,000 shows and was only watched by 500,000 people in six months.
A second season of With Love, Meghan, was announced by the Duchess herself as the first season came out in March this year as part of the couple's $100million deal with the streaming giant, which expires this year.
But a Netflix source has claimed: 'This deal is dead.
'She had everything going for her—name, platform, press—and the numbers were dismal.
'They're just waiting for the credits to roll. They're letting it expire without drama. There's no appetite for anything new.'
Former executive editor of the American edition of Ok! magazine, Rob Shuter, has claimed that the streaming giant will not offer them a new contract once it concludes.
'The interest just isn't there anymore. They went from buzzy to background noise', a Netflix source told Mr Shuter.
Some experts have even claimed that Netflix will want 'to keep a vague hand in' with them in case Meghan and Harry ever split up, so they can get in first with a docu-series on a divorce.
There are rumours that they could leave the door open for one-off projects with the Sussexes, although apart from their fly-on-the-wall documentary, Harry & Meghan, most of their shows have been considered flops.
MailOnline has asked Netflix to comment.
As Ever, which showed Meghan cooking, gardening and hosting friends, was outperformed by hundreds of shows in the first six months of this year.
Millions more people watched repeats of Suits, which made Meghan Markle a star before she met Prince Harry.
Its 5.3million viewers put it roughly on a par with the second series of BBC hit Peaky Blinders, a 2007 series of Gossip Girl, kids show Grizzly and the Lemmings and a true crime show called Worst Ex Ever.
Yesterday MailOnline revealed how two of North America's leading brand experts have claimed Meghan Markle is a 'fraud' and As Ever is all about 'milking' her fame from marrying Prince Harry to 'sucker people into buying her stuff'.
Canadian lawyer Phillip Millar and California marketing executive Camille Moore, stars of popular The Art of the Brand podcast, believe the launch and concept of her lifestyle business has been one of the worst they have ever seen.
'I love sh***ing on people who suck. Meghan Markle sucks as far as I'm concerned', Mr Millar has said.
'It [As Ever] is run by a confederacy of dunces working on this platform that is just maximising the value from her fame that came from Suits and being a part of the Royal Family and they're just milking that for everything they can'.
Millar and Moore, who have advised big businesses including Mercedes-Benz, L'Oreal, Olaplex, Dior, Van Cleef and Air Canada, say Meghan's business has been a 'royal disaster'.
Mr Millar believes that As Ever lacks authenticity because he claims that Meghan is 'pretending' to be a domestic goddess and most people don't believe it. But he added that the people who have rushed to buy her wine, jam, crepe mix and tea shows 'how gullible a lot of consumers are'.
Canadian lawyer Phillip Millar and California marketing executive Camille Moore, stars of popular The Art of the Brand podcast, believe the launch and concept of her lifestyle business has been one of the worst they have ever seen
He said: 'She's not substantial. I'm agitated by her so much because it is a deliberate misrepresentation of what she is because she thinks she can pretend to be that while actually being this and sucker people into buying her stuff and every step of the way she's failing because it's not legitimate. It's not intelligent. It's not well executed.
'There was nothing about her brand that was good from the start to a distinguishing eye. She was a fraud what I can see from the beginning who was just using opportunities to advance herself. Her brand wasn't one built on substance. It was based on using people.
'They're not executing anything well on any show on anything. But it shows how gullible a lot of consumers are'.
Mr Millar said that investors including Netflix appear to have failed to ask serious questions of Meghan before the launch.
'People who consider themselves smart because nobody ever questions them are running this business and telling her to use a playbook that works for products where scarcity matters. Confectionery scarcity doesn't matter.
He added: 'There's an egocentric approach to it that if you achieve some level of celebrity, you think you can build a brand, but that's the start of your brand. You can make short-term money from it, but it's not a long-term strategy'.
Phillip believes Meghan has failed to see what she really is - a 'disruptor' rather than a homemaker.
He said: 'Her brand should be I'm a disruptor. I go into TV. I make noise. I go into the Royal Family. I make noise. She should brand herself as a rebel, but she's not consistent with what she is.
'She should be a disruptor and sell products that are not that expensive and that represent disruption, but that audience is not spending a lot of money'.
Ms Moore said Meghan is responsible 'for really probably having the worst brand execution to date', adding: 'She's had zero ownership in this business. It's effectively like she's just like labeling her brand'.
She added: 'I feel like she's doing such a brutal or good job, depending on how you're looking at it, of getting this like free PR and then absolutely s***ing the bed'.
When she started posting links on the ShopMy e-commerce site, some thought that this was going to prove an irresistible source of serious income for the Duchess of Sussex.
It couldn't be easier, really – influencers link posts from their Instagram to the online shop, and then rake in a percentage of every item of clothing, make-up or homeware sold as a result.
Some of the top creators make up to $1million (£740,000) a year with a cut of between 10 and 30 per cent per item, depending on the retailer.
The 'creators' are ranked in a tiering visible only to other ShopMy entrepreneurs; the biggest earners are 'icons' and the lowliest ranking is 'enthusiast'.
After an initial flurry on the site, in which she directed shoppers to the sweaters she wore in her Netflix show With Love, Meghan, the denim dress she wore on a 'date night' with Prince Harry to watch Beyonce and her make-up and hair favourites, Meghan has fallen silent.
Indeed, she's not posted in over two months on ShopMy and it seems that her ranking has dropped from icon to enthusiast as a result.
While she continues to appear regularly on her own Instagram page and that of her brand, As Ever, she or her team are not linking through for 'easy money'.
At the start of ShopMy, Meghan directed shoppers to a number of items she had worn, including the denim dress she wore on a 'date night' with Prince Harry to watch Beyonce
A spokesman for the couple did not respond to requests for clarification but a source says that – however lucrative – this potential revenue stream is simply not important to her. 'Her current priorities are centred on As Ever and expanding her business ventures. ShopMy represents an exploration into social media that she enjoys.'
The source adds: 'The duchess has consistently approached ShopMy with a focus on authentically sharing products and designers she supports, particularly female founders she wants to uplift.'
The deal is then: Meghan doesn't need the money, because she's making plenty already.
As speculation grows over the couple attempting to renew links to the UK – with two key members of the Sussex team meeting the King's aide, Tobyn Andreae, earlier this month, as revealed exclusively by The Mail on Sunday – it's intriguing to examine what commercial successes the couple have had since moving their lives to California.
The bottom line, of course, has always been significant for both Harry and Meghan. As they seemingly make steps towards rebuilding bridges with the Royal Family, you have to ask: How would a rapprochement serve the Sussexes?
And, more than this, might they need to make up with the King for financial reasons. After all, he used to fund his son Harry's life ... right down to a wardrobe allowance for his wife.
People who know the Sussexes say the reopening of communications doesn't mean they're any less committed to life in Montecito.
I'm told: 'They're very happy living in and raising their family in California and, as it stands, have no plans to leave. The duke will of course continue, as he has done since he emigrated, to visit the UK in support of his charitable causes and patronages.'
Indeed, Montecito is the epicentre of how they are marketing themselves.
Meghan's As Ever brand was originally known as American Riviera Orchard, after the area in which they live.
Five months after Megxit in February 2020, the Sussexes bought their house in Montecito for $14.65million (£10,890,000).
And it's that purchase which seems to have fired the starting gun on the Sussexes' endeavours.
In their tell-all interview with Oprah Winfrey the following year, which took place while Meghan was pregnant with daughter Lilibet, Prince Harry reflected on their money-making activities to date.
He said their deals with Netflix and Spotify had both been driven by financial necessity.
The prince said he was cut off by his family in the first quarter of 2020, shortly after he and Meghan announced they would step back as senior members of the royals.
He added that he still had the money left to him by his late mother, Princess Diana.
'Without that, we wouldn't have been able to do this,' he said, referring to the family's move to California.
If Harry and Meghan had really been getting $100million over five years from Netflix at a steady rate of $20million a year, then you could consider it taken care of. But a source with knowledge of the Netflix deal say it's never worked out like that
But even the reputed £10million left by Diana wouldn't be enough to buy his house and sustain their lifestyle for long.
The couple are widely reported to have taken out a mortgage, with repayments apparently standing at $480,000 a year.
On top of this, property tax will be a further $68,000 a year. Utilities are estimated at $24,000 a year, staffing costs $250,000 and security – always a priority for Prince Harry, who made two tours of duty in Afghanistan with the Army Air Corps – is said to cost up to $3million a year.
It all adds up to needing to clear around $4million a year after tax, which is quite a task.
Sources also indicate that the price Harry and Meghan pay to run their Archewell production company is significant, 'probably $3million a year, which as an overhead commitment is quite big by Hollywood standards', though some of those costs come out of charity funds.
If Harry and Meghan had really been getting $100million over five years from Netflix at a steady rate of $20million a year, then you could consider it taken care of.
But a source with knowledge of the Netflix deal say it's never worked out like that.
They said: 'From speaking to someone with knowledge of the deal, it looks like they've probably managed to maybe keep $10million-$15million or a touch more purely for themselves over the nearly five years so far – not bad business, but that kind of money doesn't last long with their lifestyle.
'Netflix paid for the production of [the tell-all hit documentary series] Harry & Meghan, which would have included a big fee for them.
'I'd guess [the money Netflix spent on it] works out at $20million all-in.
'Netflix haven't done too badly out of the relationship in as much as they've probably only gone out of pocket to the tune of around $40million or thereabouts, and they did at least get a huge hit documentary out of the investment, and a less successful show in With Love, Meghan.

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Spectator
43 minutes ago
- Spectator
What I learned from running my own Squid Game
You know how this story goes. The cameras are rolling. The audience is cruel. You're trapped in the game and the game is death and the game is going out live from the heart of the state of nature where empathy is weakness and you kill each other off until there's only one left. What will you do to survive? Who will you become if you do? This is the plot of Squid Game, Netflix's Korean mega-hit that just drew to its gory conclusion. It is also the plot of The Hunger Games, Battle Royale, The Running Man, Chain-Gang All-Stars and The Long Walk. We have spent several decades watching desperate people slaughter each other for survival to entertain the rich and stupid. Future generations will probably have thoughts about why we kept returning to this particular trope with the bloodthirsty voyeurism we associate with Ancient Rome. Obviously, these stories are meant to say something about human nature, and the depraved things desperate people can be made to do to each other; they're meant to say something about exploitation, and how easy it is to derive pleasure from someone else's pain. Squid Game says these things while shovelling its doomed characters through a lurid nightmare playground where they die in cruel and creative ways. After each deadly game, blood-spattered contestants are offered a chance to vote on whether to carry on playing. It's a simple referendum: if a majority votes to stay, they're all trapped in the death-match murder circus with only themselves to blame. If they object, a masked guard will accuse them of interrupting the free and fair elections and shoot them in the face. This is everything Squid Game has to say about representative democracy. 'I wanted to write a story that was an allegory or fable about modern capitalist society,' said director Hwang Dong-hyuk, just in case you didn't get the message. The whole thing is as subtle as a shopping-mall shooter. I'm reliably informed that the English-language translations strip away a degree of nuance, which probably helps audiences in parts of the Anglosphere where irony is an unaffordable foreign luxury and the experience of everyday economic humiliation feels a lot like being hit over the head with a huge blunt analogy. Squid Game does not want you confused about who the baddies are. There's a bored cabal of cartoon billionaires drinking scotch and throwing tantrums while they watch our heroes shove each other off cliffs. They smoke cigars and say things like 'I am a very hard man to please'. We never get to find out who they are or what their plan is, because it doesn't matter. How could it possibly matter? How could anything matter in a fake hotel lobby where all the furniture is naked ladies? This is how people who want to be rich think people who are rich ought to talk: like insurance salesmen cosplaying sexual villainy in a kink club for tourists. Nobody is supposed to be able to relate to the Squid Game villains. As it turns out, though, I can. There's an innocent explanation for how I came to run my own Reality Show of Death Game. Well, mostly innocent. I happen to have a secret other life as an immersive game designer. It's what I did instead of drugs during my divorce, after discovering that here, finally, was a hobby that would let me be a pretentious art wanker and a huge nerd at the same time. The games are intense – like escape rooms you have to solve with emotions. Many of them revolve around some species of social experiment – the kind that actual researchers can't do any more because it's inhumane. Famously, the 1971 Stanford prison experiment had to be shut down early after students who were cast as guards got far too excited about abusing their prisoners. The sort of people who pay actual money to play this kind of game are expecting to be made to feel things. They're expecting high stakes and horrible choices and wildly dramatic twists. The Death Game trope is an easy way to deliver all of that. Mine forced players to pick one of their friends to 'murder on live television'. It's a five-hour nightmare about social scapegoating with a pounding techno soundtrack. I had a lot going on at the time. I swotted up on Hobbes and Hayek. I took notes on Squid Game and its infinite derivatives. I gave the players character archetypes to choose from – the Diva, the Flirt, the Party Animal – and got them to imagine themselves in Big Brother if it were produced by actual George Orwell. I wrote and rewrote the script to make sure players wouldn't be able to opt out of picking one person to bully to death. I thought that it would be easy. Instead, I learned two surprising things. The first was that it's harder than you'd think to design a scenario where ordinary people plausibly hunt each other to death. Every time, my players tried their very hardest not to hurt each other, even when given every alibi to be evil. I created a whole rule system to punish acts of altruism, spent ages greasing the hinges on the beautiful hellbox I'd built for them, and still the ungrateful bastards kept trying to sacrifice themselves for one another. Even the ones who were explicitly cast as villains. Even when it was against the rules. It takes a lot of fiddly world-building to make violent self-interest feel reasonable. It takes a baroque notional dystopia and a guaranteed protection from social punishment. What you get is a manicured, hothouse-grown garden masquerading as a human jungle – an astroturfed Hobbesian state of nature where the cruelty is cultivated to make viewers feel comfortable in complicity. The story of these games scrapes the same nerves as the ritual reporting about shopping-mall riots on Black Friday – the ones that lasciviously describe working-class people walloping each other for a £100 discount on a dishwasher. The message is that people who have little are worse than people who have more. This is a wealthy person's nightmare of how poor people behave. The rich, of course, are rarely subject to this sort of moral voyeurism. But that story isn't true. In the real-life Lord of the Flies, the children actually worked together very successfully. In the real-life Stanford prison experiment, the guards had to be coached into cruelty. Real poverty, as sociologists like Rutger Bregman keep on telling us, is actually an inverse predictor of selfish behaviour. Not because poor people are more virtuous than anyone else, but because the rich and powerful can afford not to be. The rest of us, eventually, have to trust each other. The fantasy of these games is about freedom from social responsibility. In the Death Games, nobody has to make complex and demeaning ethical choices as an adult person in an inhumane economy. In the Death Games, it makes sense to light your integrity on fire to survive. But if we did, actually, live in a perfectly ruthless market economy where competition was the essence of survival, none of us would survive past puberty. The Death Games don't actually tell us anything about how life is. They show us how life feels. The second surprising thing I learned while running my own Squid Game is that nothing feels better than running Squid Game. If you need a rush, I highly recommend building a complicated social machine to make other people hurt each other, picking out a fun hyperpop soundtrack and then standing behind a production desk for five hours jerking their strings and cackling until they cry. People apparently like my game. It has run in multiple countries. And every time, it took me days to come down from the filthy dopamine high. It turns out that I love power. This was an ugly thing to discover, and there's an ugly feeling about watching a show like Squid Game – which is, to be clear, wildly entertaining. Voyeurism is participation, and the compulsive thrill of watching human beings hurt each other for money creates its own complicity. The audience is not innocent. Sit too close to the barrier at the beast show and you risk getting splashed with moral hazard.


The Independent
43 minutes ago
- The Independent
What to Stream: Reneé Rapp, 'The Phoenician Scheme,' Elvis rarities, Anthony Mackie and Jason Momoa
Benicio Del Toro starring in Wes Anderson's 'The Phoenician Scheme'and Reneé Rapp 's second studio album are some of the new television, films, music and games headed to a device near you. Also among the streaming offerings worth your time, as selected by The Associated Press' entertainment journalists: Jason Momoa brings his passion project 'Chief of War' to Apple TV+, there's a coxy Hobbit video game in Tales of the Shire: A Lord of the Rings Game and 'Project Runway' tries out a new network home for its 21st season. New movies to stream from July 28-Aug. 3 – Wes Anderson's 'The Phoenician Scheme' (streaming now on Peacock) stars Benicio Del Toro as Anatole 'Zsa-zsa' Korda, a wealthy and unscrupulous European industrialist. After the latest assassination attempt on his life, he decides to leave his estate to one of his many children, Lisel (Mia Threapleton), a novitiate. Michael Cera co-stars as a Norwegian insect expect named Bjørn. In her review, the AP's Jocelyn Noveck wrote that the film finds Anderson 'becoming even more, well, Wes Anderson than before.' – The Netflix romance 'My Oxford Year' (streaming Friday, Aug. 1) follows a young American student named Anna (Sofia Carson) in her long-dreamt-of year at Oxford University. Corey Mylchreest co-stars as a local love interest in the film directed by Iain Morris. – Movie soundtracks once played so much more of a role in popular culture. A new series on the Criterion Channel collects some of the films from the soundtrack's heyday, the 1990s, when songs from movies like 'Trainspotting' (1996) and 'Singles' (1992) dominated the airwaves and MTV. Also running this month on Criterion are 'Grosse Pointe Blank' (1997), 'So I Married an Axe Murderer' (1993) and 'Judgement Night' (1993). — AP Film Writer Jake Coyle New music to stream from July 28-Aug. 3 — The King of Rock 'n' Roll has returned. On Friday, Aug. 1, to celebrate what would've been Elvis Presley's 90th birthday year, a massive collection of 89 rarities will be released as a five-disc CD boxset – and on all digital platforms. Titled 'Sunset Boulevard,' the series pulls from Presley's 1970-1975 Los Angeles recording sessions and rehearsals at RCA's studios. There is no greater gift for the Elvis aficionado. — Reneé Rapp will release her second studio album on Friday, Aug. 1, the appropriately titled 'Bite Me.' The 12-track release is imbued with Rapp's edgy, lighthearted spirit — catchy R&B-pop songs about bad breakups and good hookups abound. It'll put some pep in your step. — AP Music Writer Maria Sherman New series to stream from July 28-Aug. 3 — 'Project Runway' has had quite a life since it debuted in 2004 on Bravo. After its first six seasons, the competition show about fashion design moved to Lifetime for 11 seasons, then back to Bravo for a few years, and its new home for season 21 is Freeform. Christian Siriano — who won the show's fourth season — is an executive producer, mentor and judge. He joins 'Project Runway' OG host Heidi Klum, celebrity stylist extraordinaire Law Roach and fashion editor Nina Garcia. It premieres Thursday and streams on Disney+ and Hulu. — Comedian Leanne Morgan stars in her own multi-cam sitcom for Netflix called 'Leanne,' debuting Thursday. Inspired by her own stand-up, Morgan plays a woman whose husband leaves her for another woman after more than three decades of marriage. Morgan stars alongside sitcom vets Kristen Johnston and Tim Daly. — Anthony Mackie's 'Twisted Metal' is back on Peacock for a second season of beginning Thursday. The show is adapted from a popular video game franchise and picks up about 7 months after the events of season one. —Jason Momoa brings his passion project 'Chief of War' to Apple TV+ on Friday, Aug. 1. Set in the late 18th century, Momoa plays Kauai, a nobleman and warrior, who plays a major part in the unification of the Hawaiian islands. The series is based on true events and is told from an Indigenous point-of-view. — Alicia Rancilio New video games to play from July 28-Aug. 3 — Games set in J.R.R. Tolkien's Middle-Earth usually want to drag us back to Mount Doom for another confrontation with the Dark Lord. But what if you're a Hobbit who just wants to hang out with your friends in your peaceful village? That's your mission in Tales of the Shire: A Lord of the Rings Game. It's a cozy sim from Weta Workshop, the company behind the special effects in Peter Jackson's films. You can grow a garden, go fishing, trade with your neighbors and — most important for a Hobbit — cook and eat. It's about as far from Mordor as it gets, and you can start decorating your own Hobbit Hole on Tuesday on PlayStation 5, Xbox X/S, Switch or PC.


The Guardian
43 minutes ago
- The Guardian
‘They're rowdy. They're vibing. I rip my shirt off': the exploding career of Hanumankind, India's hottest rapper
Two weeks ago, halfway through his first ever UK show, Hanumankind instructed the crowd to mimic him by hopping to the right then to the left, back and forth, in unison. But the rapper from India slipped and fell, limping to the end of the gig in evident pain, kept upright by his DJ and inspired by the audience's singalong familiarity with his catalogue. 'We were ready to have a good time,' he sheepishly grins from an armchair at his record label's offices three days later. It turns out he has torn a ligament. 'It was a battle of internal turmoil. The show was like a fifth of what it was meant to be, but I gave it my all. London has a beautiful energy which gave me strength.' Even without the leg injury, the 32-year-old star, who was born Sooraj Cherukat, has reached a testing threshold in his short, explosive career. His tracks Big Dawgs and Run It Up, helped by action-movie music videos, have made him one of the most talked-about MCs in the world. A$AP Rocky and Fred Again are among his recent collaborators. Indian prime minister Narendra Modi even invited Cherukat to perform at an event in New York last September. But as a rare south Asian face in globally popular rap, he feels a certain responsibility. 'The past year has been hard,' he says. 'I'm trying to navigate through it.' What's more, although he expresses a deep pride about life in India, 'a lot of things are off. There is a mob mentality. There's a lot of divisiveness because of religion, background, caste. It doesn't sit well with me. I'm in a unique space to change the way people can think within my country.' Born in Malappuram, Kerala, which he remembers as a 'green, beautiful environment', Cherukat spent his childhood following his father's work abroad, from Nigeria to Saudi Arabia to Britain. 'We'd traverse different countries and I'd sing songs in whatever language I was picking up,' he says. 'Wherever I went, I had to get involved and be ready to leave. I learned to connect with people. That's why the power of the word is so important to me.' At the age of 10, he landed in Houston, Texas, and found a rare stability. It was the early 2000s and the city was an engine room for rap innovation. Cherukat's set his accent to a southern drawl. Already a fan of heavy metal – which makes sense given his grungy, rockstar leanings today – he became hooked on the local chopped-and-screwed subgenre pioneered by DJ Screw, Three 6 Mafia and Project Pat. In his teens he was 'burning CDs full of beats, riding around smoking blunts and hitting hard freestyles'. He returned to south India just before hitting 20. 'The only place I had roots,' he says. He completed a university degree in Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu, before working a corporate job in the tech hub of Bengaluru. Seeing rap as 'a party thing, a way to de-stress and stay connected to the art form', he performed at open-mic nights, softening his US accent and perfecting his stage show for an Indian audience. 'Friends would come to watch and be like, 'Dude, you're not bad. You should lock in.'' So he did. At the end of 2019, Cherukat played his first festival: NH7 Weekender in Pune, Maharashtra. The crowd went wild, quickly morphing from a small handful into a packed moshpit. 'They're rowdy and they're fucking vibing,' he says. 'I rip my shirt off. I'm like, 'OK, I can do this!'' He quit his job and began plotting his next move, filling notebooks with lyrics throughout the pandemic. These are a blend of cheek and grit delivered with a flow that keeps respawning at different speeds and scales. Soon, Cherukat was signed by Def Jam India. Part of a movement to reject the remnants of British colonialism in favour of local expression, the proud, rebellious patchwork of Indian hip-hop encompasses the vast country's 'hundreds of languages, each as deeply rooted as the next', Cherukat explains. 'Someone who speaks Hindi or another regional language will give you a vast amount of depth and detail in what they're doing.' His decision to rap mostly in English therefore came with risks of being perceived as inauthentic at home, but it has certainly helped his global crossover. Besides, he has found other ways to communicate a homegrown aesthetic. Run It Up marches to the beat of Keralan chenda drums, while its video features martial artists from disparate corners of India. Cherukat performed it with a band of drummers at Coachella festival, his debut US gig. 'Most people don't know what is going on in my country,' he says. 'Maybe I can open up some doors, open up some eyes, break out of these bubbles and stereotypes.' Although not religious, Cherukat has a divine figure woven into his performing name. Over recent years, Hanuman, the simian-headed Hindu god of strength and devotion, has been employed everywhere from the car stickers of hypermasculine Indian nationalism to the bloody, satirical critique of Dev Patel's 2024 thriller, Monkey Man. Where does Hanumankind fit into this: traditionalist or progressive? 'I need to make music for myself first,' he says simply. 'But when you have a platform, you can bring about change through your words and actions.' Some fans were disappointed that he accepted the New York invitation from Modi – whose Hindu nationalist government has been accused of democratic backsliding and Islamophobia. Cherukat has defended his appearance, describing it as 'nothing political … We were called to represent the nation and we did that.' But today he claims his 'political ideology is pretty clear' to anyone who has been following his career. In one of his earliest singles, 2020's Catharsis, he rails against systemic corruption, police brutality and armed suppression of protest. 'I'm not just trying to speak to people who already agree with me,' he says. 'I'm trying to give people who are otherwise not going to be listening a chance to be like, 'OK, there is some logic to what he's saying.'' Monsoon Season, his new mixtape, is just out. It features the mellow likes of Holiday – performed on the massively popular YouTube series Colors – as well as raucous collaborations with US rap luminaries Denzel Curry and Maxo Kream. It is less a narrative album, more a compilation, with songs gathered over the years before the spotlight shone on him. 'I have a lot of memories of coming into Kerala during the monsoon,' says Cherukat of the project's name. 'You can have days where things are absolutely reckless, flooded, out of control. There can be days where you get introspective and think about life. There are days where you love the rain: it feels good, there's that smell in the air when it hits the mud, the soil, the flowers. Your senses are heightened. You can fall in love with that. Or it can ruin all your plans and you hate it.' Cherukat's knee will take some time to recover before he embarks on a North American tour later this year. It's clear he needs a break: not just to heal, but to continue processing fame, adapt to its changes and return to the studio. 'I'm still adjusting,' he says. 'The attention, the conversation, the responsibility, the lifestyle, all this shit. Things have been a little haywire. So I just want to go back to the source – and make music.' Monsoon Season is out now on Capitol Records/Def Jam India