Netflix profit, revenue lifted by final ‘Squid Game' season — but shares drop
Shares of the company, which had risen nearly 44% this year ahead of the earnings report, dropped nearly 2% to $1,252.94 in after-hours trading.
The company said its higher revenue forecast 'primarily reflects the weakening of the US dollar.'
4 The final season of global phenomenon 'Squid Game' helped Netflix top Wall Street earnings targets for the second quarter.
©Netflix/Courtesy Everett Collection
For April through June, Netflix posted diluted earnings per share of $7.19. That topped the $7.08 consensus estimate of analysts polled by LSEG.
The company raised revenue guidance for 2025 to $44.8 billion to $45.2 billion, citing the weakening of the US dollar plus 'healthy member growth and ad sales.'
Its previous guidance was up to $44.5 billion.
For the just-ended quarter, net income came in at $3.1 billion, edging forecasts of $3.06 billion. Revenue totaled $11.08 billion, above the $11.07 billion analyst projection.
Netflix released the third and final season of dystopian Korean drama 'Squid Game' a few days before the second quarter ended in June.
The show is the most popular non-English Netflix show in the streaming service's history. Season three racked up 122 million views, Netflix said.
Other releases during the quarter included 'Sirens,' 'The Four Seasons' and a third season of 'Ginny & Georgia.'
4 Netflix released the third and final season of dystopian Korean drama 'Squid Game' a few days before the second quarter ended in June
REUTERS
4 Other releases during the quarter included 'Sirens,' (above) 'The Four Seasons' and a third season of 'Ginny & Georgia.'
©Netflix/Courtesy Everett Collection
The streaming video pioneer stopped disclosing quarterly subscriber numbers this year, instead urging investors to focus on profit as a measure of its success.
It said member growth was ahead of its forecast but occurred late in the quarter, which limited the impact on second-quarter revenue.
Netflix has been building an ad-supported service to increase revenue and reel in price-sensitive viewers. It also has added live events such as WWE wrestling to draw advertisers and viewers.
4 Looking ahead, Netflix forecast revenue of $11.5 billion and net income of nearly $3 billion. Analysts had projected $11.3 billion and $2.9 billion.
REUTERS
Looking ahead, Netflix forecast revenue of $11.5 billion and net income of nearly $3 billion.
Analysts had projected $11.3 billion and $2.9 billion.
The company also has new seasons of two of its biggest shows coming later this year. 'Wednesday' returns in August, and the final episodes of 'Stranger Things' will be released in November and December.
Netflix previously said it does not expect advertising to be a primary driver of revenue growth in 2025.
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9 minutes ago
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Hulk Hogan descended upon American culture at exactly the time it was ready for him: the 1980s
Associated Press The opening chords of Rick Derringer's hard-rock guitar would play over the arena sound system. Instantly, 20,000 Hulkamaniacs — and many more as wrestling's popularity and stadium size exploded — rose to their feet in a frenzy to catch a glimpse of Hulk Hogan storming toward the ring. His T-shirt half-ripped, his bandanna gripped in his teeth, Hogan faced 'em all in the 1980s — the bad guys from Russia and Iran and any other wrestler from a country that seemed to pose a threat to both his WWF championship and, of course, could bring harm to the red, white and blue. His 24-inch pythons slicked in oil, glistening under the house lights, Hogan would point to his next foe — say 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper or Jake 'The Snake' Roberts (rule of thumb: In the 80s, the more quote marks in a name, the meaner the wrestler) — all to the strain of Derringer's patriotic 'Real American.' In Ronald Reagan's 1980s slice of wishful-thinking Americana, no one embodied the vision of a 'real American' like Hulk Hogan. 'We had Gorgeous George and we had Buddy Rogers and we had Bruno Sammartino,' WWE Hall of Famer Sgt. Slaughter said Friday. 'But nobody compared at that time compared to Hulk Hogan. His whole desire was to be a star and be somebody that nobody every forgot. He pretty much did that.' He saw himself as an all-American hero Hogan, who died Thursday in Florida at age 71, portrayed himself as an all-American hero, a term that itself implies a stereotype. He was Sylvester Stallone meets John Wayne in tights — only fans could actually touch him and smell the sweat if the WWF came to town. Hogan presented as virtuous. He waved the American flag, never cheated to win, made sure 'good' always triumphed over 'evil.' He implored kids around the world: 'Train, say your prayers, eat your vitamins." Hogan did it all, hosting 'Saturday Night Live,' making movies, granting Make-A-Wish visits, even as he often strayed far from the advice that made him a 6-foot-8, 300-plus pound cash cow and one of the world's most recognizable entertainers. His muscles looked like basketballs, his promos electrified audiences — why was he yelling!?! — and he fabricated and embellished stories from his personal life all as he morphed into the personification of the 80s and 80s culture and excess. In the not-so-real world of professional wrestling, Hulk Hogan banked on fans believing in his authenticity. That belief made him the biggest star the genre has ever known. Outside the ring, the man born Terry Gene Bollea wrestled with his own good guy/bad guy dynamic, a messy life that eventually bled beyond the curtain, spilled into tabloid fodder and polluted the final years of his life. Hogan — who teamed with actor Mr. T in the first WrestleMania — was branded a racist. He was embroiled in a sex-tape scandal. He claimed he once contemplated suicide. All this came well after he admitted he burst into wrestling stardom not on a strict diet of workouts and vitamins, but of performance-enhancing drugs, notably steroids. The punches, the training, the grueling around-the-world travel were all real (the outcomes, of course, were not). So was the pain that followed Hogan as he was temporarily banished from WWE in his later years. He was the flawed hero of a flawed sport, and eventually not even wrestling fans, like a bad referee, could turn a blind eye to Hogan's discretions. His last appearance fizzled Hogan's final WWE appearance came this past January at the company's debut episode on Netflix. Hogan arrived months after he appeared at the Republican National Convention and gave a rousing speech -- not unlike his best 1980s promos -- in support of Donald Trump. Just a pair of the 1980s icons, who used tough talk and the perceived notion they could both 'tell it like it is,' to rise to the top. Only wrestling fans, especially one in the home of the Los Angeles event, had enough of Hogan. 'He was full-throated, it wasn't subtle, his support for Donald Trump,' said ESPN writer Marc Raimondi, who wrote the wrestling book 'Say Hello to the Bad Guys." 'I think that absolutely hurt him.' He didn't appear for an exercise in nostalgia or a vow that if he could just lace up the boots one more time, he could take down today's heels. No, Hogan came to promote his beer. Beer loosely coded as right-wing beer. No song was going to save him this time. Fed up with his perceived MAGA ties and divisive views, his racist past and a string of bad decisions that made some of today's stars also publicly turn on him, Hogan was about booed out of the building. This wasn't the good kind of wrestling booing, like what he wanted to hear when he got a second act in the 1990s as 'Hollywood' Hulk Hogan when controversy equaled cash. This was go-away heat. 'I think the politics had a whole lot to do with it,' Hogan said on 'The Pat McAfee Show' in February. Hogan always envisioned himself as the Babe Ruth of wrestling. On the back of Vince McMahon, now entangled in his own sordid sex scandal, Hogan turned a staid one-hour Saturday morning show into the land of NFL arenas, cable TV, pay-per-view blockbusters, and eventually, billon-dollar streaming deals. Once raised to the loftiest perch in sports and entertainment by fans who ate up everything the Hulkster had to say, his final, dismal appearance showed that even Hulk Hogan could take a loss. 'The guy who had been the master at getting what he wanted from the crowd for decades, he lost his touch,' Raimondi said. 'Very likely because of the things he did in his personal and professional life.' But there was a time when Hogan had it all. The fame. The championships. Riches and endorsements. All of it not from being himself, but by being Hulk Hogan. 'There's people in this business that become legends," Sgt. Slaughter said. 'But Hulk became legendary.'
San Francisco Chronicle
9 minutes ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Hulk Hogan descended upon American culture at exactly the time it was ready for him: the 1980s
The opening chords of Rick Derringer's hard-rock guitar would play over the arena sound system. Instantly, 20,000 Hulkamaniacs — and many more as wrestling's popularity and stadium size exploded — rose to their feet in a frenzy to catch a glimpse of Hulk Hogan storming toward the ring. His T-shirt half-ripped, his bandanna gripped in his teeth, Hogan faced 'em all in the 1980s — the bad guys from Russia and Iran and any other wrestler from a country that seemed to pose a threat to both his WWF championship and, of course, could bring harm to the red, white and blue. His 24-inch pythons slicked in oil, glistening under the house lights, Hogan would point to his next foe — say 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper or Jake 'The Snake' Roberts (rule of thumb: In the 80s, the more quote marks in a name, the meaner the wrestler) — all to the strain of Derringer's patriotic 'Real American.' In Ronald Reagan's 1980s slice of wishful-thinking Americana, no one embodied the vision of a 'real American' like Hulk Hogan. 'We had Gorgeous George and we had Buddy Rogers and we had Bruno Sammartino,' WWE Hall of Famer Sgt. Slaughter said Friday. 'But nobody compared at that time compared to Hulk Hogan. His whole desire was to be a star and be somebody that nobody every forgot. He pretty much did that.' He saw himself as an all-American hero Hogan, who died Thursday in Florida at age 71, portrayed himself as an all-American hero, a term that itself implies a stereotype. He was Sylvester Stallone meets John Wayne in tights — only fans could actually touch him and smell the sweat if the WWF came to town. Hogan presented as virtuous. He waved the American flag, never cheated to win, made sure 'good' always triumphed over 'evil.' He implored kids around the world: 'Train, say your prayers, eat your vitamins." Hogan did it all, hosting 'Saturday Night Live,' making movies, granting Make-A-Wish visits, even as he often strayed far from the advice that made him a 6-foot-8, 300-plus pound cash cow and one of the world's most recognizable entertainers. His muscles looked like basketballs, his promos electrified audiences — why was he yelling!?! — and he fabricated and embellished stories from his personal life all as he morphed into the personification of the 80s and 80s culture and excess. In the not-so-real world of professional wrestling, Hulk Hogan banked on fans believing in his authenticity. That belief made him the biggest star the genre has ever known. Outside the ring, the man born Terry Gene Bollea wrestled with his own good guy/bad guy dynamic, a messy life that eventually bled beyond the curtain, spilled into tabloid fodder and polluted the final years of his life. Hogan — who teamed with actor Mr. T in the first WrestleMania — was branded a racist. He was embroiled in a sex-tape scandal. He claimed he once contemplated suicide. All this came well after he admitted he burst into wrestling stardom not on a strict diet of workouts and vitamins, but of performance-enhancing drugs, notably steroids. The punches, the training, the grueling around-the-world travel were all real (the outcomes, of course, were not). So was the pain that followed Hogan as he was temporarily banished from WWE in his later years. He was the flawed hero of a flawed sport, and eventually not even wrestling fans, like a bad referee, could turn a blind eye to Hogan's discretions. His last appearance fizzled Hogan's final WWE appearance came this past January at the company's debut episode on Netflix. Hogan arrived months after he appeared at the Republican National Convention and gave a rousing speech -- not unlike his best 1980s promos -- in support of Donald Trump. Just a pair of the 1980s icons, who used tough talk and the perceived notion they could both 'tell it like it is,' to rise to the top. Only wrestling fans, especially one in the home of the Los Angeles event, had enough of Hogan. 'He was full-throated, it wasn't subtle, his support for Donald Trump,' said ESPN writer Marc Raimondi, who wrote the wrestling book 'Say Hello to the Bad Guys." 'I think that absolutely hurt him.' He didn't appear for an exercise in nostalgia or a vow that if he could just lace up the boots one more time, he could take down today's heels. No, Hogan came to promote his beer. Beer loosely coded as right-wing beer. No song was going to save him this time. Fed up with his perceived MAGA ties and divisive views, his racist past and a string of bad decisions that made some of today's stars also publicly turn on him, Hogan was about booed out of the building. This wasn't the good kind of wrestling booing, like what he wanted to hear when he got a second act in the 1990s as 'Hollywood' Hulk Hogan when controversy equaled cash. This was go-away heat. 'I think the politics had a whole lot to do with it,' Hogan said on 'The Pat McAfee Show' in February. Hogan always envisioned himself as the Babe Ruth of wrestling. On the back of Vince McMahon, now entangled in his own sordid sex scandal, Hogan turned a staid one-hour Saturday morning show into the land of NFL arenas, cable TV, pay-per-view blockbusters, and eventually, billon-dollar streaming deals. Once raised to the loftiest perch in sports and entertainment by fans who ate up everything the Hulkster had to say, his final, dismal appearance showed that even Hulk Hogan could take a loss. 'The guy who had been the master at getting what he wanted from the crowd for decades, he lost his touch,' Raimondi said. 'Very likely because of the things he did in his personal and professional life.' But there was a time when Hogan had it all. The fame. The championships. Riches and endorsements. All of it not from being himself, but by being Hulk Hogan. 'There's people in this business that become legends," Sgt. Slaughter said. 'But Hulk became legendary.'
Yahoo
27 minutes ago
- Yahoo
Sex trafficking warrant served at L.A. home owned by alleged ‘TikTok Cult' pastor
A large operation was seen unfolding in Tujunga on Friday morning when federal and local law enforcement served a search warrant for alleged sex trafficking at a home owned by a controversial pastor and subject of the Netflix docuseries 'Dancing for the Devil: The 7M TikTok Cult.' El Monte Police Department officials confirmed to KTLA that authorities served the search warrant around 6 a.m. at a home located at 7744 McGroarty St. In addition to sex trafficking, the warrant was also issued for allegations of tax evasion, mail fraud, money laundering and COVID-19 pandemic-related accusations, which were not specified by law enforcement. Sky5 was overhead around 6:45 a.m., when FBI personnel were seen investigating the large residence and speaking with people at the scene, including possible victims or witnesses. At least six people were seen detained with handcuffs, including an older woman who, unlike the other detainees on the ground, was sitting in a chair with her legs covered under a blanket. Another woman was seen sitting on an outdoor couch, wiping her eyes while clutching a child wrapped in a blanket on her lap. Police did not immediately say whether anyone was arrested during the service of this warrant. A property records search for the home listed six current owners, including Robert Shinn, who was the subject of Netflix's 'Dancing for the Devil: The 7M TikTok Cult.' A source involved in the series confirmed to KTLA that the property involved in this search warrant was the same property at the center of the series. The Los Angeles Times reported that Shinn, founder of and pastor for Shekinah Church, also founded a company called 7M Films in 2021 'to help social media stars and TikTok dancers find jobs in L.A.' The 2024 miniseries examines the story, lawsuits and abusive cult allegations surrounding the Shekinah Church and 7M Films. The media focus was largely brought forth by two different sets of sisters who worked with Shinn: influencers Melanie Wilking and Miranda Derrick (formerly Wilking), and Melanie and Priscylla Lee. A summary from a 2024 Time article described the series as revealing 'claims from multiple former 7M members about how Shinn abused and manipulated them and created a cult-like environment.' No sexual assault charges were brought against him. Although Shinn did not personally reply to the Netflix series, the L.A. Times noted that his company, 7M, replied through an Instagram post calling the docuseries a 'slanderous work of fiction, born from a failed extortion attempt.' The post concluded by saying, 'We will continue to pursue all legal remedies available to stop the spread of salacious lies and expect to be fully vindicated in court.' According to CNN, Shinn filed a defamation suit against several former church members, claiming they made 'false statements' referring to his organization as a cult, and that they launched a campaign to 'cancel' him. The defendants then joined a cross-complaint with other former church members, claiming Shinn, his wife and others of 'fraud, forced labor and human trafficking, as well as Robert of sexual battery.' In addition, the L.A. Times reported that this countersuit against Shinn alleges 'brainwashing, physical abuse, sexual abuse, emotional abuse, manipulation and exploitation.' The case was scheduled to go to trial on July 7 in Los Angeles, however, the defendants' attorney group has since confirmed to KTLA that the trial is now set to begin on October 27. 'Regarding the search warrant, we are gratified that the federal government is investigating Robert Shinn and look forward to our clients and his victims receiving the justice they deserve,' stated a partner with Brown Neri Smith & Khan, LLP. Authorities did not state any connections between Friday's search warrant operation and the docuseries controversy. Nidia Becerra, Alexis Lewis, Alberto Mendez and Jennifer Thang contributed to this report. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed. Solve the daily Crossword
