分类： entertainment

One year after a high-profile controversy derailed one of India’s biggest online comedy careers, 29-year-old creator Samay Raina has stepped back into the public eye with a raw, deeply personal new YouTube stand-up special that has already resonated with fans across the country.

Walking onto stage with his signature tousled hair and rumpled checked shirt, Raina half-smiles at the packed crowd before he even utters a word — and the audience erupts in laughter before his first punchline can land. It is a homecoming 12 months in the making, a moment that once seemed impossible after a single guest remark brought his thriving career to an abrupt halt.

Until early 2025, Raina stood at the forefront of India’s fast-growing digital comedy revolution. Unlike most veteran Indian comics who cut their teeth in small underground clubs of Mumbai and Bangalore, Raina was a product of the open internet. A former competitive chess player, he first built an audience during the global pandemic by streaming chess matches online, gradually blending game play with self-deprecating banter, bilingual observational comedy and spontaneous interactions with live chat. His quick, sarcastic wit, which switched seamlessly between Hindi and English, earned him millions of loyal followers in just a few years.

His breakout hit, *India’s Got Latent*, was a scrappy, unapologetic parody of formal television talent competitions that became a cultural phenomenon for young Indian streaming audiences. The format, which featured eccentric contestants and unfiltered roasts from judges and host, rejected the polished, censored comedy of traditional TV for a raw, real-time style that felt revolutionary. The show drew a eclectic roster of guests from across the digital space: fellow stand-ups, chess grandmasters, TikTok and YouTube creators, and podcasters, all pulled into Raina’s loose, improvisational vibe. For millions of young fans, it was comedy that felt like it spoke directly to their generation.

Then everything collapsed overnight. During an episode featuring popular Indian podcaster Ranveer Allahbadia — known to his followers as BeerBiceps — the guest posed an explicit question to a contestant that sparked immediate nationwide outrage. Police filed obscenity complaints against everyone involved in the episode, including Raina, and when Raina’s editor was arrested, the comic made the decision to take the entire *India’s Got Latent* series offline and step away from public life.

For 12 months, Raina largely vanished from social media and stages, stepping out of the spotlight he had worked so hard to build. In Indian comedy circles, his name became a cautionary tale about the volatility of online fame, where a single misstep can erase a career in days.

Now, Raina is back, and he is using the art that got him into trouble to process what happened. Earlier this week, he dropped *Still Alive*, a 90-minute stand-up special critics are already calling his boldest, most personal work to date. The set weaves together sharp self-deprecating humour with quiet reflection, addressing every part of his year-long hiatus: the whiplash of losing the public identity he built online, the vulnerability of being “cancelled” in an era where social media metrics define personal worth, the loneliness of losing connections with former collaborators, and the anxiety that shook him even as he prepared to return to the stage.

Where his old comedy was unapologetically brash and unfiltered, his new material carries a thread of quiet melancholy, honed by a year of navigating legal battles and public backlash. Even so, his timing remains as precise as ever. “I always knew there’d be an FIR against me one day,” he jokes ruefully to the crowd. “I just never thought it would be for saying nothing.”

In one of the special’s most viral moments, Raina opens up about the impact the controversy had on his family, admitting he often struggled to even answer calls from his mother, and that he felt broken by the entire experience. He also confronts the wider reality of modern Indian comedy: the sector has exploded in the last decade, with digital platforms allowing new comics to reach millions of fans across cities and small towns, turning a small urban niche into a massive mainstream industry. But that growth has come with steep new risks: comics operate under far greater scrutiny than ever before, and more creators are facing legal action, police complaints and even arrest over their material, as lines of acceptability are constantly renegotiated in the public square.

Raina nods to this fragile ecosystem in his set, riffing on George Orwell’s famous line that “every joke is a tiny revolution.” Twisting the quote to fit his own experience, he deadpans: “If Orwell had lived in India, he’d probably have said — every revolution is a tiny joke.” The line earned one of the biggest laughs of the night.

Rather than completely reinventing his comedy to avoid controversy, Raina has adjusted his approach, testing the line between his signature spontaneous, unfiltered style and the realities of working in a hyper-scrutinized digital space. It is a balancing act that nearly every young boundary-pushing Indian comedian faces today: how to stay true to a spontaneous voice while performing for an audience that is vast, diverse, and quick to judge.

The controversy that sidelined Raina has not fully disappeared, and the risks of his style of comedy remain real. But if *Still Alive* is any indication, Raina is not chasing a neat public apology or resolution — he is focused on continuing to create. For his fans, the special is not an act of contrition, it is a reassertion of his voice, and his refusal to be sidelined. Closing out the set, he shrugs, mixing defiance with punchline delivery, and says: “I’m still here, and I am going to do whatever I want.”

Two decades after the cultural phenomenon that was *The Devil Wears Prada* first hit cinemas, Hollywood icons Meryl Streep and Anne Hathaway have made a much-anticipated appearance in Shanghai to drum up excitement for their upcoming sequel, holding a star-studded promotional gala at Taikoo Li Qiantan on Friday.

The red carpet event marked a landmark reunion for the beloved on-screen duo, who drew cheers from hundreds of waiting fans with their fashion-forward looks that highlighted emerging Chinese creative talent. Hathaway stepped out in an elegant layered gown crafted by Chinese designer Susan Wang, while 76-year-old Streep paired her tailored blue Saint Laurent ensemble with a delicate floral brooch from renowned Chinese jewelry artist Cindy Chao.

For Hathaway, the warm reception from Chinese fans moved her to tears as she took the stage. The actress, who first won over global audiences more than two decades ago in *The Princess Diaries*, greeted the crowd in Mandarin and opened up about the long-standing support she has received from Chinese moviegoers throughout her career. “China and Chinese fans have given me so much support. You have embraced me. You have supported my films … I just want to say how much it means to me, to be here sharing tonight with you,” she told the assembled audience.

Earlier that same day, during an exclusive roundtable interview at Shanghai’s Peninsula Hotel, Streep opened up about what it meant to return to one of her most iconic roles: the sharp, intimidating fashion magazine editor Miranda Priestly, a character loosely inspired by *Vogue* editor-in-chief Anna Wintour.

The Oscar-winning actress admitted that even in her most imaginative moments, she never expected to step back into Miranda’s shoes two decades after the original film’s release. “I never in my wildest dreams imagined that we would do a sequel 20 years later at this age,” she told China Daily. Streep added that she particularly appreciated the creative choice to align the character’s age with her own. “I like that Miranda is 76 years old. I like that very much, because I am 76 and I like to see that woman on the screen,” she explained.

Streep also shared an unexpected update on her off-screen relationship with the real-life inspiration for her character: the pair have grown from casual acquaintances to close friends over the past 20 years, and even recently collaborated on a *Vogue* cover shoot together.

The 2006 original *The Devil Wears Prada*, adapted from Lauren Weisberger’s bestselling 2003 novel, was a massive global box office success that earned two Academy Award nominations and remains a cultural touchstone for fashion and film fans around the world. The upcoming sequel recontextualizes the franchise for a dramatically changed media landscape, exploring fresh themes of fashion, industry power dynamics, and personal autonomy in the modern digital age.

In a notable release schedule shift, *The Devil Wears Prada 2* will hold its global premiere in China on April 30, two weeks ahead of its North American theatrical launch. The film will be available to audiences across China in multiple premium formats including 2D, CINITY, IMAX, Dolby Cinema, and China Giant Screen.

Fifteen years ago, if anyone had predicted that I would one day spend my vacations exploring China, I would have labeled them completely out of touch. Shaped by years of one-sided external narratives, my mind had already settled on a rigid, unflattering stereotype: a place of endless overwork, smog-choked skies, and a culture so disconnected from my own experience that it would be impossible to understand. I was trapped, not by any external force, but by the limiting prejudices I had chosen to carry.

In the heart of Harbin, Heilongjiang province, a one-of-a-kind frozen treat is turning heads and drawing long lines of hungry visitors to the city’s iconic Chinese-Baroque Historic and Cultural Block. A local ice cream artisan has turned a simple scoop of ice cream into a stunning work of edible art, topping each serving with delicate hand-piped lilac flowers made from colored bean paste.

Shop owner Liu Yue has perfected the intricate craft of shaping floral decorations directly on top of cold ice cream. Working with a traditional piping bag, Liu carefully squeezes the tinted bean paste one petal at a time, building each four or five-petal lilac bloom from scratch. She then arranges the finished flower clusters to create a full, lush display that transforms a basic frozen dessert into a shareable, photo-worthy creation. The lilac, which is the official city flower of Harbin, adds a local cultural touch that resonates with both lifelong residents and first-time tourists exploring the historic district.

Since the signature dessert launched, it has quickly become a viral favorite, prompting crowds of visitors to stop by the shop to sample the treat and capture photos of its intricate design. What started as a small local confectionery creation has turned into a must-have attraction for anyone exploring Harbin’s popular historic cultural neighborhood, blending traditional handcrafting skills with modern dessert trends.

TOKYO — For Japanese Prime Minister Sanae Takaichi, a leader grappling with stacked diplomatic tensions, domestic economic challenges and a grueling work schedule, Friday brought an unexpected, joyful interlude: hosting her lifelong favorite rock band, British legendary hard rock group Deep Purple, at the Prime Minister’s Office in Tokyo.

A self-proclaimed superfan with more than 50 years of devotion to the band, Takaichi entered the meeting room with open arms and a wide grin, unable to hide her excitement. “Welcome to Japan… Oh I can’t believe Deep Purple are here,” she said, greeting the assembled band members. “I have always admired Deep Purple.”

When she turned to drummer Ian Paice, her enthusiasm grew even more heartfelt. “You’re my god,” she told him, before gifting Paice a custom set of Japanese-manufactured TAMA drumsticks that she had personally signed. In a warm, casual exchange, Paice replied with a laugh, “You’re a drummer, we are friends.”

The meeting pulled back the curtain on a little-known personal side of Japan’s first female prime minister: Takaichi is a lifelong lover of hard rock and heavy metal, and she once performed as a musician herself. She shared that her fandom stretches back to her elementary school years, when she first fell in love with Deep Purple’s iconic 1972 album *Machine Head*, which features timeless hits including Highway Star and Smoke on the Water. By junior high, she was playing keyboard in a Deep Purple cover band, and she switched to drums when she entered university.

In a playful reveal of how she unwinds from political stress even today, Takaichi joked that when she argues with her husband, she plays along to Deep Purple’s track *Burn* on her drum kit to blow off steam. “Burn” has long been one of her go-to songs; she has previously said the track helps clear her mind after long days of policy work.

The courtesy visit from Deep Purple comes as Takaichi navigates a period of significant political pressure: strained bilateral relations with China, growing economic and security fallout from the ongoing conflict in the Middle East, and persistent rising prices that have eroded public support at home. Even in this lighthearted meeting, however, Takaichi tied the encounter to her government’s policy agenda. She emphasized that supporting and promoting cultural and creative content is a core pillar of her administration’s economic growth strategy.

Before the band wrapped up their visit, Takaichi offered a formal message of respect for the group’s decades-long contribution to rock music. “I express my deepest respect for you for making rock history and continuing to take on new challenges and producing even more compelling music today,” she said, wishing the band a successful tour, which is set to kick off Saturday in Tokyo.

LONDON, May (AP) — When the 2015 Eurovision Song Contest kicks off in Vienna, one contestant will step onto the world’s biggest live music stage with unique ties to two of pop music’s most legendary names, and a decades-long connection to the contest itself: Australian singer-songwriter Delta Goodrem.

With a career spanning more than two decades, Goodrem is far from an unknown contender on the Eurovision roster. The multi-award-winning artist has racked up over nine million album sales worldwide and claimed the top spot on music charts across eight countries, making her one of the most commercially successful participants in this year’s event. While Australia sits thousands of miles outside of Europe, the country has received an official invitation to compete every year since 2015, extending the contest’s global reach beyond its traditional continental boundaries.

For Goodrem, Eurovision feels like a full-circle moment, rooted in the influences that shaped her into the artist she is today. Long before she was tapped to represent Australia, she had close ties to two former Eurovision participants. As a young artist rising to fame after her stint on the iconic Australian soap opera *Neighbours*, Goodrem penned the track *Eyes on Me* for Celine Dion — the Canadian icon who took home Eurovision’s top prize in 1988 while representing Switzerland. She was also mentored by the late, globally beloved Olivia Newton-John, who represented the United Kingdom at the 1974 Eurovision contest.

“Growing up, Olivia Newton-John and Celine Dion were two of my greatest loves in music,” Goodrem shared in an interview with the Associated Press in London. “I don’t think I would be the musician I am today without the influence from the two of them. And they have both been a part of that stage from different countries.”

Goodrem even has a friendly connection to another competing act this year: San Marino’s entry features British star Boy George, who previously worked alongside Goodrem as a fellow judge on Australia’s hit televised singing competition *The Voice*. The playful pre-existing rivalry between the two has followed them to the Eurovision stage.

“I’ve got my eyes on him. I’m watching him,” Goodrem joked. “I was so excited and couldn’t stop laughing … it’s so playful that Boy George was like, ‘I’m coming to Eurovision!’”

Goodrem will take the Vienna stage with her powerful original ballad *Eclipse*. When asked when she first became aware of Eurovision, she noted the contest has long been part of Australian pop culture consciousness, and that national interest grew exponentially after Australia joined the competition 11 years ago.

“It’s been a bit omnipresent where you sort of heard it in the air. And I guess obviously Australia’s been in for 11 years. So we became a lot more actively like Team Australia. But growing up, you always were, you know, enamored with this incredible iconic stage and it’d always find its way to us,” she said.

Goodrem, a self-described proud patriot, said representing Australia at Eurovision feels like a natural extension of the work she has done throughout her career. “I feel that as well and I’ve always been very patriotic and very true to the love I have for Australia and it feels like they’re all celebrating, we’re all sort of there together on this journey,” she added. When asked how competitive she is, the singer confirmed she is coming to the contest to give her performance everything she has.

The path to her Eurovision participation began unexpectedly the year prior, when Goodrem was living in London and experienced the contest’s electric energy firsthand. She said when asked if she would ever compete, she jumped at the open invitation. “(Last year) I was doing my couple of shows here (in London) and I had sort of got to experience the energy of Eurovision on the ground and I just thought it was palpable, it was incredible and I was watching all the programs and it was really exciting and somebody had asked me, ‘would you do Eurovision?’ And I said, ‘I’m always open’ … You never know where your path’s leading, just if it feels right.”

Addressing questions about political tensions that have followed the contest, including calls for boycott this year, Goodrem emphasized that music has always been a unifying force for her. “I really am a true believer that throughout my career, coming to my show, I’m about unifying — music for me is a moment where we’re all singing the same song. And I believe in that, and I have my whole life, that it’s very healing, music has a real power. So I sort of focus on the power of music being a unifying space and a place that can wrap around people’s lives and their soundtrack and that’s where it sits for me,” she explained.

She also welcomed plans to launch Eurovision Asia, scheduled for September later this year, saying “The more music the better. I think that’s so exciting. That means I get to immerse myself in the music in September for Eurovision Asia.”

When asked about her planned stage production for *Eclipse* — which features sand in the official music video — Goodrem teased a playful, patriotic twist, saying “Yes, you’re thinking I should bring Australian sand, you know, that’s very patriotic. I start a little beach on stage, look up at the moon for “Eclipse.” I definitely am really excited to bring it to life.”

If she takes home the top prize, Goodrem says she is fully open to hosting the next year’s contest in Australia, even entertaining the idea of a co-hosting arrangement if that proves more practical. “Sure. Yeah, yeah! Look, I don’t know those logistics yet but I’m open to the conversation … If you would like to vote for me then I’m happy to talk about if we could like have it here or if, you know, I’m happy to do a deal.”

In the heart of Tokyo, a centuries-old cultural ritual is unfolding that reaffirms the enduring legacy of Japan’s iconic traditional theatrical art, Kabuki. For generations, passing down revered stage names through family lines has stood as the cornerstone of Kabuki tradition, celebrated every few years at major theaters and special ceremonies across the country. This year, the iconic title of Kikugoro transfers to its eighth holder, 48-year-old Kazuyasu Terajima, who inherits the honor from his 83-year-old father, the seventh Kikugoro — continuing an unbroken line of succession that stretches back multiple generations.

For Terajima, accepting the legendary name means far more than adopting a new stage title. “Taking on the name is about taking on the spirit and responsibility that’s created and passed down over generations by those who came before us,” he told reporters recently. “The job of the Kabuki actor is to carry on and develop in the present what we have inherited from our predecessors, and make sure it gets passed on to those who come after us.” This is not an unfamiliar practice for Kabuki: just two years ago, in 2022, the field saw another major succession when the 13th holder of the other iconic Kabuki family name, Danjuro, formally took on his title.

Dating all the way back to the 1600s, Kabuki remains a vibrant, widely beloved art form in modern Japan, and recent cultural milestones underscore its ongoing popularity. The hit domestic film *Kokuho*, which earned an Oscar nomination this year for best makeup and hairstyling, became the highest-grossing live-action domestic film in Japanese cinema history — a clear sign that the centuries-old theater still resonates deeply with contemporary audiences.

What makes Kabuki unique is its distinct, stylized performance language that sets it apart from realistic Western theatrical traditions. All roles, including female parts, are played by male actors: those who specialize in women’s roles are called onnagata, while artists like the Kikugoro line perform both male and female roles. The art form blends sweeping dramatic narratives, live music, dance, and song, with stories ranging from tales of wronged samurai seeking vengeance to tragic romances and supernatural tales of maidens who transform into serpents. Actors wear elaborate, vibrant costumes and striking stylized makeup, and deliberately reject realism to emphasize emotional and thematic core. Key dramatic moments are punctuated by striking poses called mie, emphasized by the rhythmic clack of wooden claves that freeze the performance to highlight courage, fear, or other intense emotions. Lines are often delivered in a melodic, poetic cadence, while live music serves as an integral narrative tool: thundering large drums evoke stormy weather, soft drumbeats mimic falling snow, and tinkling bells can conjure the image of floating butterflies. Performances utilize dynamic revolving sets — for example, cherry blossom trees that shower audiences with pink paper petals — and even incorporate acrobatic elements, such as wire-work for supernatural character dance sequences. One of the form’s most celebrated theatrical tricks is on-stage costume and character transformation, where stagehands called kurogo, cloaked in unobtrusive black robes, help actors shift from a human character to a demon right in front of the audience’s eyes.

Surprisingly, Kabuki shares striking thematic parallels with William Shakespeare’s Elizabethan theater, despite developing completely independently. One of Kabuki’s most famous tragic works, *The Love Suicides at Sonezaki*, tells the story of young lovers who choose death together over a life apart — often described as the Kabuki equivalent of *Romeo and Juliet*. The parallel is entirely coincidental: the play’s writer, Chikamatsu Monzaemon, created the work for Japan’s Bunraku puppet theater in the 18th century during Japan’s isolationist Tokugawa period, and never had access to Shakespeare’s works, which were written decades earlier.

Like all Kikugoro titleholders before him, Terajima was born into this legacy and trained from childhood to carry the art form forward. Far from resenting the predetermined path, he speaks of it only with gratitude and dedication. “I totally adored and admired my predecessors,” he shared during an appearance at the Foreign Correspondents’ Club in Tokyo last month. “First of all, I am filled with gratitude to our predecessors who created great works that continue to be loved by generations that came after. So I am grateful to be born into the family of such ancestors.”

The chain of succession already extends to the next generation: Terajima’s 12-year-old son Kazufumi will one day inherit the previous family title Kikunosuke, a name passed to the younger generation of the Kikugoro line. Like his father, Kazufumi has already begun his training, which requires intense physical and mental discipline: daily morning running, strict dietary rules, and early bedtimes. Though he shares interests with other children his age — including video games and Japanese rock band Mrs. Green Apple — he has already developed a calm, disciplined bearing far beyond his years. “It’s not only hard physically. It’s also pretty hard mentally, and I sometimes took it out on my parents,” he admitted with a smile. The multi-year shumei (name succession) ceremony, which launched last year with a series of performances across Japan, will continue through 2024.

Renowned American Kabuki scholar James R. Brandon describes the art form as centered on a strict cultural code: “a theater in which the art of acting is central, and in which playwright and actor cooperate to achieve the unique style of performance found only in Kabuki.” Central to this tradition is kata, the established “correct way” of performing each role and scene that serves as a model for all future generations of actors.

While some cultural observers have raised concerns about Kabuki’s long-term survival in an era of modern digital entertainment, Terajima says he remains confident in the art form’s enduring relevance, arguing that its core traditions do not need radical change. “By using kata, what we want to truly communicate the most in the tradition of Kabuki is human compassion, that spirit of caring for others,” he explained. For the eighth Kikugoro, that timeless message ensures that Kabuki will continue to thrive for generations to come.