Netflix's Got Latent: Samay Raina's inspiration ‘Kill Tony’ is streaming
Summary
‘Kill Tony’, now on Netflix, is part open mic, part gauntlet, part bloodsport
Imagine a Roman coliseum where the lions wear baseball caps and the gladiators are armed with punchlines. That, dear reader, is the world of Kill Tony. Comedians picked out of a bucket get the stage for one minute: 60 seconds under the unblinking stare of Tony Hinchcliffe, a roastmaster with a tongue dipped in arsenic and Red Bull. With a revolving door of star guests and a house band funkier than a Delhi summer, Kill Tony isn’t a mere podcast—it’s part open mic, part gauntlet, part bloodsport. It’s where careers are born, egos are slain, and every silence is radioactive.
After 700 or so episodes on YouTube, Kill Tony has come to the big red streaming service. Kill Tony: Kill Or Be Killed marks the Netflix debut for Hinchcliffe and his bros who roast each other while allowing abject newcomers a chance to shine — or stumble. If that sounds familiar, it’s because even those who haven’t heard of Kill Tony may have watched a version of his show.
The now defunct series India’s Got Latent was fast becoming India’s biggest online show, with over 20 million viewers an episode. In interviews, on Twitter, and even during episodes of the show, its creator and host Samay Raina acknowledged Kill Tony as both blueprint and inspiration. The DNA is undeniable: a minute-long set, live audience, rotating panel, and a format that straddles humiliation and hilarity. The set-up, the stage dynamics, even the casual cruelty, are pure Kill Tony.
Netflix’s Kill Tony show show is a bloated, overlong affair, more than 2 hours long. One comic dresses as Trump, one as Musk. Next to them sits podcast host Joe Rogan, squirming as jokes are made about his most powerful friends. In one of the night’s only memorable lines, comedian Jeffrey Ross refers to Rogan as “Secretary Of Steak." The star of Kill Tony is the exposure, as complete unknowns take the microphone and try to manage sixty mostly funny seconds. “Please save me from obscurity, Saint Tony," implores one comic.
I haven’t watched full episodes of KT or IGL, but based on what I have seen, Raina’s show is funnier. Where Hinchcliffe savours destruction, Raina leans into redemption. His jokes may be “dark" — or seem so in a culture where too much is forbidden — but his critique of the contestants is gentler, and his panel more playful than predatory. He’s less an executioner, and more an elder sibling pulling pranks. The chaos in IGL feels uniquely Indian: judges chime in mid-set (a smart move, because the contestants aren’t often funny enough to hold their own), the talent-show idea moves beyond comedy, and a democratic warmth gives the show its own pulse.
IGL flips the script on celebrity culture: Raina isn’t just host; he is the prize. In a country where gatekeepers are faceless TV execs or humourless streaming algorithms, IGL turns Raina himself into the celebrity bouncer behind the velvet rope, a charismatic tastemaker whose nod can launch a comic’s career.
In a now infamous episode, Raina invited Ranveer ‘BeerBiceps’ Allahbadia—a bro-fluencer whose vibe oscillates between protein shakes and pseudo-spirituality. Allahbadia threw out an incest joke, a hypothetical question lifted wholesale from an international comedy set. Raina neither made the joke nor endorsed it, but nuance is always the first casualty in India. Outrage swelled, news anchors went apoplectic, and Raina scrubbed IGL from YouTube. Allahbadia has since been the picture of contrition, promising to “do better."
Indian free speech laws are a buffet with warning signs at every dish: ‘Eat at your own risk. May contain sedition.’ Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution guarantees the right to freedom of speech and expression—but then there comes the asterisk. Article 19(2) swiftly adds that this freedom is subject to “reasonable restrictions" in the interest of sovereignty, public order, decency, morality, and other vague uncles no one invited to the party. It's like saying, "You can absolutely dance, but only within this tiny chalk circle, and preferably in silence."
What counts as “reasonable"? That line is invisible, movable, and policed by anyone with a Wi-Fi connection and a moral superiority complex. One man’s joke is another WhatsApp uncle’s FIR. So comedians, filmmakers, authors are left walking a tightrope strung between historical hurt and hypothetical outrage. In India, morality isn’t subjective, but a baton, passed down by self-appointed culture custodians. The bar isn't just low, it’s selectively lowered, especially when humour punches up.
Kunal Kamra’s new special Naya Bharat (YouTube) takes potshots at Anant Ambani, Eknath Shinde and other powerful men one would imagine have better things to do than be bothered by jokes. The comedy club he performed in has been vandalised, and Kamra’s been getting death threats, but the comedian has refused to apologise. Here is a rare one-man resistance who knows where to aim. He isn’t offensive; he’s inconvenient. That’s why they keep trying to shut him up.
America once jailed Lenny Bruce for obscenity, and now he’s taught in universities. As the Indian stand-up comedy scene comes of age, jokes will sharpen, lines will blur, and yes, peacock feathers will be ruffled. Hard. For art to grow, something sacred must always be at stake. It’s important for comedy to show resistance, to engage with the forbidden.
“If you’ve ever been offended by anything," Hinchcliffe warns his new Netflix audience, “You will be offended by this show. And you are two clicks away from John Mulaney. So just go over there, and you’ll be fine. He’s not going to offend you. This will. This is for people who don’t get offended." If only India could learn to look the other way.
Streaming tip of the week
The Japanese comedy reality show Documental, where comedians try to make each other laugh, was remade as Last One Laughing in multiple languages (all available on Amazon Prime) and the latest, Last One Laughing UK, hosted by Jimmy Carr, is a treat. (The Canada series is smashing too.)
Also read: ‘Celebration & Prayer’: Poet Ashok Vajpeyi paints a portrait of Raza in words
