Why "KPop Demon Hunters" is So Dang Good
- Jacob Schnee
- 4 hours ago
- 78 min read
Art is the lie that reveals the truth. My favorite works of art are those that reveal the most truth. KPop Demon Hunters is one of my favorite movies of the last 15 years.
Yes, I recognize how silly this sounds. This is an animated kids movie about girls who sing K-Pop and kill demons. The very title of the movie feels weird and bizarrely generic, as if an unfortunate translation to English. Like when, legend has it, The Matrix released in France as The Young People Who Traverse Dimensions While Wearing Sunglasses.
I understand your skepticism. I didn't go into the film with any expectations. I didn't choose to be floored by this film. In fact, after the first watch blew me away, I tried to convince myself it was a fluke, that some unknown mediating forces made me like it so much.
Then I watched it two more times and learned there was no way out. [1] The things I noticed were real. The things I felt were real. The things I loved were real. This film emerged as one of the best "kids movies" I'd ever seen. (I'm not alone.) [2] This is my attempt to understand why.
Provisos before we begin:
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Table of ContentsIntro The Heart of the Film: The Core Characters and Their Relationships
The Eyes of the Film: Reflecting Profound Truths About Life
The Art of the Film: Why it Works So Well As a Movie Conclusion |
A Brief Introduction
Like so much of the best art, this film is both timely and timeless. It serves as a mirror to our current age, yet is packed with timeless fundamental truths about life. Meanwhile it nails everything that makes for a great film: the writing, the editing, the visuals, the score, the rich and meaningful character arcs. This movie is a case study in excellent storytelling. And it's all delivered in a cool, confident package brimming with je ne sais quoi.
It Starts with our Hero, Rumi, Who Shows Us a Mature and Honest Representation of Self-Actualization
The hero's s journey to self-actualization is a bedrock of narrative storytelling. It's universal; we each go through it ourselves. It's filled with everything you want in a good story: a beginning full of possibilities, a great challenge to confront us, proud triumphs to buffer us, agonizing failures to exhaust us, surprise friends, surprise enemies, and all manner of twists and turns, until it finally ends with our gratifying return home as a stronger, better person.
There's just one problem: it's not easy to write a "hero's journey" that hits all these beats, rings authentic and doesn't feel cheesy. In some stories, the hero's path is resolved too easily, leaving their arc cheapened and unsatisfying. In others, the hero just "digs deeper" and magically discovers at the perfect moment that "they had it in them the whole time," then effortlessly obliterates the bad guy. In still others, the hero's entire self-development journey is merely a 90-second training montage away! Who knew?!
Life doesn't actually happen this way; you know it, I know it, this movie knows it. Where other films fall into these traps all the time, this film respects our intelligence by respecting its hero's journey. Her path takes her from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows until ultimately, the least painful choice she has is to confront her own lies, cross into "the cave she fears to enter," and find her authentic center. Only then is she able to conquer the villain who seeks to destroy her and everything she loves. In other words, it's shaped after our own real-life self-actualization journeys.
In real life, self-actualization doesn’t arrive fast and neatly packaged. It’s a painful process that unfolds one step at a time, on its own time. It’s dark and lonely and difficult. It strips you to your core, challenges once ironclad beliefs you held about yourself. It's frightfully disorienting. It's pocked with pain, struggle, and failures. It leaves you doubting how you'll make it through. You might feel at war with yourself, the people you love, or both. This movie allows Rumi to experience all of that. So when she finally does work her way to her resolution, her reward — and in turn, our reward as the viewer — is genuinely satisfying.
Like ours, Rumi's path to self-actualization roughly comprises two parts: deconstruction followed by reconstruction. First, she is forced to deconstruct her perceived self to discover her true self. Then, must reconstruct her identity, decide what she stands for, and act in accordance with her values, even when it puts her at risk.
Rumi's Self-Actualization (Pt. 1 of 2): Her Deconstruction
Rumi experiences the splitting internal pains of being forced to surrender to who she truly is as that truth chafes against the familiar yet flawed pillars of self-identity upon which she'd originally built her life.
"Waking up to who you are requires letting go of who you imagine yourself to be." — Alan Watts
When you're a child, you make plans for yourself. Only later do you realize you didn't know the half of it. As early as five years old, teachers ask you what you want to be when you grow up. You answer in turn. But as you get older, you realize that your five-year old self, your 12-year old self, hell, even your 20-year old self, has no clue who you will ultimately grow to be. [3] In fact you might find that ironically, your sincerest plans for yourself end up holding you back from becoming who you truly are.
Children of demanding parents have it especially bad. As a child of demanding parents (a sole guardian in her case), Rumi's vision of her life was never really her own. She lives the vision her Aunt Celine has laid out for her. (Aunt Celine is her mother figure, the woman who raised her, and the only living family she has.) The moment she was born, Rumi was ordered to follow a fixed path: she was to become a famous pop star, serve in her mother's footsteps as the world's chief Demon Hunter, lead a trio of hunters in the ancient war against the demons, and ultimately seal the golden Honmoon to banish the demons forever. From day one, she inherited one goal: eradicate the demons. Once she'd achieved that, she was told, all would be well. She would forever be free from shame, doubt, and worry. She would live happily ever after.
Sound familiar? Here's the fixed path your parents might have assigned you: get straight A's in school, graduate from a prestigious university, get a good job, climb your way up to Executive (or start a business yourself and be your own CEO!), buy a nice house, buy a nice car, raise a nice family. Then you will be happy and fulfilled. You will have "made it." You will be free from shame, doubt, and worry. You will live happily ever after.
Of course, we all know by now it isn't that simple. How many of us slog down this path only to find, once we've "made it," that it was all an illusion? How many of us burn ourselves out climbing rung after rung of The Great Ladder to Happiness, exhaust our minds, bodies, and spirits, only to find that in the end we feel no such resolution? In fact, we might now have even deeper problems, even harder questions, even more doubts than when we started the whole blasted thing?
"I wish everyone could get rich and famous and everything they ever dreamed of, so they can see that's not the answer." — Jim Carrey
To find peace, you must become who you actually are. To become who you actually are, you first have to let go of the person you wanted to be. The person you thought you were. The person you wished you were. The person you convinced yourself you were. You have to surrender to your true self: good, bad, and ugly.
The film honors this fundamental truth by allowing Rumi to experience the gamut of this painful process without holding back. When we first meet her, all looks well. After years of dutifully executing her demon hunting responsibilities with Zoey and Mira, they've pushed the Demon King Gwi-Ma and his horde to the brink of extinction. However, things start to turn when the conniving Saja Boys emerge. They steal HUNTR/X's fans, sow discord among the girls, and jeopardize the very goal Rumi had worked for her entire life. Rumi's most intimate relationships falter, strained by the increasing (and warranted) suspicions Rumi is hiding something. Rumi's walls of self-protection, long impenetrable, begin to crack as doubt and shame root their way deeper into her. Her internal struggle comes to a head when her voice finally fails her — something she'd never before experienced — leaving her unable to complete her mission to destroy the demons. Enter existential crisis.
Not one to give up, Rumi earns a crucial victory when she persuades Jinu to help the hunters defeat Gwi-Ma, convincing him the plan is also in his own best interest. They connect on a level they never had before. And for a brief moment, everything looks like it will be okay. Back on track. Then the hammer drops: Rumi is betrayed by Jinu in the most catastrophic way possible. During her performance at the International Idol Awards, on the brink of eradicating Gwi-Ma and the demons, Rumi and her voice soar above the fans, summoning a new order of peace and freedom. But a pair of demons disguised as Zoey and Mira would accost her on stage and reveal her darkest secret as the entire world watches. Rumi is herself a demon. Aghast, the real Zoey and Mira take in this gut-punch revelation: their best friend and leader was secretly half-demon this whole time, and was working with their sworn enemy, Jinu. Rumi approaches them to explain, but she's frenzied, volatile and seems dangerous. They reluctantly raise their weapons at their once beloved leader. Rumi bolts, Zoey and Mira shuffle away, all resigned to the crushing belief that their lives have been built on a lie. Their goal was a fraud. Their deepest identities are shattered. HUNTR/X is dead. The world is done for.
What was poised to be the night of their greatest victory turns into the night Rumi lost everything she ever held dear in life. Jinu is gone, his last act betraying her in spectacular fashion. Her best friends and bandmates are gone, last seen glumly training their weapons on her. The fans are gone, lurching out of the theater a bleak blob of disquiet. Her own sense of identity has shattered, leaving her a broken stranger to herself. Her life's work has incinerated in a flash.
As it so often goes in real life, it is only at this moment — the moment she reaches genuine rock bottom, after she's lost everything, including herself — that she realizes the only real way forward is to finally acknowledge the truth.
The movie is unsparing in Rumi's fall. She feels every bit of the shock, the pain, the enervating sensation that she's falling apart. That everything she dreamed of and toiled for has been erased. That there is nowhere for her to hide. There is no "eureka" moment where she suddenly figures it all out, as if by divine inspiration. She earns it the way we do in real life: by running from the truth until it's so loud and glaring that she's forced to confront it. She stumbles toward her truth begrudgingly, recognizing there's no way to avoid it anymore. She is so beautifully human for that. Her struggle resonates so deeply for me because I feel how real and authentic it is. I see myself in it. [4]
Only once Rumi faced the truth of who she was, once she learned to love herself and trust herself, was she able to recognize the path to victory. Had she not gone through these painful challenges, she would not have completed the evolution that enabled her to defeat the Demon King Gwi-Ma and save the world.
Rumi's Self-Actualization (Pt. 2 of 2): The Reconstruction
Once you surrender to becoming your whole self, you realize that you must now build a life for something, driven by love, rather than against something, driven by hate.
Jinu, the leader of the Saja Boys, put a fine point on it: "If hate could defeat Gwi-Ma, I would have done it a long time ago." Here he delivers an essential truth about life. Holding onto hate poisons us from the inside, sabotaging our very selves in the process. Hate is like acid: highly effective at destroying things, often including the very vessel harboring it.
Rumi intuits this truth herself, feeling it before she can speak it consciously. Her intuition tells her "Takedown" is the wrong song for HUNTR/X to perform in order to earn the fans' vote for "best song" at the International Idol Awards and defeat Gwi-Ma for good. Though she couldn't explain why, she knew deep down that something wasn't right. It's a hateful song, and she tacitly understood that fighting hate with hate only results in more hate and destruction. She knew if they sang this song it would backfire, only making the Demon King stronger.
To drive the point home, we'd later find that the only song which could defeat the Demon King was HUNTR/X's confession song. The song where each of the demon hunters owned up to their fears, flaws, and insecurities. The song where they laid bare the most shameful parts inside them, the parts they had always tried to hide. The song where they realized that in spite of all that shame and fear, they were still somehow worthy of love, of hope, of a good life. The song where they realized they could create that good life if they could summon the courage to honestly try to love themselves and each other. They weren't irredeemable. They weren't resigned to more shame and isolation. They had the power to change their story. They just needed the courage to be honest and to love. The song's success destroying the demons inspired others to live this way too.
The courage to be honest proved the Kryptonite to the Demon King's power. This makes sense: Gwi-Ma's power comes from convincing people that their shameful past mistakes render them contemptible and unworthy of love. He controls people by verbally berating them, replaying their mistakes over and over inside their minds and convincing them they have no hope for redemption. Effective, yes, but it has a fatal weakness: this approach only works as long as the person in submission is more afraid of revealing their truth than they are of taking responsibility for it. When someone wants to prevent their honest mistakes and insecurities from being exposed more than they want to actually change, they'll bend to Gwi-Ma's demands. They'll cave to his emotional blackmail.
But as soon as the person acknowledges their mistakes, comes clean about the things they dislike about themselves, and still resolves to love themselves and others in spite of it, Gwi-Ma loses his power over them. His coercion tactics no longer have hooks to dig into. When the person forgives themselves, they soften and become free to choose their own path.
So it is in real life. When we learn to acknowledge our honest flaws, love ourselves in spite of them and try our best to love others too, this brings out the best in the people around us. It liberates them to do the same for themselves and others. It ends the cycle of pain, where hatred, shame, and fear motivate our thoughts and behaviors. It begins the cycle of healing, where honesty, love and connection motivate our thoughts and behaviors. [5]
And so Rumi ends up saving the world not because "it was always destined to end that way," the way other movies would write it. She saves the world as a direct consequence of doing the painful work to resolve her whole self, both the "good" parts and the so-called "bad" parts. No longer torn inside by hate and shame, she becomes fully present, authentic and motivated by sources of energy and courage that are truly meaningful to her. That strength allows her to destroy the Demon King.
The movie serves us a hero with a full and honest self-actualization journey. And shows us how her completion of that journey enabled her to fulfill her highest calling, defeating the demons — though in a way she never expected to. That character growth and causal chain are the stuff of great films.
Next There is the Villain, Who — Finally, Refreshingly — Reflects How Actual Villains Operate
After the hero, the villain is the second most important piece in any story. As the hero's foil, the villain sets the playing field the hero must conquer. Which means they determine the quality of the hero's growth arc. The measure of their resistance equals the potential the hero has to evolve, face their fears, and become greater than they were. Because of this, better villains allow for better heroes. And what a breath of fresh air the villain is in this movie, for not only do they push Rumi through her breaking point to emerge as her higher self, they actually reflect the villains we see in real life.
Kids movies — heck, even grown up movies — constantly fall into the trap of lazy, flat, one-note evil doers who fail to portray the way real villains operate. In the real world, villains don't sneer menacingly as they pet their evil cat, don evil villain outfits, and burst through the doors proudly announcing, "It is I, the villain!" In the real world, the villains sneak in unannounced through the side door. They win your trust and hook you in so when the time comes, the betrayal is easy: you've invited it in with a smile. [6]
Not sure what I mean? Here are a few examples.
At the individual level, this is how abusers work. They lead with lovebombs, reeling you in, giving you a life you never dreamed you could have. They make you feel like you're the most magnificent creature they've ever laid eyes upon. They feed you a steady drip of unconditional bliss. In doing so, they earn your trust and love, infiltrating your system, eradicating your defenses, and leaving you hopelessly enmeshed. Once they've achieved this, they begin to grow colder and more controlling, using the very love you have for them to coerce you into doing whatever they want from then on. It's almost impossible to escape at that point: for starters, they've got their hooks so deeply into you that you almost couldn't if you wanted to. Worse, they often threaten horrible things upon you if you do try to leave.
At the group level, this is how cults work. First they shower you with emotional riches: adoration, community, undivided attention, unconditional support. You feel like a god. You feel seen, heard, and appreciated in a way you never have before in your life. This is how they win your trust and your love. Once they have that, they strip your individuality and personal freedom until you're isolated from everyone and everything you once loved. All you are now is a vector for the leader to carry out their own demands. You're trapped. At that point, you're likely to remain stuck inside because they've got their hooks so deeply into you that you almost couldn't escape if you wanted to. Worse, they often threaten horrible things upon you if you do try to leave.
At the ordinary everyday level, this is how large corporations work, albeit at lower personal stakes than the previous examples. They begin by giving you the very best consumer product they can muster. They painstakingly consider the smallest details, delivering only the most helpful, beautiful and delightful products to you. All at unbeatable prices. You are the hallowed consumer; their only aim is to make your day. And for a while, life is good. But then you notice things getting a little colder and less delightful: they dump more unwanted ads on you, raise prices, offer fewer features. Things don't feel as warm and fuzzy as they used to. By this point they've stopped courting you and started exploiting you, for you're already in their hand. You are no longer the hallowed consumer; you are a nameless, faceless, profit-generating XAU statistic. They feel comfortable removing things you loved while adding things that suck for you but are great for their stock and profits. You might begrudgingly stick around because by this point it's a habit, or maybe their network effect keeps you locked in, or maybe they've bought out the competition and you have no choice. Now you're hooked into the system and there's no easy way out. Death, taxes, enshittification. [7]
In real life, villains come bearing gifts. Decades past the end of history, we all share a broad view of what's right and wrong. Keenly aware of this, villains know it's a losing game to announce evil intentions openly. So they are wisely sneaky with it, gesturing toward the good things we all hold dear in order to win us over so they can enact their eventual plans. As Rumi noted, "This is a battle for hearts and minds." [8] Villains today don't wage their battles physically, but rather mentally, emotionally and behaviorally.
Taking it a step further, the cleverest and most effective villains don't use threats to achieve their aims. The shrewdest villains actually use the power of kindness to manipulate. [9] Consider this warning from "The Deacon," a character from The Wire, widely regarded as one of the greatest shows ever made: "Nothing in the world's more expensive than 'free'." Villains love to give things away for free. If a villain gives you something for "free," that gives them power over you. It tethers you to them; you owe them. And they will come to collect from you at a time and in a way that suits their needs, not yours. It also means they've hidden the actual price of whatever the thing was. So when a villain gives you something for free, you unknowingly hand them a blank check in return. [10]
The villains in this film, the Saja Boys, follow these principles to a tee. They burst onto the scene with a charm offensive that would make '92 Bill Clinton blush. They throw a free pop-up concert for all nearby. They blow fluffy hearts at the fans, whose jaws have gone slack while their toes won't stop tapping. One Saja Boy goes out of his way to personally slather mustard onto a little girl's corndog, that she might revel in its tangy golden delights without deigning to lift a finger. Another Saja Boy hands out free gifts to random children. When finished displaying their tantalizing musical talents and mesmerizing washboard abs, they bid their adoring fans adieu with a cherubic "Saja Boys love you!" before reminding the crowd to tune in and watch them that night on everyone's favorite game show. They are positively effusive while praising HUNTR/X in public, prompting a pair of fans to fawn, "So hot — and respectful!" Hook, line and sinker. The fans are so deep in the honeytrap they've forgotten which way is up.
The Saja Boys go on like this, picture perfect paragons of humility, nobility and wholesome fun — all while plotting to destroy HUNTR/X, take over the world and devour the souls of every human on the planet. And near the end, they indeed successfully sabotage HUNTR/X and sweep the International Idol Awards, marking the moment their duplicitousness has done its job. By this point, they needn't hide their true plans any longer. With the fans firmly in their hands, they openly revel in their sinister scheme, even performing a whole dang song about it to rub the fans' faces in it. (We will definitely get to that later.)
"The greatest victory is that which requires no battle." — Sun Tzu
And so the Saja Boys bring the Demon King to the precipice of world domination. Not by brute force, not by enacting terror, but by acting as though they were angels. By giving people exactly what they want. By working devilishly hard to appear kind, gentle, loving and caring to all. They succeed not by overwhelming the people's defenses, but by convincing the people they don't need any.
Like its representation of the hero, this film eschews the common cheap cartoon villain for one that's nuanced and true to life. In doing so, it shines a light on how real villains work. This is as refreshing a villain as I've seen in years, and so much more rewarding than what you'd expect in a kids movie.
And that's not even the tip of the iceberg when it comes to their leader, Jinu. Like us, he himself is a complex character who must manage the evolving, conflicting motivations he feels inside.
When Hero and Villain Collide, They... Make Each Other Better? Rumi and Jinu's Poignant Relationship
As the two most important characters, the personal relationship between the hero and villain is fertile ground for emotional resonance. Throw in some romance and you're really cooking with gas. In KPop Demon Hunters, Rumi and Jinu's relationship is the emotional engine that moves the story. Leaders of the two opposing sides, their behaviors more than anyone else's will determine which side will succeed and which will fall. The stakes couldn't be higher. The story revolves around the triptych of: (1) Rumi's individual journey; (2) Jinu's individual journey; and (3) their evolving relationship to each other.
The main reason their relationship arc works so profoundly well is because — like with Rumi's journey to self-realization — the characters earn every beat. There are no shortcuts, no cheap tricks in writing, no magical "Eureka" moments. Everything about their relationship makes sense and follows organically. We witness every step as their connection gets pulled back and forth by competing forces, at times threatening its very foundations. We understand why — frustratingly and inconveniently for them — they can't shake each other. Their connection continues to blossom in that undeniable way the most gratifying real-life romantic relationships do: in spite of themselves. It culminates in the most selfless act one can give to another, and it works wonders because this decision is not shoehorned in for cheap drama, but is totally earned on the merits of what they've been through together.
Rumi and Jinu's relationship authentically works thanks largely to their satisfying symmetry. Like Yin and Yang, they complement and are naturally drawn to each other. Rumi's identity is built on being a good person. Inconveniently for her, she also happens to be part demon. She wants to avoid that so she can focus on her mission. Jinu's identity is built on being a shameful and irredeemable demon. Inconveniently for him, he happens to be part good person inside. [11] He wants to avoid that so he can focus on his mission, as he believes that's the only way to escape the constant torture of reliving his past. (That Gwi-Ma is a real jerkhole, I tell you.)
This sets up a playing field where they "plug into" each other; they're compatible together. While their primary identities (good person Rumi vs demon Jinu) nominally repel each other, their secondary identities (demon Rumi vs good person Jinu) magnetize each other; each recognizes themselves in the other, and recognizes the other in themselves. Thus they are helplessly curious about each other from the start. They come to find home in each other in a world in which they can find it nowhere else. They authentically experience that push-and-pull dance that great relationships do, ultimately bound to surrender to the rapturous truth of how good they are for each other. They want so badly to hate each other, but they simply can't. This is the stuff of narrative gold!
Push, pull. Push, pull. Beat by beat, we see their relationship evolve. They make each other better. Like great relationships do, each helps the other understand themselves. Rumi's example — as someone who is both demon and still believes in good — inspires Jinu. It forces him to realize that he actually could be good inside, that he could even do good. Meanwhile, Jinu's goodness while being a demon proves to Rumi that being half demon isn't an insurmountable evil. It helps her realize that she can own her truth as a demon and still choose to do good. Thus they each unlock the ultimate resolution of good in the other. And not by "the power of love" in some woo woo, magical, hand-wavy way — but in a way that makes clear sense, because the writers wrote these characters so dang well.
But their arc wouldn't work if the writers didn't stick the landing. And their relationship culminates spectacularly in Jinu's final act of self-actualization. He sacrifices himself to save Rumi, save the hunters, defeat Gwi-Ma and indeed save the world. He does so because he realizes it's the only thing that makes sense for him to do. He was called to it, as Rumi made him realize that he truly is redeemable, that he does have a soul, that he is not only capable of good but would rather do good than go on being a wallowing demon. He deconstructs his demonhood, facing his inconvenient truth — that he is still a good person worthy of love. Then he reconstructs himself, someone who chooses to love and to be loved. Finally, he simply acts in line with those values.
Where less capable writers would shoehorn in Jinu's sacrifice as some grand selfless act added ex nihilo for dramatic flair, these writers don't get down like that. He sacrificed himself as a direct, organic consequence of doing the painful work to interrogate, discover, and act in accordance with his true self. No longer torn inside by fear and shame, he became his own person, free to be kind, free to love fearlessly. He honored Rumi's love. Rumi, who saw his goodness even when he didn't, and who cultivated it with everything she had. So when the time finally came when Rumi showed the courage to risk everything to stand against Gwi-Ma, her example unlocked his final self-actualization, his highest self. It compelled him to do what his heart demanded. In so doing, he found that she was right; he did have a soul. And it was time to use it for good.
What's even more delightful is that his sacrifice also made sense because it was the least painful outcome for him at that moment. ("Now hold on," you're thinking, "you mean to tell me that sacrificing himself was the least painful thing he could do? What are you on right now?" I know, I know. Just stick with me. A profound understanding of life's paradoxes is what sets this film apart.)
Just as Rumi faced her demons only when it became the least painful path she could take, Jinu only gave himself over to goodness only when doing so was less painful than the alternative of supporting Gwi-Ma in destroying Rumi. By that point, he had built up so much true love for Rumi that to stand idly by as the Fire King scorched her into lifeless ash would have been far more painful than honoring his heart and showing up for her. Helping Gwi-Ma destroy Rumi just so he could live the rest of his days as a demon would be a shame for which he could never forgive himself; he knew that if he didn't support Rumi in this moment, he'd regret this cowardice for the rest of his days. He wouldn't need Gwi-Ma's help to make him feel miserable. He'd live out the rest of eternity hating himself for this choice, with no way to escape it. What's more, giving himself up for Rumi not only ended his pain, it finally allowed him to stick it to Gwi-Ma by making a decision of his own. A decision made in love, not in fear.
Rumi's self-actualization moved her to rise up against Gwi-Ma's hate and fear even when it seemed hopeless; she simply had no better honest choice. This directly inspired Jinu's final self-actualization, which moved him to embrace his soul, and give all of it to the person whose love finally allowed him to be free; he simply had no better honest choice. This act defeated Gwi-Ma and saved the world. The triangle of cause and effect completed its course. And all along, every choice was authentic and true. That, my friends, if you'll pardon my French, is some damn good writing.
You Were Created By Your Family (Pt. 1 of 2): A Mature and Honest Look at How Your Parents Mess You Up
This movie nails the parenting conundrum in a way few others do.
One specific line tells the story. It's from Rumi's final, Gwi-Ma defeating song, "What It Sounds Like." The song where she emerges from rock bottom, integrates her shadow side and becomes whole. In the song, she realizes where she erred:
I tried to fix it. I tried to fight it. My head was twisted, my heart divided.
My lies all collided. I don't know why I didn't trust you to be on my side.
"I don't know why I didn't trust you to be on my side." I've pondered the meaning of this line in the context of the character, her journey and her relationships. Who is she talking to? Then it hit me: she is saying this to herself!
She didn't trust herself to be on her own side. But why not?
As is its MO, this movie shows you the answer without telling you the answer. [12] Rumi didn't trust herself because her primary caregiver cultivated duplicity into her as a baseline feature of her existence. Rumi was trained to hate half of herself. Aunt Celine's most important teaching from day one was: you are half demon and nobody can know about this. You must hide this part of yourself, you must shun this part of yourself, and you must devote your life to eradicating this part of yourself.
"Okay, auntie. Got it. Despise and actively seek to destroy ... half of my entire person?" This self-eradication approach never works. It causes a splintering that tears you apart inside and always leads to your own self-destruction. Sure, we always have room to decide which parts of us to cultivate more and which parts to cultivate less. But we cannot go so far as to try to make a life hating half of what we are inside. It will destroy us sooner or later.
Anyone who grew up in a religion they didn't choose, or grew up gay in a place where that wasn't okay, or grew up in a household where some emotions were forbidden, or grew up with parents who practiced their own self-hatred, or any of a million other such examples, immediately recognizes Rumi's plight. You grew up learning that there were clear and specific "bad things" you could be, and there were clear and specific "good things" you could be, and your eternal job was to denounce the so-called "bad parts" of you, while only allowing the so-called "good parts" to exist. You were instructed to literally destroy parts of yourself. You've experienced how confusing this is, the shame it has caused you, the retching internal agony it has wrought throughout your life.
Of course Rumi didn't trust herself to be on her own side. Her primary caregiver taught her that the most urgent thing for her to do at all times is to hate half of herself. She was programmed as a child to live a divided life, constantly at war with herself.
Such is the power a parent or guardian wields over our lives. Such is the way they can mix us up so terribly inside. However, just when you want to bury Celine in contempt, this movie hits you with an even more devastating truth, the only thing more painful than Celine being a terrible parent: she genuinely did her best by Rumi, and was actually a pretty damn good parent, all things considered.
You Were Created By Your Family (Pt. 2 of 2): A Mature and Honest Look at How Your Parents Did Their Best
Before diving into Celine's role as Rumi's parent, it's worth reviewing how other films handle parent figures. The character of the parent figure is hard for films — especially "kids movies" — to get right. In a film directed at kids, usually the parent fits neatly into one of the classic tropes. You've seen them all. Sometimes the parent is an overbearing, out-of-touch drill sergeant, imposing harsh and arbitrary restrictions that force the child to break their way out — inevitably showing the dumb parent how wrong they were about what this precocious child was capable of. "Take THAT, Mom and Dad!" Sometimes, just as frustratingly for the protagonist, the parent is indulgent to the grotesque — suffocatingly doting, with zero healthy boundaries for the child. Here the child has nothing to rebel against, no challenges to conquer, leaving them no path to grow. Then sometimes the parents are cruel and menacing figures, in which case the child needs to either conquer or forswear them. In doing so, the child earns their stripes and becomes their true selves along the way.
Whatever the flavor, depictions of parents in kids films are usually much flatter than this. As this film does, they show you all this in the course of the film, without outright telling you. But if you have the eyes to see it, the parent-child relationship in this movie is so rich. We're given an uncomfortably honest depiction of the parents and authority figures we experience in real life. Which again makes the film so much more satisfying than others.
Despite the intense emotions we might feel about Celine by the end of the movie, if you analyze Rumi and Celine's relationship carefully, you'll find that neither side is wrong. Like so many of us, Rumi wasn't born into a nice, supportive home with two parents, a dog and immaculately manicured topiary sculptures. No, the movie drops us right into the kind of broken mess that so many of us recognize as the way our families exist in today's world. Rumi is raised not by her parents (they are dead, because — sigh — even refreshingly original kids movies evidently cannot help themselves with the "dead parents" thing), but instead by her Aunt. Only her Aunt. No other partner in the picture, no other friend in the picture. No grandma, uncle, Great Aunt, cousin, no one. Just her Aunt Celine.
Now consider the context: Celine is forced to look after this child after her sister dies. That's hard enough. But there's another big problem about this child. And that is the teeth-gnashingly awkward, catastrophically inconvenient fact that she is the sole heiress to the sacred line of world-saving Demon Hunters, while being half demon herself. And yes, this child is the sole heiress to that sacred line of world-saving Demon Hunters because her mother had been the leader of said demon hunters when she went and had a child with a demon!!
Okay wait. This is so bedevilingly batty bonkers bananas that we need to run that back for a sec: So Celine's sister got herself knocked up by a demon — while she herself was the leader of the world's Demon Hunters. Yikes. Then both she and her demon lover went and died, leaving Celine to raise a half-demon, half-hunter child all by herself. With absolutely nobody else around to understand what she was going through as the parent, let alone help her raise this child. Oh, and because Rumi is an only child, this half-demon child must become the leader of this next generation of demon hunters; there's no other choice. And if Celine fails at any of this, demons will take over the world, the souls of every human will be vacuumed out of their bodies, and everyone will become demon slaves for all eternity till the sun explodes.
Think about the situation Celine was forced into here. This is an unprecedented, maybe impossible situation for her. There are no easy outs. Trying her best, she makes a decision that's perfectly reasonable given her unenviable circumstance. She resolves to focus on Rumi's duties as Demon Hunter and hide the inconvenient demon part, (maybe accurately?) concluding that this problem will go away after Rumi seals the golden Honmoon, banishing the demons for good. Whatever you might think of the plan, it makes a decent level of both pragmatic and logical sense. There was no easy answer and I can forgive Celine for choosing something between the two terribly imperfect decisions available to her.
If you're still not buying it, let's play out what would have happened if Celine had made the other choice. What if she openly came out with the fact that the next leader of the sacred, centuries-old line of Demon Hunters was also half demon? Would they have been accepted with open arms? Or would they have been hunted down and exiled or exterminated as an abomination, to clear the way for somebody, anybody else to lead the demon hunters? Knowing how humans work, and how ancient and sacred a tradition the Demon Hunters followed, that seems a very real possibility. In fact, that seems more likely to me. Celine chose one of two terrifyingly difficult options, and it's undeniable that she chose the safer one for the child she was sworn to protect. Anyone, parent or not, should be able to appreciate that.
As viewers we despise Celine's influence at the point we encounter it in the film, seeing it through the hero's eyes as we do. It is disappointing at best, sickening at worst. After everything crumbles and Rumi is at her lowest, when her tragic truth is suddenly so exposed it can't be avoided any longer, they have a new choice to make. The secret's out: everyone knows she's half demon. Now what do we do? In dire need of guidance or support, Rumi comes to Celine — the only guardian she had in life. Alas, met with this challenge, Celine folds like a wet napkin. She takes the easy way out, doubling down in denial and hiding, in spite of the obvious truth staring her in the face that this is no longer a viable option. She refuses to accept reality and makes a fool of herself. That's on her.
But the thing that makes this movie so damn good is that just like with Rumi's embrace of the truth and Jinu's sacrifice for Rumi, Celine didn't act this way because it was convenient for the plot to progress, the way movies with lesser writing do. She acted this way because it made sense for her character. As one of the three Demon Hunters of the previous generation alongside Rumi's mother, Celine had spent her whole life observing this sacred tradition. She'd spent decades loyally following the clear and vital tenets of this path. [13] Do we really expect her character to throw away her entire worldview and beliefs immediately, even in spite of the evidence before her? Celine's heart and mind were not ready to grasp the implausible, disorienting truth that confronted them all in that moment. How could she have been ready to meet Rumi coolly and calmly at that moment? Is her response frustrating? Yes. Is her response how a real human would have responded? Unfortunately, yes.
If Celine had immediately seen things Rumi's way, acknowledged the error in her decades-long plans, and teamed up to support her in exactly the way Rumi needed it, right away, that wouldn't make her a better character. In fact, the opposite. It would render her character cartoonishly virtuous to the point of farce, reducing her from a real, living character to a hollow plot pawn. It would cheapen her character, cheapen Rumi's own path to self-discovery, and prevent both characters the mature, authentic arc they deserved. It would be the kind of neatly wrapped, all-is-well, pre-baked, happy-dappy, lovey-dovey resolution you find in a schmaltzy 30-minute syndicated sitcom. Her decision might not be what we hoped it would be, but it is true to life. Praise the writers for choosing the real, unpleasant, honest-to-life decisions instead of easy, treacly, dishonest ones.
For as much as I detested Celine when she failed Rumi in her moment of greatest need, one thing I could not claim is that she didn't try. God dammit, she tried. She raised Rumi up, clearly supplied her with the best training and equipment the world had to offer, and helped develop her into the most powerful force in the world. Best we can tell, Rumi lived a charmed existence to this point. When we meet her she is the biggest pop star in the world, a world-class athlete and ass kicker who spends all her days next to her two genuine best friends in the world selling out arenas. That's not bad! In fact, I'd go so far as to say that's pretty darn good!
This movie is so good because it shows you the truth about Celine without telling you, and lets you come to your own judgments. It throws all of this at us, without beating us over the head with any of it. For those of us who have a similarly "complicated" parent in our lives, words can't express how staggering it is to see this mirrored so poignantly on screen. A parent figure who is simultaneously worthy of our deepest scorn and our deepest sympathies. All in the form of a "kids movie." My goodness, this film.
Dodging the Treacherous Triangle: A Refreshingly Healthy, Positive Representation of Intimate Friendships
Forging a healthy, mutually enjoyable and positive friendship between two people is hard enough. Communication is hard. Long term friendships are minefields for misinterpretations, hurt feelings, status games, petty jealousies, growing apart, boundary violations, and a world of other challenges that strain relationships. Add in a third friend and you've got the dreaded treacherous triangle: Now you have dyads forming, third wheels feeling sloughed off, inside jokes that leave someone on the outside, uncomfortable status jockeying, maladaptive issue avoidance to keep the peace, difficult decisions about who gets to make the difficult decisions, and on and on.
Writers often play up these pratfalls for dramatic interest. (Looking at you, Willy.) Not this film. Rumi, Zoey and Mira never stray in their commitment to a beautiful, supportive and spiritually uplifting friendship together. In a world where we use our capable-of-anything pocket super computers to reduce us to negativity foie gras ducks — swelling our insides with such a relentless stream of negativity that we have no choice but to regurgitate it wherever we go — we unconsciously yearn for the simple, pleasant power of positive, loving friendship. It's why so many love Ted Lasso, Leslie Knope, Turk and JD. We badly need it in a time where uplifting, honest positivity is at a premium.
Their friendship feels authentic because it's not overly rosy, nor overly dramatic. Yes, they love each other deeply, but they still argue. Yes they invest in each other, at times shelving their own wants for the good of the others, but they aren't doormats: they argue when they disagree. They challenge each other when called for. They don't ignore the elephant in the room. And through it all, they truly love each other and always have each other's backs. They are a blueprint for a healthy, life-affirming trio of intimate friends.
While the film pays due homage to the transcendent joys we experience in our intimate friendships, I believe it really shines in how it handles those challenging but real issues that inevitably arise between friends. This is a hard balance for a writer to strike. During the film, Mira correctly grows suspicious of Rumi. Instead of becoming passive aggressive, or talking to Zoey about Rumi behind her back, or avoiding it to keep things comfortable, she honors her intuition and confronts Rumi honestly and directly. It takes a good friend and a healthy individual to do that. Rumi, knowing they are so close to achieving their sworn mission, tries to brush Mira's concerns aside. She lies in an attempt to preserve the work they're doing, even though Mira is totally right. Mira ultimately relents, for two healthy reasons. For one, she chooses faith in her friend over her own momentary suspicions, giving Rumi the benefit of the doubt necessary for healthy long-term relationships. Secondly, she recognizes that with their mission currently in jeopardy, it's more important to work together to complete the task right now, given the world-altering stakes. She will address her concerns with Rumi later. This is all refreshingly mature, healthy behavior.
And yet, they're not perfect either. They're still flawed humans. For example, after Mira confronts Rumi with her suspicions a third time, Rumi blows up at her. "Not everything is about your insecurities, Mira!" Rumi lashes out, straining under the stress of all the lying and duplicity, unfairly preying on Mira's own flaws just to get her to back off. Meanwhile, as Rumi and Mira lock heads, non-confrontational people pleaser Zoey tries to get them both to just stop fighting and focus back on the mission. Zeoy's flaw is that she lacks the ability to confront real issues head on. This one scene is so true to the way these psychological and relationship dynamics play out in real life. The movie is full of these honest depictions of interpersonal relationships in all their human messiness.
Then there are the divine joys of their friendship. One of my favorite moments in the film comes after Rumi, gone missing, finally returns home to the others. She had disappeared earlier that day, having suddenly bolted from the dress rehearsal for the "Golden" performance they were scheduled to put on that evening. During the rehearsal, for the first time in her life, she'd lost her voice. Overwhelmed by the shock, embarrassment and dismay of cracking at in such an uncharacteristic way at such an inopportune time, she did what a lot of us would do. She ran. Didn't matter where. She just needed to run the hell out of there and buy some time. For a while, nobody knew where she was. This was especially tense because the trio was scheduled to debut their new single "Golden" to a sold-out live crowd that very night.
Given the circumstance, Zoey and Mira had every right to lay into Rumi once she finally re-emerged. But no, when Rumi does finally trudge back through the doors of their apartment, they immediately recognize what she needs. They notice her — eyes wide like she's seen a ghost, shivering and clutching herself like she's febrile, in desperate need of comfort — and Zoey and Mira do something a thousand words couldn't. Together, they approach Rumi — gently, silently — and wrap her in their physical embrace.
Lesser movies would have filled this moment with dialogue that's perfectly fine, but also trite and unnecessary: "Are you okay?" "How are you feeling?" "Want to talk about it?" "We're here for you." Not this movie. The girls say nothing. Intuiting the grave terror Rumi is feeling, they recognize and honor their friend's needs. They show Rumi their love, empathy and support nonverbally, letting their gestures speak their hearts. They each lay a gentle hand on her back and offer her a reassuring gaze.
Finally, what happens next says everything about this movie. In a film that often moves fast, the creators noticeably pause here, giving the three girls a rich, indulgent spell of respite to let this moment breathe. As Zoey and Mira hold Rumi's eyes, beaming their warmth and support into her — literally surrounding her with love — we see Rumi's shoulders drop, so relieved is her central nervous system at this physical expression of care. Again: Rumi's shoulders drop in response to this outpouring of love. It seems minor but it is so telling. Think about it: in a live-action film, this is nothing. That's what happens when you're stressed and someone you love physically embraces you: your shoulders drop. But in an animated film? They had to intentionally add that subtle detail. So many films would have been satisfied just showing the embrace, without adding that tiny detail that says everything. That attention to the finest details in personal psychology and lived experience is the stuff that elevates this movie past so many others. That protracted moment the filmmakers not only allowed but intentionally authored to the finest grain says everything about how well-informed and loving this film is.
This movie is chock full of those moments where they consider the littlest things and execute them with grace and care. Those little things elevate this movie to the sublime. The heart and goodness at the core of this movie make it downright divine in moments. My goodness, this film.
Here, we transition away from the main characters into the deeper messages that make the film so rich and rewarding: the allegories, the examinations of power, the perils of fandom, and more. So take a moment to stretch, perhaps pour a cup of your drink of choice and buckle up, cause there's plenty more from here. I'll see you on the other side! |
The Allegory of "The Patterns"
As a linguist, I am a sucker for a word with lots of different meanings. Enter one of my favorite things about this film: the running allegory of the "patterns." Their play off the word "patterns" is brilliant. The writers cleverly convey profound messages about our psychological and emotional patterns in a totally disarming way by cloaking the idea of our "patterns" in the corporeal. On the surface, the movie focuses on the physical "patterns" visible on the bodies of the demons — the clearest signs that someone is in fact a demon, rather than a human. But much deeper messages are afoot. Like a Trojan Horse for the real subject of examination — our deep mental, emotional, and behavioral patterns — this nominal focus on the safer, more distant object of the demons' physical "patterns" affords the viewer a comfortable distance from which to examine our own patterns.
While they play it for visuals in the movie, the film is actually about the patterns we inherit from our upbringing. You know the patterns: those defense mechanisms we built as a kid to protect ourselves, but which stifle our growth, restrict our connection, and leave us stuck as grown ups. For example, communicating passive-aggressively because we're afraid of honest confrontation, or unconsciously practicing judgmental thoughts because a parent modeled that for us, or reflexively rejecting others in order to protect ourselves, or ignoring our own needs because we were trained to do that by our narcissistic parent, or (fill in your own tragic example here).
These are patterns of thought, emotion and behavior. This story is an examination of those and how we handle them. The story shows us that if we shame these patterns in ourselves — try to hide them, run away from them, pretend they aren't there — we will inevitably continue the cycle of inflicting pain upon ourselves and others. That's because blinding ourselves to them, as a toddler does when they cover their eyes and ears to shield themselves from something they don't want to see, doesn't make them go away; these patterns continue hurting us and the people around us. We just grow unconscious to this pain, which leaves us powerless to stop it... which then causes us to unconsciously perpetuate the pain and hurt onto those around us.
But if we sit down with these patterns, become curious about them, show them love, learn why they are there and work to manage them in ourselves — if we integrate them into our conscious minds and honestly work to improve ourselves — then we break the cycle of pain and hurt. We bring love, light, listening, and deeper connection to the people around us. We become a node of healing for everyone else grappling with their own patterns. We grow equipped to help others overcome their patterns, like an ambassador for healing. By understanding our own, we help others understand their pain and hurt and shame. By connecting more honestly with ourselves, we help others connect with themselves on real, honest terms. Then they pass that healing connection onto others, and the virtuous cycle goes on.
The movie's climax says it all. Here, Rumi has finally developed the power to overcome Gwi-Ma by acknowledging, working through, and transcending her own patterns. Rumi's integration of her patterns, as professed in the final song, "What It Sounds Like," show us that while fear and hatred only dig us into deeper holes, we achieve the healing we want and need only by embracing our imperfect patterns and working them into a healthier place. With its climax, the movie declares that if we choose to openly acknowledge our negative patterns and do the work to change them, we heal the world around us. We bring more freedom and agency to the people around us. We inspire more authentic life and creation in the people around us. Mind your patterns!
A Mature and Honest Look at How Your Shadow Side Will Sabotage You If You Ignore It
The shadow is Jung's term for the parts of ourselves we try to hide or repress. Things we're ashamed of, things we feel guilty about, things we wish nobody would ever know about us. We all have them. We all think life would be great if only we didn't. The trouble is, your shadow parts are just as much a part of you as those prosocial, positive parts you're happy to present to the world. Which means if you ignore them, like Rumi found out, they don't go away.
The fact that Rumi was half demon was something she never processed. From day one, she was trained to hide it away till she could destroy it for good. Since she was a little girl, she was coached to despise and destroy half of herself! Unfortunately, she would find that your shadow works like a finger trap: the harder you try to forcefully separate yourself from it, the more tightly it will cling to you. Worse, the more you ignore it, the more largely it will loom over your life. Trying to hide your shadow leads to self-sabotage because it places you in conflict with yourself. You become of two minds — the collection of "good parts" you present to everyone (yourself included), and the collection of "bad parts" who are still here but you insist on ignoring.
An ignored shadow is like a prisoner locked in a nearby room: you can pretend not to hear it, and you can even convince yourself you don't. But that doesn't change the reality; it only requires that prisoner to become louder and more fierce to finally force you to listen and acknowledge it. If left unacknowledged for too long, your shadow will grow louder until it seizes control of your life and sabotage anything you do. It might cause you to lash out, both at yourself and the people closest to you.
Of course, we're all expert at keeping the shadow out of our conscious mind, which means you are always the last to know your shadow is showing. For example, while Rumi tried to keep her shadow caged up, everyone around her felt it growing. Although Zoey is too non-confrontational to evince more than wordless gestures of concern, Mira has no such qualms. A direct communicator, she confronts Rumi about this weirdness growing inside her multiple times over the course of the film. Heck, even the charlatan Dr. Han could see Rumi's shadow immediately. (Granted, like many charlatans, Dr. Han was an expert cold reader.) He notices she is hiding something: "You have lots of walls up," he says. "So many walls..."
In Rumi's case, she was never allowed to live freely, authentically and true to herself. As a child she was not only forced to bear the pressures and expectations of the world, but her parent imposed a deep duplicity into her fabric. While she didn't know it consciously, she was carrying an immense weight under this constant yoke of obligations. This further compounded the war against herself she'd been waging her entire life.
So it was that Rumi was forced to face the truth of her shadow and feel the consequences of trying to bury her shadow for so long. As she was on the precipice of her greatest achievement, her voice failed her for the first time. As everything about her life became more urgent, so did her shadow grow until it could not be hidden any longer. It broke her voice, rendering her unable to carry out her mission. This led to the tailspin which ultimately resulted in her moment of darkest humiliation, the dissolution of HUNTR/X, and the rise of the demons in their wake.
Mind your shadow, dear.
A Mature and Honest Look at the Creative Process
Here's yet another thing the movie portrays so aptly, in its trademark understated way: how the creative process works — and doesn't work.
With the International Idol Awards coming up, offering the opportunity to put Gwi-Ma and the demons away for good, HUNTR/X needed a new hit song. And they'd never needed anything more than they needed this right now. They were so close to closing the golden Honmoon and banishing the demons forever. They just needed one more song to compel the fans to vote them the best song that year, and their life's work would be complete. They'd planned to sing "Golden" but as we mentioned above, Rumi's shadow crashed the party, she lost her voice, and she couldn't sing it. They had to create a new song.
Choosing a subject was a cinch: The Saja Boys were the hottest thing going, popping up everywhere in their attempt to win over the fans. What's more, only the girls knew their dirty secret. So it was decided: they would pen a song exposing the Saja Boys as the dastardly demons they are, while flexing how unrelenting HUNTR/X would be as they took down these two-faced imposters secretly trying to hurt the fans and steal their souls.
There was just one problem: creativity doesn't follow your demands. Despite how badly they wanted this, they couldn't simply summon the perfect song on command. With their eyes on the prize, the three sit down in their studio and start thinking. Their progress is sparse: they manage to snatch hold of little phrases here and there, but only in fits and starts. They struggle as they desperately try to cobble together something the fans will love. Try as they might, they can't force the song into being. This is exactly how creativity works in real life. Your strongest desires won't magically materialize a creative work before you. It's not all up to you. It's a dance you enter with the muses. It's more a humble request than a credible command.
Pure creativity is ... a gift. It’s the frosting. Our creativity is a wild and unexpected bonus from the universe. — Elizabeth Gilbert
The girls couldn't find the music because firstly, they were insisting it be done on their time, and secondly, they were trying to summon a song for the wrong reasons. They viewed the song as a war tactic, as a means to achieve their goal of destroying the demons. They tried to force it into existence. They had all these peripheral reasons they wanted this thing to exist. This is not a fertile space for creativity to bloom. A song must be evoked, not conscripted. [14]
The movie drives home the way creativity works by presenting the inverse later on. The song that ultimately earned HUNTR/X their final victory over the demons was quite literally "the one they couldn't write." They couldn't write it until they honestly experienced the challenges that birthed within them something that needed to get out. Not because they "wanted to create a song so they could win" but because they experienced so much depth of feeling inside that this genuine song burst out of them. That song's lyrics call this out explicitly: "the song we couldn't write — this is what it sounds like." They found their voice not by forcing it but by surrendering to their truth inside and letting it flow through them. The song used them as vessels, not the other way around.
To have the girls create their fateful song without challenge would have cheapened the movie and undercut the characters, preventing them from finding their authentic voice the honest way: with meaningful scars to show for it. It would misrepresent how creativity works in real life. What's more, in a stroke of brilliant writing, their very difficulty coming up with this song ended up directly planting the seed which would organically bloom into their final, demon-destroying, tell-all confessional clincher. You can see the authentic cause and effect here! That is how you write a great story, people!! This dang movie.
A Mature And Honest Look at the Way Two Canonical and Antithetical Types of Power Work
Of all the real life things this movie nails, this is one of the most satisfying. Gwi-Ma and Rumi take opposite paths to power: Gwi-Ma uses coercion, threats, and brute force to build and maintain his status above others. Rumi uses service, competence, talent and love to earn people's esteem. One takes from others, while the other inspires others to give of their own free will. But watch the film closely and it will reveal deeper truths about how these polar paths to power play out in life — and which works better.
For one, did you notice that Gwi-Ma — the King of all Demons, the Great Fire King — never actually grows stronger? Yes, he leans on his one move — emotional abuse, coercion and psychological torture — to gather a whole army of demons under his thumb. Yes, he succeeds in marshaling a larger quantity of sadsack demons to his cause by consuming their souls and terrorizing them into helping him get more. But for all that, notice that he is failing terribly! After hundreds of years, the demons haven't been able to claim a piddly inch of ground in their battle to defeat the hunters. In fact, after centuries of trying, they now lay at the brink of extinction. Notice that the only time the demons begin to turn the tables and achieve success is when clever Jinu devises his plan to convince the people to give the fire demon their own strength.
Notice the writers' message here? Gwi-Ma was successful at coming to power by using threats, browbeating and bullying. But when it comes to doing something with that power, or productively leading his army of demons, he has proved as potent as a soggy, soupy oyster cracker. Then Jinu comes along and suggests they try the opposite path to power: being kind, serving others, contributing joy to their lives through music, in order to earn their love and loyalty. And within a year — one stinking year!! — they have successfully turned all the human fans to their side. (Ignore what that says about the human fans for a second — you can bet we'll examine that later.) The message is clear: the latter approach works way better than the former.
Just like with real bullies and tyrants, the only way Gwi-Ma can actually grow in "power," or in "influence," is through the people he bullies. And he can only do so as long as the people willingly give themselves over to him. He himself never actually changes or evolves. He never develops new capabilities or improves his resilience or crowdsources good ideas or improves their future outlook. He doesn't build culture, build coalition, build anything. There's no "there" there. He can only use others, pressuring people into doing his bidding. Which means as soon as people stop acquiescing to him, he's got nothing.
Perfect case in point: Jinu's relationship with Gwi-Ma. This was as important as anything Gwi-Ma had done in centuries, his last-chance lifeline to avoid extinction. It was working! However, it was a ticking time bomb for just the kind of betrayal that occurred. Like all partnerships built under the pall of this brute force approach to power, it was an uneasy one given the power imbalance. Heck, Gwi-Ma was even consciously aware of this! "I know you, Jinu. In 400 years, you've never done a single thing that didn't serve yourself. What do you want?" he barked when Jinu first pitched the partnership. What Jinu wanted was for Gwi-Ma to stop torturing him. This alliance was not built on trust, faith, or love. It was built on fear, coercion and bullying. These alliances always break down at some point because they carry the seeds of their own destruction in the way they're formed. Built not on mutual respect but on harried agreements that leave both parties unsettled and suspicious. With such shaky foundations, these uneven partnerships often fall apart when challenged.
In contrast to Gwi-Ma, the hunters meaningfully grow in power and strength, both as individuals and as a team. As a result of their journey toward honestly acknowledging their flaws and resolving to love and be loved through the pain, they actually do meaningfully change as beings. They expand. They become stronger and more resilient, having gone through this challenging spiritual work. They are able to change because they believe in growth, love, and connection. They believe in listening and learning. They believe in stepping up to the challenge of protecting the people they love, which unlocks new strengths in themselves they didn't even know were there. They believe in hope, freedom, and facing challenges with an open heart. They believe in vulnerably maintaining their connection with reality even when it hurts. Built on a spirit of service and connection, these bonds often grow stronger when challenged.
Meanwhile, Gwi-Ma remains stagnant. The only power he ever really has is exactly as much as he's able to force other people to give him. But Gwi-Ma himself remains stuck, trapped in the small cage he has created for himself and everyone else. There's no room for growth on this psychoemotional path. Paradoxically, the one who follows Gwi-Ma's path of endlessly trying to control others, remains small and lives at the whims of everyone else around them. While the one who chooses to actively integrate the world around them — who listens, adapts, and takes input from their world — gets open gifted more control over their surroundings.
Relatedly, the film examines how these two contrasting approaches to power often coincide with two contrasting approaches to how people respond to making mistakes.
On the one hand, there are those who, having made a mistake, choose to lean into the shame and the darkness, convince themselves they are unworthy of love, and resolve to reject love altogether. They feel so shameful inside that to conquer the dissonance, they revel in the wrongness, because at least then it feels like they are making the choice; they have the power. With their hearts poisoned so, they push away anyone who might love them, they grow incapable of honest connection, and they grow bitter and cold, isolated and harmful to anyone who gets close. When these people are in positions of power, they use shame, blame, pressure, and threats to influence others. They simply have no other choice; given the corner they've backed themselves into, it's the only move they have to use.
On the other hand, there are those who, having made a mistake, feel they are bound by a duty — whether moral, philosophical, or just because it helps them feel better — to acknowledge their error and try to make amends. They choose to believe they are still redeemable, still worthy of love. They fight for beauty, love, and vulnerable, honest connection, even in spite of the hurt and pain they have experienced. People who choose this route build authentic connections with others, find love, prove that others are redeemable too, and prove that if you go out and look for good things, good things will find you. They break the cycle of hurt people hurting people, bringing healing and letting love conquer hate. They bring out the best in other souls around them, their very example influencing others to live more and to love more.
Initially, Jinu and Rumi embodied these opposite approaches: Jinu giving in to shame and isolation, Rumi believing in goodness and redemption. Through one lens, the story of this movie is the story of Rumi inspiring Jinu to see the power in forgiveness and redemption, the power of honesty and love. One moment that encapsulates this poignantly is when the girls are in the middle of writing the song "Takedown." During a break, sitting in her room feeling uneasy about the hateful spirit of the song, Rumi pensively sings one of the lines, before replacing it with a new one. After singing the original line, "when your patterns start to show, it makes the hatred want to grow..." she croons, "when your patterns start to show, I see a hurt that lies below..." That right there is the core thesis of this movie: when someone is mean to you, trade in your revenge response for a softening curiosity and watch how the world heals.
Rumi understands the patterns refer to those default conditioned responses, defense mechanisms, and cycles of pain we unconsciously perpetuate. She chooses to break the cycle of inflicting pain on self and others. She recognizes Jinu's hurt and reaches out to him not with hate but with love. This leap would heal both of them, opening Jinu's path back to his soul. [15]
Jinu marks the completion of his journey from the first approach to power/shame to the second when he delivers his final sacrifice. He chooses his love for Rumi over his fear of Gwi-Ma. That he saves the world by doing so tells us what the writers believe. The people who courageously keep their hearts open build a better world for all of us. They end up inspiring others to grow stronger, more resilient, more loving, and more capable of facing life's challenges with grace. Where the people who fall into shame and judgment make the world worse for all of us. They contract, wither, grow weaker internally, and unconsciously make less of the people around them.
The movie represents these two profound competing forces in their protagonists and villain poignantly, honestly and clearly. These are deep waters the movie takes us into without a hint of triteness, treacle or soapboxing. They just show it all for those who have the eyes to see it. This is so rare, and so refreshing.
Pointing An Incisive Eye at the Perils of "Fandom"
Of all the subtle joys of this film, this is one of my favorites. Amidst all the excitement, the writers sneak in a deliciously sharp examination of real-world "fandom" and its own demons.
Fandom roughly exists on a spectrum. On one end, you have the healthy person who appreciates the beauty and joy an artist/team/etc brings to their world, and wants to support them. They buy the musician's music, maybe tell their friends to check them out, and go on with their life. On the other end, you have something darker: a person who adulates an artist so devoutly that they come to idolize them as a deity; this kind of fan might even grow violent to support the artist from the mildest perceived threat or slight. See Beyonce's Beyhive, Swift's Swifties, and on the quieter side, Morrissey's Apostles. It's not a new phenomenon: see Beatlemania. It isn't limited to music, either. Recall the Alabama football fan who murdered another Alabama football fan because the victim wasn't sad enough about the team losing a football game and therefore wasn't "a real fan." Seriously.
KPop Demon Hunters is all too aware it exists in this context. And in the trademark feather-light way they waft over their messages, the film skewers fandom: not overtly but by merely reflecting it back to you and letting you catch onto the bit.
It's clear the idea of fandom is meaningful to the writers as they choose it as the subject of the film's very first frame. We begin not with a look at our heroes, HUNTR/X, as they prepare for their big show; not with a view of our villains scheming; not with a shot of the setting, to ground us in the location. No, none of these. Instead, the film decides to drop us immediately into a supercut of fans screaming their everloving fandom at us. An avalanche of raw passion, unbridled devotion, and Shakespearian waxing on how much these regular, everyday people deify the band HUNTR/X. One frame bleeds into the next, as fans of all kinds breathlessly profess their eternal idolatry for the band, tripping over themselves to avow their love for this music group. They wear hoodies adorned with the HUNTR/X logo. They show off the homemade signs they made for the show. They proudly bear their HUNTR/X tattoos, permanently branded with the mark of this sacred trio. Some cannot speak without sobbing uncontrollably.
The movie is subtly showing you that despite the fact HUNTR/X are the good guys in this, don't forget: they themselves are everybody's idols in the first place. From the jump, the very state of fandom is shown to be volatile, unstable, unhealthy, and therefore dangerous. Remember that the only reason the demons' plan ultimately works at all is because the fans willingly give themselves over to the demonic Saja Boys, enchanted as they were by them. They discard reason, lose their grip on what's real, swept up as they are in their primal passions for these singers. What they gave to the Saja Boys, they also gave to HUNTR/X. After the sobering lesson of what the Saja Boys wanted to do with that fandom, it's clear the fans merely got lucky that HUNTR/X is not only a talented music group but also a trio of sincerely good people trying to protect everyone. While HUNTR/X are good at heart, "the good king" does not make a sustainable ecosystem for healthy long-term outcomes in human society. (For every Jaehaerys, there's a Joffrey.) Fandom makes rulers of mortals; whether it delivers a kind captain or damnable despot is luck of the draw.
In this way the movie shines a scathing light on the oxygen that powers fandom's flames: the parasocial relationship. That devilishly dangerous drug, that intoxicated illusion of intimacy, that wicked one-way wedding, where you pledge yourself to a person who doesn't even know you're there. A perverted ghost story where you are somehow both the ghost and the one being haunted.
The intensity of passion and asymmetry of influence are one thing. But as the movie shows, that's not the worst of fandom. There's the fickleness. The way the fans seamlessly glom onto the next group at the snap of a finger. The film drives this home during the climax. With HUNTR/X suddenly publicly humiliated and broken up, how do the fans respond? Do they hold vigils for HUNTR/X? Do they console each other after witnessing this shocking dissolution together in real time? Do they pause in remembrance of the joy HUNTR/X brought to their lives? How do they process the tragic event that just occurred? They don't process it at all. They immediately pledge their allegiance to the Saja Boys, the next big group that just came along. On a dime, they find a new target at whom to point their misplaced bottomless thirst. They give themselves over completely, without resistance. From one idol to the next.
With this, the film plunges its final stake into the heart of fandom. For these fans, it was never really about the people they were idolizing. It was about the holes in their souls, the emptiness inside them which they attempt to fill by pouring themselves into an unrequited relationship. They are the dog who chases the car. The car isn't the point; the chasing is the point. Once the first car went away, they picked a new one to chase. The object of their love isn't the point. Their emptiness is the point. They need someone to idolize. It doesn't matter who it is, just that they are idolizing someone, and thus shelving the honest challenges of their own lives another intoxicated moment. You can try to tell them it's all built on sand, all illusory, but they won't hear you. They already have a different song playing in their ears.
Again, the writers don't hit you over the head with this. They leave it to you, the observant viewer, to heed this grim statement about fandom and how it can make less of us, not more.
Then comes the song "Your Idol".
With this song, the Saja Boys take off the gloves, drop the act and straight up humiliate the fans openly. They say the quiet part out loud, so dominant is their control of the fans' souls. They revel in this control as they take their victory lap. The good king is dead; now begins the reign of the Demon King. It's no coincidence that this song represents both the zenith of fanaticism and the nadir of humanity in the film.
The song pulls no punches. It is the perfect avatar for the unhealthy parasocial relationships found all over today's world of YouTube / Twitch / Steam Influencers, The Beyhive, The Swifties and all the rest.
As the most densely charged statement of the creators' warnings against fandom, it's worth analyzing some of the lyrics of "Your Idol."
The song begins by situating us in the religious worship with which the fans regard these singers, as the Saja Boys monastically chant, "Pray for me now." Oh, and they also chat in Latin — yes, that Latin. The dead language. [16] In Latin, they chant "Dies irae illa. Vos solve in favillam. Maledictus erus in flammas aeternum." Per Google, this translates to: "The day of wrath. Dissolve yourselves into ember. You will be cursed in eternal flames." Yeah, this song isn't subtle.
It then dives right in with the first line of the first verse:
Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed, play me on repeat eternally in your head.
Right off the bat, they begin with the phrase "keeping you." They have you. You're locked up. You are theirs now. They control what you think about. They control what you love. You have given yourself over to them.
The song continues:
Any time it hurts, play another verse. I can be your sanctuary.
This is Addiction 101 in a dozen words. When you feel the pain of ordinary life, don't face it; run away from it. I'm your key to escaping it. Just take one more hit and feel the relief. Doesn't matter that you're trapped. Doesn't matter that I'm going to destroy you. Just shush and take your p̶o̶i̶s̶o̶n̶ medicine. Then there's the emphasis they place on the word "sanctuary," deepening the symbolism of religious worship. It's a sick joke: where a true sanctuary promises peace and safety, this one is of course a trap to steal your soul and imprison you forever. And while your average real-life musician won't quite go that far, the writers use this extreme to illustrate how real-life fandom goes wrong.
Jumping to this line from the chorus:
You know I'm the only one who'll love your sins.
This one's Emotional Abuse 101 in ten words. They sell the idea that you are so shameful and low that you have no hope for redemption, so you shouldn't even bother. You are not worthy of love, and you never will be. Nobody else will love you given your shame, so in fact you should be grateful I'm here and I love you anyway. Where else will you find someone so good to you? It's the world backwards. A classic move in the abuser's playbook that perpetuates the cycle and traps the victim deeper inside the cage.
And later in the chorus:
I can be the star you rely on.
This might be the most chilling line of the whole ghastly lot, the neutron star around which the whole parasocial mirage explodes into existence. The heart that pumps the lifeblood to the whole baleful behemoth. It's sickening, the flagrant fraudulence of selling this illusion to the fan knowing full well that they can't actually rely on you. This fan is a human person. Will you, the singer, arrive when their car breaks down on the side of the highway to get them home? Will you pick them up when they need a ride to the airport? Will you be there when they've just gone through a breakup and need someone to listen and console them?
The lie sounds so good. The lie feels good for just long enough to make you forget that it's all so empty. Like an addiction, it feels so good when you do it that it convinces people to turn themselves inside out and abandon their soul for it. They give it all to this star, as if this star actually existed in their lives.
In a kids movie about singers who hunt demons, the writers manage to deliver a surgically precise, blistering critique on the way fandom can make less of us. The way we willingly enter into these one-sided contracts, giving everything to people who will never know we exist. All without overtly stating any of it, all just by showing us. This movie is unreal.
The Last Hallowed Ground, the Perfect Setting: the Live Music Concert
One of the cleverest choices the film makes is to set the narrative in the world of live concert performances. "Well duh Jake, the movie is about a popular music group and their appeal to fans. Did you want them to stage it in a library?" Fair enough: it's an obvious choice, isn't it? Well, not necessarily. They could have grounded the film's core messages in other ways, for example by following the girls during "a day in the life," juxtaposing our own prosaic existence with the constant bombardment of stalking acolytes they experience as a famous music group, or by focusing on the intense training required for them to stay sharp as both singers and demon hunters, or by highlighting the strange fan mail they surely receive from obsessed and dangerous followers (Stan is legend by this point). But live concerts are all over this movie. They are the first, middle, and next to last thing we see in this film. When the girls aren't performing in one, they're shown rehearsing for one! I suspect this is not an accident. The writers chose this intentionally because it effectively amplifies their message of the perils of fandom's wayward worshipers.
In our modern secular society, the music concert is the last shared sacred space we have. Religion's waning in our society has decreased all those things that came as part of the religious package: community, a clear and predetermined sense of purpose in one's life, an explicit sense that life is imbued with certain meaning, the principle that each individual is indebted to a higher being, the felt truth that the individual is in service to a specific higher power, the presence of a sacred space. Note that I'm not lamenting this: religions are simply stories we have created that have certain effects on us. They bring some balming effects and they bring some horribly tragic effects. Here I merely observe.
With religion fading, people are cobbling together alternative sources of the helpful things religion used to bring. One big example is community. Instead of getting this through religion, people find community in family, in sports teams, in volunteer groups, in a shared identity, in support groups, in book clubs, at work, with gym buddies... the list is endless. They find meaning in philosophy, find purpose in improving conditions for the vulnerable, find humility in nature. But something we're still missing — and secretly yearning for — is the visceral feeling of coming together and vibrating together as one. Giving ourselves over to a communal frequency and riding the hum and thrum of something larger than ourselves. Letting life slip away — the mortgage, the stressful job, our sick cat, our aging parents — and all falling into the same enchanted space in the eternal here and now. There's something magical about the experience of giving ourselves over to something, all in unison. A transcendent, euphoric effect. If you don't believe me, go to a choir service and feel the music flow through you and everyone around you at the same time. It's enlivening, invigorating, healing. Being together with a throng of others, all channeling the same divine sounds through our systems at the same time. It affects us like nothing else can.
Outside religious services, where else can you get this shared sacred experience today? The live music concert, that's where. Our thirst for that holy group experience has been channeled into the live music concert, amplifying the deification of these figures. The writers recognize this and brilliantly ground the film's action in this arena. They understand that in this context, this is the pitch-perfect setting to analyze the dangers of fandom, deification, and parasocial relationships. They use it to warn us of the horrors that can happen — have happened — when masses of individuals give themselves over to an intoxicating, transcendent group experience at the wrong hands.
The Songs Are Freakin' Great.
This is a movie that needs the songs to be good. In a movie that expresses its most important narrative moments through original musical compositions, the most profound symbolism and sharpest cultural commentary in the world would be meaningless if the songs didn't hold up. If the songs aren't good, the movie fails. Period.
This is another reason the movie is so great: the songs are genuinely excellent. The lyrics are meaningful. Like the movie itself, the songs are concise. No fluff, no word wasted. Diligently refined to only what's needed. They are short in runtime, matching the film's brisk pacing. This makes it easy to miss them, in the way you miss a friend. They enter your world, brighten it up, then see themselves out. Like the best houseguests, they don't overstay their welcome.
The songs strike the same balance the movie does throughout: clear-eyed and true to life's challenges, while still whimsical and fun. The poetic resonance they hit at times is shocking. Just look at these lyrics from "What It Sounds Like":
I broke into a million pieces and I can't go back
But now I'm seeing all the beauty in the broken glass
The scars are part of me, darkness and harmony
My voice without the lies, this is what it sounds like
Why did I cover up the colors stuck inside my head?
I should have let the jagged edges meet the light instead
Show me what's underneath, I'll find your harmony
The song we couldn't write, this is what it sounds like
This is what the best poetry is. It's accessible, plumbing deep and treacherous truths to unearth the brilliant gems inside and deliver them to the reader. These lyricists have translated profound, timeless truths into clear, approachable language in a way few writers can and few songs manage. And they deliver these gems with an excellence few films could.
I believe "What It Sounds Like" is one of the best songs of the past decade, movie-related or not. It's the exhortation we urgently need today in our culture. It gives voice to the innumerable masses of silent sufferers all around us, each mistakenly believing they are alone. It's a reclamation of life for those on the verge of breaking under the oppressive weight of their own minds. It's a clarion call for survivors to rise and overcome their traumatic pasts. It's a beacon, guiding us to a place where life is better because we, ourselves, have made it so.
This song would have been out of place in the great animated movies of the past. But today it's exactly the song we need. Gone are the days where things were as simple as wishing upon a star; we have bills that need paying. It's no longer tenable to simply follow the leader; the world saw where that led in the 20th century. Hell, sad as it is, many of us don't have the space to even daydream about how awesome it would be to be king of everything. No, the song for today is one of overcoming serious pain. Managing deep emotional challenges we never asked for: dealing with irresponsible parents who failed us, finding a way to grow from within a broken family, making meaning and finding purpose in a broken society, finding some way to integrate and love our broken self. That's what resonates now because that's the map that describes our current territory. And it's what elevates this from merely "a great song" to a gleaming cultural touchstone.
Of course, the film exists in balance. So for every profoundly meaningful but melancholic truth tome, there is the inverse: Yes, I'm talking about "Soda Pop." That brains-off, hands-up, certified rumprattler. A jawn so bouncy, so catchy it sends your head nodding before you know what's happening. A song so effervescent it makes you feel like you're soaring through the sky in a little carbonation bubble of your own, giddily gliding and giggling all the way. If you are able to listen to soda pop and keep completely still all the way through, it's time to check your pulse.
Then there's the R&B jam that'll turn your fudge block into a mess of hot cocoa. My personal favorite of all the songs, "Free". Where do I begin with "Free"? There's the heart-rending, tear-jerking beauty of the forbidden romance. There's the sweetly swaying melody of the hook and chorus. There's the elysian cello coda, a confessional purr that weaves its velvety, honeyed heart wholly into yours. There's the touching way the last line mirrors the first line, almost identical but with one little change that says it all.
First lines:
I tried to hide, but something broke
I tried to sing, couldn't hit the notes
Last lines:
I tried to hide, but something broke
I couldn't sing, but you give me hope
That little change sings Rumi and Jinu's journey, reflecting how Jinu has inspired Rumi to hope against hope. How he has kindled in her a belief that she can escape the purgatory of shame and confusion clutching her ever more tightly. She hasn't escaped yet, but she believes she can now, thanks to Jinu. And that belief is the spark that enables the change to bloom. Without it, she might well have remained trapped in shame for eternity, might have succumbed to the demon king. People who have dived into the deep waters of internal despair will appreciate this moment: finding that hope in someone will change your life. It can save your life. It can be the one thing that pulls you out of the hole, to a place you didn't know life could go. This is easily my favorite song of all of them.
The songs' lyrics and musical tracks are of one mind, carefully pairing just the right sonic elements to augment the lyrics of the songs in just the right moments, making all of it more impactful. For a great case study, consider the bridges in two of the songs. In "Golden," the bridge inherits the fast, propulsive energy of the chorus but decides to slow things way down. Pitch and tempo lowered, the song walks pensively, uncertainly forward, mirroring the confessional lyrics Rumi submits about how exhaustion she is living so divided within. From there, it suddenly kicks everything back up to dramatic new heights, achieving two things: first, the contrast makes the resolution all the more powerful. Secondly, the song better reflects the up-and-down path each of the hunters walk in that song's narrative —evolving from uncertain, severed, and ostracized, to assured, triumphant, and venerable.
In contrast, the bridge in "Free" doesn't slow down. In fact it does the opposite, because that's what that song's story calls for. The song traces Rumi and Jinu's path from their initial adversarial suspicions to their hair-raising surrender to the love they can no longer deny each other. Having received the connective momentum built in the first two verses, the bridge launches immediately into a new stratosphere of transcendant expression, voices rising, music swelling, blood rushing, pupils the size of bowling balls. This moment seemed impossible before, it's here now, all systems are GO! The bridge, now soaring, culminates in Rumi and Jinu finally coming together, joining in loving embrace for the very first time. Love wins! Through all this, the song's composition perfectly mirrors the lyrical journey it travels, leaving this viewer quite frankly in tatters.
Each song in this film is exquisitely arranged across composition, sound, lyrics and vocal performance — each sonic element directly collaborating with the others to create a whole far greater than the sum of the parts. A layer above that, the film's visual elements overlaying the songs further integrate with the music sublimely throughout, every auditory moment aligning perfectly with the action on screen. Yet another layer above that one, at the conceptual level, the songs brilliantly represent the key narrative moments of the most important characters, at the most crucial moments in the story. The writers nailed the choice of which songs to create in the first place in order to augment the storytelling impact of the film. They selected brilliantly and they executed masterfully. It all adds up to a collection of absolute bona fide bangers. [17]
The Film Embodies the Importance of Balance
Like life itself, this film is all about balance. "Everything in moderation, including moderation," and that. And as it does, the movie conveys this not by paying lip service to the idea, but by quietly showing you with its example.
It is by turns laugh out loud funny, solemn, loving, tragic, lighthearted, serious, dire and unsparing yet full of heart and hopeful. And it is always kind. The movie believes in humanity, warts, flaws and all. It doesn't ignore them or sugarcoat them, yet neither does it wallow in them. It faces them head on, shows honestly how they can destroy lives, destroy relationships, destroy people. Yet it also shows how people can and do overcome those flaws, giving us a blueprint for how we can change ourselves and heal our communities: by facing our flaws head on, acknowledging their effects on the world around us, and working through them together with others who care.
The film ties challenge and triumph tightly together, reinforcing that you can't have one without the other. Life just doesn't work that way. It shows you that to live a good life, you paradoxically must honestly embrace your own shortcomings, rather than hiding from them. That by doing so, you'll live not only a stronger and more resilient life, but a life of much deeper joy than one lived futilely trying to ignore the pain.
At its very core, it is a positive and hopeful movie that believes that we are all worthy and capable of redemption. Yet it takes a clear-eyed view of life, of how messy and broken and painful it is. It strikes that balance so well. And as always, it simply shows this by example, rather than talking about it.
This Movie Masters the Medium of Film
Some films play with deep interesting ideas but don't work too well as an actual film. (May I interest you in some Tenet?) Some films are great fun to watch, but are as wise and meaningful as a half-eaten bag of potato chips. (We will forever salute you, Con Air.) This is one of the rare films that give you both. Densely packed with truths and wisdom, while as viscerally titillating as your uncle's favorite blockbuster action flick.
The pacing and editing are excellent. The movie whisks along, brisk and snappy, with zero wasted moments. The writers' restraint rules the day here. Characters say only what they need to, when they need to. No fluff. Scenes cut swiftly and transition seamlessly into the next action. No scene lags too long.
You can tell everything is intentionally done because the film deftly moves from fast to slow when the story demands it. Where some films zoom so unrelentingly fast you might get vertigo just watching it (gestures breathlessly at Dog Man), KPop Demon Hunters moves like the best-trained athletes: propulsive when it needs to be, yet able to decelerate when the story calls for it. The film takes its time to solemnly honor the deep, emotional moments such as those between the three best friends, or those between Rumi and Jinu. Then after the deep moment has passed, things skate along breezily again, whisking us back onto the smooth, zippy ride.
Then there is the style. This is harder to quantify for this layman but the movie is so damn stylish. It's confident and assured. Take the execution of the fight scenes: not only are they well-choreographed and exciting to watch, but they synchronize the musical beats with the visuals in a poetic way, creating something much greater than the sum of its parts. As I touched on earlier, they put great care into the integration of the audio and the visuals, elevating the final art work.
But the film pulls another trick most films don't. It seamlessly drops us into a range of different in-universe shows throughout the film, as if we were suddenly a character within the film's universe watching these shows on our own TV. For some examples, look to their transition into the in-universe game show, "Play Games with Us!," or their seamless cut into the production of the International Icon Awards Show, or the release of the "Golden" music video. In lesser hands these abrupt transitions would feel jarring, but in this film they are all so well-crafted and continuous that you scarcely realized you've even transitioned at all. It's a marvel of virtuosic editing craft.
And once you think you've seen everything they have to offer, they turn up the difficulty and frankly just start showing off when we reach the release of the "Golden" music video.
*Note, dear reader, that the following might come off as a jumbled mess at best, or plainly incomprehensible at worst; it is difficult to express the visceral experience of these camera transitions in writing. But I'll give it my best shot since it's so dang impressive — and for a reference guide for illustration, watch the sequence from 13:50 to 16:24 in the film's runtime.*
When the "Golden" music video drops, they take our perspective as the movie viewer on a wild ride, transitioning across time, space, the fourth wall, and back in a miraculously seamless way — all while the song plays undisturbed over this whole sequence. In that span of 2.5 minutes, the film transitions the viewer's perspective from:
viewing the "Golden" music video as if we were a person in the film
then returning to the default movie viewing perspective and showing us adoring fans in the film watching the music video
then overlaying gobs of social media posts raining adoration upon the music video in realtime (again only visible to us as real-life movie viewers)
then jumping forward in time and space to HUNTR/X rehearsing the song for their next performance
then giving us a behind the scenes look at Rumi privately lamenting her patterns as she sings the bridge (a privileged perspective only we see as real-life movie viewers)
If that's hard to follow in writing, forgive me. But that proves the point. The layers of perspective this movie plays with are bonkers. The way they are able to package it all up so seamlessly and smoothly for the viewer is just stupid.
But that's not all: look more closely at this sequence and you'll find it's a prime example of one of the main things that makes this movie so much better than others. The best name I can think to give it is expository prestidigitation. It's the downright magical concision and flair with which the film expresses key events to the viewer.
Where other films get bogged down in exposition dumps, this film transforms exposition into viewing gold. Take this sequence for example. Without a single sentence of traditional exposition, the film conveys to us the following:
The girls' new single is wildly anticipated by people all over: people are watching it in dorm rooms and on public transit. Whole families are gathering together to watch it. People are literally counting down the seconds until it debuts.
The music video's visuals teach us that Zoey lives caught between the dueling worlds of her Burbank, CA upbringing and her K-Pop dreams. We witness Mira's stodgy family and see how tense their relationship was, what a black sheep she was. We understand through the imagery why she is so doggedly determined to break out of that frame. We watch as Rumi privately droops under the weight of the crown she inherited, bound in duty, stranded in isolation.
People love the song immediately. They cry as they sing it. They unite in the chorus, singing along as the video plays.
HUNTR/X gets interviewed about the song on a big stage by a big, important TV show. During this interview, all three of the girls collaborate to pithily summarize the song's central message — and also to announce that they'll be performing it live for the first time ever, later that night! (They do all this in less than 7 seconds, btw. This freakin' movie.)
There is already a massive, Lord-of-The-Rings-orc-army-sized crowd pushing at the gates of their vnue, salivating over the performance that won't begin for hours.
Via voiceover from one of the girls, the film reiterates the stakes of this song as "a new chapter for us, for the whole world." They remind us that this is not just another song, but the weapon intended to destroy the demons forever, and restore peace to humanity.
It gives us an intimate glimpse at Rumi, lonely and alone, as she gazes upon her patterns, shame roiling inside — rekindling the story's central narrative arc of Rumi's journey toward self-actualization.
It shows us that their manager Bobby is so personally invested in their work that he not only knows every dance move, but performs every bit of choreography off-stage as they rehearse it onstage, almost involuntarily, as a diligent mom might for her daughters. The film even takes a second to throw in a comedic gag here, as Bobby accidentally backslaps a poor cameraman in the face, so enthusiastic is his sideline performance. (They do this all in the span of 3 seconds, teaching us so much about who Bobby is and how much he cares about the girls — all without a single word of "telling"; just by showing.)
Finally it ends by skillfully teeing up the film's next act: Rumi, shockingly and for the first time ever, loses her voice while performing. This throws the whole fate of the world in jeopardy, so beginning the next exciting phase in our viewing journey.
Whew. The film conveys all this in 2 minutes and 36 seconds. Seamlessly. While introducing us viewers to the song "Golden," which would become the movie's real-life, chart-topping, iconic smash hit.
Seriously. Just take a second to stop reading and appreciate that. The skill dripping off this piece of creative work is gobsmacking.
But wait, there's more. Another gorgeous example of this film's knack for expository prestidigitation, or turning "a moment of boring exposition other films would have hammered us over the head with" into smooth-flowing viewer's gold: the moment we first encounter Jinu. It's early in the film. We have no idea who he is, we're deep in the Demons' underworld, and we've just met this horrifying Fire God being who just vaporized a demon in front of everyone just to set an example. We know nothing, except for the fact that you don't want to mess with this fire guy. Every demon for miles is quivering, crying, or both.
Yet suddenly, a smooth and assured melody wafts through the air, defying the palpable angst. The cool, confident strum of a bipa. A calm, soothing voice lofts through the airwaves. In glides a mysterious figure (literally glides! It's very cool.), flanked by a brawny blue tiger with eyes of glowing amber. The faceless man shows not his eyes. He only sings, as he strides toward the great fire. Gently, calmly, assertively. Of what does he sing? He sings of the existential crisis now staring down the demons. He issues a challenge to the Fire King himself. Right to his face, in front of everyone.
And just like that, through Jinu's awesome entrance song, here's what the movie achieves: In the span of 43 seconds, with fewer words than would fit in a pair of tweets, the movie has caught us up on the history of the demons, their current plight, and the background of this great fire king, all while introducing a gripping new character who offers the demons a new path forward. All in a way that is just ridiculously cool. This friggin' movie.
The pacing, the editing, the writing, the visuals, the music. Like the 2017 Warriors, there isn't a single weakness in this film. It not only outthinks nearly all other films, it out-executes them as well. It is an instant classic, the kind of creative work that approaches the pinnacle of what the medium of the film can be and do. It is the kind of movie that reminds us why we love movies so much.
This Movie Bears So Many Universal Truths
On the surface, the movie is a cartoon about K-Pop singers who kill demons. It is as silly as can be. Which makes it that much more rewarding to realize everything the movie is really about:
It's a story about finding your true self, discovering who you really are inside. It uses the classic metaphor of one's physical "voice" to represent the deep, authentic self inside each of us. The self which no one can compromise except us ourselves. That voice that guides us to feel and do what we know is right. It shows us that nobody can ever take that from us, but that we can give it away. It shows us the destruction we invite when we do give it away, begging us to heed this warning.
“Everything can be taken from a man but one thing: the last of the human freedoms — to choose one’s attitude in any given set of circumstances, to choose one’s own way.” — Viktor Frankl
It echoes the call from spiritual leaders and philosophers dating as far back as we've had words to speak and write: your soul is the thing that makes you you. It is the ineffable quality that makes you one of a kind, truly a one of one in the history of existence. Know that that soul inside you is what moves the world. Know that it bears all the strength you will ever need and more. And know that all this is what you're giving up, should you decide to give it up, whether in fear or in worship to another.
It's an examination of how you respond when you've made a mistake: do you double down into the hate hole? Or do you own up and heal yourself and others?
It's a demonstration of how we each must shed the thought and behavior patterns we inherited growing up, in order to become more conscious and authentic individuals in life. It's an illustration of how when we do that, we change from vectors of mindless cycles of pain into conduits of agency, healing, growth and connection.
It's an affirmation of the great poet Rumi's classic couplet:
Yesterday I was clever, so I wanted to change the world.
Today I am wise, so I am changing myself.
It's a playbook for how to overcome trauma: by looking inside to see the darkness in ourselves and finding a way to live with it — not trying to hide it, not trying to avoid it, and especially not choosing to hate it. It shows how the only way to make ourselves better is to learn to love ourselves honestly while remaining aware of all our warts and failures.
It's a reminder that war is not the answer, at either the societal or the individual level. Fighting is not the answer. Hatred is not the answer. It all leads only to more destruction. Love is the only answer. It is the only thing strong enough to defeat hate. Even though it's hard, we have to commit to love, connection, and trying to work together. It really is the only way.
It's a vision for how to stand up to bullies and tyrants and do the right thing. Through her journey, Rumi shows us how you can refuse to give up your soul even when your environment feels intent on prying it from you. Rumi refuses to give herself over to the tyrant, no matter how threatening or scary he looks, no matter how slim her odds of success appear. She shows that even in the moment things look the most hopeless, it never pays to give in. Your soul is worth saving by fighting for it, every time. What's more, your example has the power to inspire others. Rumi is "Tank Man" at Tiananmen Square retold for a new swath of hearts and minds.
I half suspect the movie's final joke is the way it slyly, knowingly cloaks itself in a silly, bubblegum, carefree exterior while hiding a profoundly meaningful prestige film just below the surface. Like the wise sage who mimes as a drunken fool in public, this movie is a fount of timeless, universal messages all would do well to appreciate, but you'll only notice them if you look.
In Conclusion: This Movie is So Friggin' Good.
I believe KPop Demon Hunters is an instant classic that will stand the test of time as one of the great installments in animated film history, up there with The Lion King, Wall-E, Spirited Away and the greatest from the likes of Disney, Pixar and Studio Ghibli. I believe it is a prestige film disguising itself as a kids movie.
There was so much care put into every detail of this film. In a world beseiged with crappy writing, cash-grab creative, and the looming AI Slopocalypse, that deserves to be celebrated. The parts are each excellent. But the way they are integrated so seamlessly and masterfully makes the whole far greater than even the lofty sum of its parts. It becomes a transcendent creative work.
Thanks, KPop Demon Hunters. With your colossal success, I hope the execs don't milk your IP dry and bleed your lifeforce till all that's left is the vapid but highly merchandisable shell of the original beauty you once were.
But hell, even if that happens, we'll still always have the original. And for that I, and millions of others, am grateful.
Footnotes
[1] Why did I watch it two more times? Dad duties, that's why.
[2] This film has shattered an absurd number of records, including Most Streamed Netflix Movie in Netflix History, The Longest a Movie Has Remained in Netflix's Top 10, and The Most Successful Soundtrack of 2025 on Billboard 200. Oh, it also placed a song — by a fictional band — at #1 on both the UK Official Singles Chart and #1 on the US Billboard Hot 100. Oh, and it also won an Oscar. Oh, and it also won not one but two Golden Globes. Oh, and during Halloween in 2025, guess how many girls dressed up as Rumi at my daughter's elementary school? Not one, not two, not three, but ELEVEN. This movie is a full-blown phenomenon.
[3] Yes, there are exceptions, chiefly the rare among us who know exactly what they want to do and be seemingly the moment they exited the womb. I salute you but speak for the many others like me.
[4] Here's the good part. Life gives a gift once we finally own up to the truth of who we are: As deep as the pain was to get us here, is as rich as our ability to feel happiness having made it through. As Kahlil Gibran wrote, "The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain."
But there's another gift: If you've truly been through this process yourself, you inherently acquire the ability to see others who have gone through it too. Like some kind of unspoken familial bond you now share. You notice how their their light has an obstinate shine to it. The depth of pain becomes the brightness of light.
[5] Here's the same idea from another lens. A parent knows that when their child is being the least lovable is when they need love the most. When they're lashing out, screaming, being rigid, not cooperating — they aren't doing so because they want to. Something isn't right for them. Often times, though a frustrated parent might default to giving them a stern talking to, what they need most is a wordless hug, to get their nervous system back to center.
This sometimes extends to grown ups too. Not always, but very often, when somebody is behaving in a way that is mean or harmful or otherwise unlovable, that is a sign that they actually need love more than anything else. Love is the actual answer. The root cause remedy that leads to sustainable improvements. It takes great strength and awareness to choose love over frustration and anger. But especially if you are a parent, it is worth it.
[6] The worst villains of all are the ones who genuinely think they're doing you a favor while messing up your life. That deserves its own post, but for now, note C.S. Lewis: “Of all tyrannies, a tyranny sincerely exercised for the good of its victims may be the most oppressive. It would be better to live under robber barons than under omnipotent moral busybodies. The robber baron's cruelty may sometimes sleep, his cupidity may at some point be satiated; but those who torment us for our own good will torment us without end for they do so with the approval of their own conscience. They may be more likely to go to Heaven yet at the same time likelier to make a Hell of earth. This very kindness stings with intolerable insult. To be "cured" against one's will and cured of states which we may not regard as disease is to be put on a level of those who have not yet reached the age of reason or those who never will; to be classed with infants, imbeciles, and domestic animals.”
[7] If you're unfamiliar with the ubiquitous cycle of enshittification, read up: this is mandatory learning for the modern citizen.
[8] Ironically enough, astute observers will recognize that phrase as the very guise under which a major world power did some villainous things not long ago.
[9] If you're wondering how I know, it's a long and sad story. I've learned this the hard way and hopefully I can spare you the lesson.
[10] Remember we're only talking about villains here. Honest, good and decent people give things away for free all the time, with no ulterior motive, strictly out of the goodness of their hearts. In fact, this is what happens the vast majority of the time. There's a lot of love out there and you should hold these people dear and close. Just keep in mind: if someone is offering you something for free, and you're not sure where you stand in relation to each other, be wary before you accept that "free" gift. Even well-intentioned gifts can cause friction down the line if you don't have a strong relationship of history and trust undergirding the exchange.
[11] Why is it inconvenient for Jinu to genuinely be partly good inside? As he describes in the song "Free," Given the tragic situation he finds himself in, where Gwi-Ma is constantly controlling his thoughts to make him feel terrible, having hope only makes things worse. If he abandons hope, at least he has certainty; he no longer has to live with that simmering anxiety of constant ambiguity.
Anyone who has been in a situation like Jinu's, where someone with power over them consistently makes them feel terrible, will recognize that one of the only ways to make it through this is to give up on hope; it is unsustainably debilitating to keep hoping and keep getting devastated all over again. Give up on hope and at least you have solid ground to stand on; life becomes more steady, which still sucks but is at least less painful, in a way. Note that this same phenomenon has been found in mice too. We tend to do better when we can at least know what's coming. Again, all these deep, complex truths are baked into this villain character. This movie is so good.
[12] Show, don't tell. One of the hallmarks of good writing. This film absolutely nails this bedrock principle. Another thing that makes the whole film so refreshing and compelling to watch.
[13] One last note of empathy for Celine. It's understandable she raised Rumi so rigidly and militantly. She lived by her sacred mantra: "We are Hunters, voices strong. Your faults and fears must never be seen." For Rumi, this kinda blows. But this is probably an essential, life-saving credo for a full-blooded Hunter like Celine and oh, also every dang Demon Hunter who had ever existed up to that point! The Hunters enter a life-and-death situation every time they face off against these demons — which is frequently! For someone serving that role, it is smart and valuable to train themselves to remove from their mind whatever fears and insecurities they may have. Because as soon as they enter combat — which can be any moment, as the demons are constantly attacking — they need instant and complete access to every ounce of strength, awareness, and split-second reflexes they have. That requires complete focus. One millisecond's lag or indecisiveness might not only get them killed, it would mark the failure of their mission. Which would mean that THE DEMONS HAVE DESTROYED ALL HUMANS AND ENSLAVED THEM IN THEIR DARK, SHITTY DEMON WORLD. Celine deserves a break, is what I'm saying.
[14] Granted, popular artists create formulaic, "cash grab," lowest common denominator songs all the time which do not require their being "moved by the spirits" or whatnot. They just apply the formula and make bank. But I don't suspect that's the type of song that would ensure the girls would win the International Idol Awards. They needed something real, that would stir the audience in the way only the authentic can.
[15] And as this movie does so well, it reveals this deep truth subtly and quickly, without lingering. Blink and you might miss it. One quick line dashed off before Mira enters and keeps things moving. So refreshing.
[16] Who does that in a kids movie?! This movie is so freakin' good.
[17] One more note worth mentioning about the music: the singers are immense vocal talents, as talented vocally as hallowed divas Adele, Celine, Idina Menzel. But even more important for the purposes of this film is their capable, confident and credible delivery of the raps. To do Rap music well requires a presence on the mic, a blend of energy, skill and character in lyrical delivery. When someone who doesn't possess this tries to rap, it is enough to make listeners pine for the sweet relief of listening to long fingernails dragging across a chalkboard. As jarring and aversive a listening experience as they come.
Vitally, these performers sell the raps. They command the space and captain the mic with authority. No, they're not Chris Wallace or Andre Benjamin. But they are good. And that's good, because if they weren't it would be a complete dealbreaker. Listen to Chaeyoung's contributions in "Takedown" for a good illustration of some good rapping.