A Review of K-Pop Demon Hunters
Guest Post by Elise Harden
In the words of Huntr/x in their opening song How It’s Done, I’m “a little late to the party (na-na-na-na).” But I finally watched K-Pop Demon Hunters. For those of you who have not yet taken the dive into the sparkly realm of K-Pop cinematic bliss that is K-Pop Demon Hunters, here’s a brief synopsis.
The story centres on Huntr/x, a chart-topping trio made up of Rumi, Mira, and Zoey. Onstage, they are pop idols adored by millions, but offstage they have a secret: they are demon hunters who use their music to fight supernatural forces bent on stealing people’s souls. Just when they are on the verge of banishing the demon king for good, a crafty rival appears in the form of a boy band made up of demons.
K-Pop Demon Hunters is absolutely over the top, in the best possible way. The film is funny, delightfully quirky, and bursting with playful animation. The soundtrack is ridiculously catchy (the kind of songs that stay with you all week), and the characters turn out to be more layered than you might expect.
Themes in the wider conversation
Before I put my own thoughts together, I did a bit of homework and checked out what others, especially Christians, were saying about the film. Unsurprisingly, the same two themes kept coming up: idols and demons.
On idols:
Some Christian reviewers have expressed concern that the film promotes idol worship by glamorising fan obsession. At first glance, this is understandable: the story revolves around a hugely popular K-pop girl group whose success depends on the unwavering devotion of their fans. Yet, on closer inspection, the film does not simply celebrate this kind of devotion, it also presents a striking picture of unhealthy obsession and the emptiness of idol worship.
This comes through clearly in the rival group, the demon boy band known as the Saja Boys. They appear charming and charismatic on stage, but their songs reveal their true nature: a dangerous trap that seeks to claim the soul. In their track Idol, the lyrics promise comfort and escape, but at a cost: “Keeping you in check, keeping you obsessed, play me on repeat in your head. Anytime it hurts, play another verse, I can be your sanctuary.” Later, they taunt their listeners with, “Living in your mind now, too late ’cause you’re mine now.” The allure is obvious, but so is the deception. These are not harmless pop stars perched on pedestals, they symbolise destructive attachments that distort truth and enslave the heart.
The Bible warns us repeatedly of this danger. As Jonah 2:8 puts it, “Those who pay regard to vain idols forsake their hope of steadfast love.” In that sense, the film actually does Christians a service by pulling the mask off obsession and showing its dark underbelly in a way that is impossible to miss.
On demons
Others have complained that the film muddles the categories of good and evil, especially in the sympathetic portrayal of Jinu, a demon boy band member who turns toward the light. Yet, in another sense, the very fact that the movie openly acknowledges the reality of dark powers is noteworthy. As French poet Charles Baudelaire asserted, “The greatest trick the Devil ever pulled was convincing the world he doesn’t exist.” In popular culture saturated with sanitised villains, acknowledging spiritual darkness at all may serve as an invitation for deeper conversations. Still, the film should be watched with discernment, particularly with children. Christian parents are called to reassure young viewers of God’s sovereign control: “the evil one does not touch him” (1 John 5:18). If you are not a Christian, the film can still open the door to meaningful conversations with your children. It invites reflection on whether good and evil are real, and what it means to feel truly safe in a world where both seem to exist.
Rejecting hate and embracing love
Beyond these debates, what struck me most was the film’s message of rejecting hate, first embraced by Rumi and then taken up by her fellow band members. Rumi begins to question her hatred for the demons when Jinu shows compassion by quietly covering her arm so the others will not see her dark secret. Her empathy deepens when Jinu confides, “All demons do is feel our shame. That’s how the Demon King controls us.” This movement from hatred to compassion is pivotal, and it stands out all the more when compared with other contemporary stories that often default to revenge or retribution. Rumi’s refusal to sing the “hateful song” Takedown becomes the turning point of the battle, signalling that love and hope are stronger weapons than bitterness.
The story really leans into the futility of hatred. Jinu’s line, “If hate could defeat, I would have done it a long time ago,” captures the emptiness of bitterness, which never heals or solves anything but instead consumes those who cling to it. What truly disarms is love. A young fan slips Jinu a note that reads, “You have a beautiful soul.” That simple affirmation proves more powerful than any weapon, cutting through the lies the demons whisper. For Christians, this moment echoes Jesus’ call to “love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). It is countercultural, both in Hollywood and in daily life, to insist that love triumphs over hate, yet K-Pop Demon Hunters boldly takes that path, and it is all the stronger for doing so.
Shame and guilt overcome
Equally compelling is the film’s treatment of shame. Time and again, characters confess that demons feed on their hidden guilt. A line from the demon king reveals his plan for using shame: “One of the hunters bares my mark but I have no control over her. This is good, this means she has shame. I’ll find out what it is and we can use it to destroy her.” These words strike close to home. Who among us has not felt the crippling weight of shame, whispering that we are too broken, too unworthy, too flawed to belong?
The film’s imagery here is profound: jagged edges, hidden patterns, voices that replay the lies we fear most. One character hears, “You’re too much, and not enough. You’ll never belong anywhere.” Another is told, “You thought you found a family. You don’t deserve one.” These are echoes of Satan’s strategy. He wields shame as a weapon to trap us in silence and to stop us from coming to God.
But the film also portrays liberation. When sins are exposed to the light, their power is broken. In their song This Is What It Sounds Like, Huntr/x suggest that when we “let the jagged edges meet the light,” we are finally set free. This imagery captures a profound Christian truth: sin and shame cannot survive when brought into the open, they shrink under the light of grace. Throughout the film, shame is shown as the demons’ primary weapon, the voice that whispers “you are not enough” or “you do not belong.” Patterns etched onto the characters’ skin become a visible reminder of guilt, growing stronger the more shame is hidden. Yet when that shame is confronted rather than concealed, its hold begins to crumble. This resonates deeply with 1 John 1:9: “If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” Here, the gospel shines through. People do not have to be defined by sin, shame, or by the shadows of our past, but by the grace and forgiveness of Christ.
Takeaways
K-Pop Demon Hunters is by no means a perfect reflection on the good news of Jesus, but it does shine a light on themes that lie at its centre: the pull of idolatry, the futility of hate, and the freedom found when shame is broken. These are not themes we often see explored in mainstream media, especially in a film designed for teens and young adults, and that may be part of why it resonates so strongly. The music is catchy, the visuals are vibrant, but beneath all the sparkle the story speaks to something deeper about what it means to be human and how we are made new by forgiveness.
For Christians, this makes the film an invitation to engage rather than withdraw. It opens the way for conversations with children, for thoughtful reflection with friends, and for building bridges between faith and culture. We may not embrace every artistic choice, but we can celebrate its core reminder: that love has more power than hate, and that shame never has the final word.
For those who are not Christians, I would encourage you to pause and reflect on what the film is tapping into: the desire to choose love over bitterness, and the struggle we all know with shame and guilt. My husband once remarked that when he first read the Bible, it was striking how well it seemed to know him and how clearly it described the human heart. Perhaps that is why the Bible continues to resonate across cultures and centuries. Like the film, it names our deepest struggles, but it also points beyond them to the possibility of forgiveness and freedom. The question worth considering is this: what would it mean, in your own life, to let love rather than shame have the final word?