KPop Demon Hunters Is the Shockingly Good

After endlessly scrolling through the Netflix catalogue and failing to find a single appealing title that neither of us had seen, my boyfriend and I decided — assisted by the earlier consumption of wine — to watch the recently released KPop Demon Hunters, which is undeniably targeted toward teenage girls who crush on Korean singers. We hit play thinking that the animated movie would be entertainingly terrible, like Sharknado. Although I know this will be weaponized against me in the future, I must admit that KPop Demon Hunters is fantastic — so much so that I have since coerced National Review’s own Jeffrey Blehar to watch it, too.

The basic premise is not exactly complicated, but it is so original that it requires attention to detail. “Demons” extract souls from humans to feed their overlord Gwi-Ma, a name inverting the Korean word for the devil (“Magwi”). A singing trio of women emerged decades ago as the “hunters” whose songs of “courage and hope” help “unite” souls to form the “Honmoon,” a glimmering shield against the demons. The current trio iteration is the K-pop girl group “Huntrix,” whose lead singer, Rumi, was born to a hunter mother and a demon father. She declares, “I am a mistake, have been since the moment I was born,” but she has kept her genetic dilemma a secret — including from her two bandmates — by covering the tattoo-like patterns on her body that brand all the demons. The patterns grow to her throat and jeopardize her voice, so she urgently tries to seal the Honmoon, which she believes will eradicate the demons and possibly her own physical marks. But the Honmoon begins to disintegrate amid the rising popularity of the newfound demon rival band the Saja Boys, whose name means “lion boys” but also references Jeoseung Saja, the Korean equivalent of the Grim Reaper that translates to “netherworld emissary.” The two bands compete for the souls of audience members through upbeat music, while Rumi develops a mildly romantic relationship with Jinu, the extremely unreliable leader of the boy band. In the end, Rumi is exposed onstage as a demi-demon, but nevertheless she and her girl group defeat Gwi-Ma with Jinu’s help.

About the Author

Abigail Anthony

Abigail Anthony is a staff writer at National Review.

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After endlessly scrolling through the Netflix catalogue and failing to find a single appealing title that neither of us had seen, my boyfriend and I decided — assisted by the earlier consumption of wine — to watch the recently released KPop Demon Hunters, which is undeniably targeted toward teenage girls who crush on Korean singers. We hit play thinking that the animated movie would be entertainingly terrible, like Sharknado. Although I know this will be weaponized against me in the future, I must admit that KPop Demon Hunters is fantastic — so much so that I have since coerced National Review’s own Jeffrey Blehar to watch it, too.

The basic premise is not exactly complicated, but it is so original that it requires attention to detail. “Demons” extract souls from humans to feed their overlord Gwi-Ma, a name inverting the Korean word for the devil (“Magwi”). A singing trio of women emerged decades ago as the “hunters” whose songs of “courage and hope” help “unite” souls to form the “Honmoon,” a glimmering shield against the demons. The current trio iteration is the K-pop girl group “Huntrix,” whose lead singer, Rumi, was born to a hunter mother and a demon father. She declares, “I am a mistake, have been since the moment I was born,” but she has kept her genetic dilemma a secret — including from her two bandmates — by covering the tattoo-like patterns on her body that brand all the demons. The patterns grow to her throat and jeopardize her voice, so she urgently tries to seal the Honmoon, which she believes will eradicate the demons and possibly her own physical marks. But the Honmoon begins to disintegrate amid the rising popularity of the newfound demon rival band the Saja Boys, whose name means “lion boys” but also references Jeoseung Saja, the Korean equivalent of the Grim Reaper that translates to “netherworld emissary.” The two bands compete for the souls of audience members through upbeat music, while Rumi develops a mildly romantic relationship with Jinu, the extremely unreliable leader of the boy band. In the end, Rumi is exposed onstage as a demi-demon, but nevertheless she and her girl group defeat Gwi-Ma with Jinu’s help.