Released in June 2025 and directed by Maggie Kang and Chris Appelhans, KPop Demon Hunters is a musical fantasy film that blends KPop and Korean folklore. The film stars Arden Cho, May Hong, and Ji-young Yoo as the titular demon hunter; the KPop group, Huntr/x. Given the fact that this is a musical, it’s worth pointing out that Ejae, Audrey Nuna, and Rei Ami provide the singing voices for the group. This review is intended to be free of spoilers, but there is one paragraph that is very spoilery. I’ve marked it in yellow and red. No review copy was provided.
In a cinematic environment often dominated by sequels and safe bets, KPop Demon Hunters arrives like a glittering meteor; unexpected, vibrant, and pretty difficult to ignore. Directed by Maggie Kang and Chris Appelhans, this animated musical fantasy doesn’t just mash genres; it harmonises them, crafting a story that’s as emotionally resonant as it is visually electric.
And you know what didn’t tell me that? The trailer. Sure, it’s flashy, and it shows the action, and the music is good, but it just doesn’t capture the feel of the movie. It makes it look like it’s just going to be action, and that’s not where this film excels. I assumed from the trailer that I wasn’t going to enjoy this movie, but it was a hot night and I wanted something upbeat and easy to watch. I’m glad I gave it a chance. Here’s the trailer:
At the heart of the movie is Huntr/x, a fictional K-pop trio whose stage personas mask their true calling: defending humanity from soul-hungry demons through the power of music. The premise is delightfully absurd, yet the film never winks too hard at itself. Instead, it leans into sincerity, allowing the mythology of the Honmoon barrier and the legacy of demon-hunting idols to unfold with genuine stakes and surprising emotional depth.
The trio – Rumi, Mira, and Zoey – are archetypes on paper, but the voice performances (Arden Cho, May Hong, Ji-young Yoo) breathe life into them with warmth and wit. Their chemistry is palpable, whether they’re slurping instant noodles in their dorm or battling the Saja Boys, a rival demon-infused boy band whose choreography is as lethal as their claws. The film’s standout antagonist, Jinu (voiced by Ahn Hyo-seop), offers more than just brooding charm; his scenes with Rumi crackle with tension and tenderness, hinting at a star-crossed connection that elevates the narrative beyond spectacle.
Visually, KPop Demon Hunters is a kaleidoscope of anime-inspired flourishes and Spider-Verse-style dynamism. The animators revel in exaggeration – eyes morph into popcorn, abs shimmer like divine relics – and yet, the film never loses its emotional footing. The musical numbers are staged with variety and intention: “Golden” is a soaring anthem of self-acceptance, while “Soda Pop” and “Takedown” channel the swagger and satire of real-world K-pop rivalries.
But it’s in the quieter moments that the film truly sings. Rumi’s internal conflict – her half-demon heritage, her fear of imperfection, her longing for connection – anchors the story in something deeply human. Her journey isn’t just about saving the world; it’s about reclaiming the parts of herself she’s been taught to hide. As Joe Young might say in our recently-reviewed novel, Murray Hall, “Lives are made to be lost,” and in this film, every loss is a step toward truth.
That point on identity is really key to this film. Beneath the neon shimmer and choreographed chaos, KPop Demon Hunters pulses with a quiet ache: the longing to be seen without distortion. Rumi’s half-demon heritage isn’t just a plot device, it’s a metaphor for the parts of ourselves we’re taught to hide, the marks we cover with glitter and performance. The film’s most powerful moments aren’t the battles or the bangers, but the silences between them; when shame whispers, when identity fractures, when connection becomes a lifeline. In a world that demands perfection, Rumi’s journey is a rebellion against erasure. Her voice, lost and found, becomes a symbol not of power, but of permission to be flawed, to be whole, to be loud. And in that final crescendo, when the Honmoon is sealed not by purity but by truth, the film dares to suggest that healing isn’t about banishing demons, it’s about embracing the ones we’ve carried all along.
On the subject of the Honmoon, let’s delve into that a bit. You know we love some Korean folklore and tradition in our media on this blog! The Honmoon, or “Soul Gate,” stands as the film’s most potent symbol; a shimmering boundary between worlds, yes, but also between selves. Its colour shift from gold to blue isn’t just aesthetic; it’s emotional cartography. Gold, in Korean tradition, signals purity and divine balance, but the blue Honmoon at the film’s end suggests something unresolved, something still aching. It becomes a mirror for Rumi’s journey: not a triumph of perfection, but a reckoning with imperfection. Around it swirl talismans, tiger spirits, and ritual dances, each echoing Korea’s shamanic past, where performance was prayer and rhythm was resistance. In KPop Demon Hunters, symbolism isn’t decoration; it’s declaration. Every lightstick, lyric, and leap across the stage becomes a spell, a plea, a promise that identity, once fractured, can be reassembled through truth.
Let’s end by talking about one of the villains. We like a good villain here. This is known. Jinu is the emotional fulcrum of KPop Demon Hunters, a character who begins as a charismatic antagonist but gradually reveals the weight of centuries-old regret. Born in the 1600s as a poor street performer, Jinu made a Faustian bargain with the demon king Gwi-Ma: wealth and a heavenly voice in exchange for some pretty damn deplorable actions. That choice haunts him, and the film uses his arc to explore the cost of ambition and the ache of memory.
His duality is striking. As the leader of the Saja Boys, he’s all swagger and precision. His vocals drain soul energy, his choreography is weaponized, and his demon form evokes the jeoseung saja, Korea’s grim reaper. But beneath the glamour is a man who longs to forget, who asks Gwi-Ma to erase his human memories just to escape the shame. His interactions with Rumi are layered with manipulation, empathy, and something close to love. He sees in her the same fracture he carries: a self split between power and pain.
SPOILERS BEGIN
Jinu’s final act – sacrificing himself to save Rumi – isn’t just redemption. It’s restoration. He transfers his soul to her, not as a gift of strength, but as an apology, a legacy, a way to say: I couldn’t undo my past, but I can protect your future. In a film bursting with colour and chaos, Jinu is the shadow that gives the light its shape.
SPOILERS END
This film might be proof that Sony might be establishing themselves firmly as industry leaders in animated features, given their recent output. However, KPop Demon Hunters is more than just a crowd pleaser. It’s a love letter to pop culture, to friendship, to the messy beauty of identity. It’s a film that understands that sometimes, the most powerful magic isn’t in the spell, it’s in the song. It’s worth your time.
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