The Beautiful Lies of "KPop Demon Hunters"

When Stunning Storytelling Makes Dangerous Ideas Irresistible

“KPop Demon Hunters” is a movie about a world-famous trio of KPop stars who moonlight as demon hunters, protecting the world from the infamous demon king Gwi-Ma. On the surface, it sounds like one of those high-concept curiosities the internet briefly laughs about and then forgets. I certainly assumed as much when I first saw clips from the film’s trailer a few months ago. The premise just seemed so absurd and the animation so over-stylized and juvenile that I simply scrolled past without a second fleeting thought.

Yet here we are. The film has not faded in the shadowy recesses of streaming service hell, but instead has exploded and attained an ascendant, central place in online culture. At the time of writing, seven of the film’s songs have charted onto Spotify’s global top twenty, with its breakout track “Golden” holding the number one spot on the billboard hot 100. Social media feeds are saturated with its musical numbers, memes, and fan content. Netflix measures the success of its films by tracking the number of views accumulated by each movie within 91 days of release; only 60 days after Netflix made “KPop Demon Hunters” available, it has become Netflix’s fourth most-successful movie of all time with nearly 159 million views. Unlike most films, “KPop Demon Hunters” has seen its peak performance a month and a half after its release. Rather than fading over time, the film has gained momentum. Needless to say, this is a cultural phenomenon, not some small online blip.

This massive success should worry conservatives, because it seriously undermines one of our most cherished assumptions about the culture war: that “woke” content naturally fails because audiences reject progressive messaging. “KPop Demon Hunters” proves the opposite. When progressive ideology is wrapped in genuinely excellent storytelling, with stunning animation, infectious music, and compelling characters, it doesn’t go broke at all. It dominates.

Far from being subtle about its politics, this is a strikingly explicit example of a ‘woke’ movie, built around the most obvious allegory: a girl who must embrace her literal demonhood to save the world. Yet conservatives have remained largely silent about the cultural impact of “KPop Demon Hunters”, perhaps assuming that its animated format and young target audience make it irrelevant to serious cultural analysis.

This assumption is deeply misguided. Children’s media does not merely entertain, it educates. The stories we first internalize in childhood tend to become our default moral settings in adulthood. It forms the moral categories by which young viewers understand truth, goodness, and beauty. “KPop Demon Hunters” is teaching millions of children that self-acceptance trumps morality, that embracing your “authentic self” is inherently virtuous regardless of what that self might be.

The film’s success reveals a strategic reality conservatives have been slow to grasp: progressives have learned to embed their worldview in stories so compelling that audiences absorb the ideology almost unconsciously. While conservatives continue making heavy-handed message movies that preach to the choir, the other side is crafting genuinely excellent entertainment that makes progressive values feel emotionally satisfying and morally intuitive. If we want to understand why we’re losing the culture war, “KPop Demon Hunters” offers a masterclass in how the war is being won and how we could win ourselves.

Before getting into the meat of my critique, it’s worth laying out the story. “KPop Demon Hunters” isn’t subtle about its premise, but understanding the details of the plot is important for grasping how the film’s central themes are presented.

The Story They’re Selling

Centuries ago, a trio of singing demon hunters created the magical Honmoon barrier to seal away the demon king Gwi-Ma and his realm. Their legacy, passed down through generations of female hunters, carries the ultimate goal of completing the Golden Honmoon, a permanent seal that would banish demons forever.

In the present day, the K-pop girl group Huntr/x, made up of Rumi, Mira, and Zoey, carries on this mission after inheriting it from their mentor Celine, a former idol and legendary hunter who raised Rumi after her mother’s death. Celine knows Rumi’s secret: she is half-demon, her heritage inherited from her father. This shame is slowly consuming her, literally robbing her of her voice. When her demonic traits manifest as a dangerous tell she has been taught to hide at all costs: jagged purple patterns crawl across her skin. Before stepping away, Celine charged them with completing the Golden Honmoon and insisted that Rumi’s identity remain hidden until then, believing the seal would also heal her.

Meanwhile, Gwi-Ma forms a rival demonic boy band, the Saja Boys, who steal souls through music. Their leader, Jinu, once sold his soul for comfort but now longs for escape. After learning her secret, Jinu begins befriending Rumi in order to manipulate her, presenting himself as a confidant while nudging her toward embracing her demonhood. His openness about his own corruption pushes Rumi to question the secrecy she has lived under.

The first major rupture comes at the Idol Awards, when the Saja Boys trick Rumi into revealing her demonic markings onstage. Her bandmates feel betrayed, the group splinters, and the Honmoon begins to weaken. In the aftermath, Gwi-Ma sets the stage for a final assault, using a new Saja Boys performance to hypnotize the audience so he can feed on their souls. As the spell spreads, Rumi returns, reconciles with Mira and Zoey, and the three reunite onstage to break Gwi-Ma’s hold. In the final battle, Jinu sacrifices himself to protect Rumi. Huntr/x defeats Gwi-Ma, not with the Golden Honmoon, but with the power born from Rumi’s self-acceptance and rejection of her shame. The group emerges united not by secrecy, but by mutual affirmation, and Rumi steps forward publicly as her “authentic” self, prominently displaying her demonic characteristic for all to see.

The Power of Polished Presentation

There is no other way to put this: the production quality of “KPop Demon Hunters” is simply stunning. From its opening sequence to its final frame, the film radiates a level of craft that instantly sets it apart from most contemporary animation. The visual storytelling is vibrant, precise, and endlessly inventive, packing every frame with small details that reward repeat viewing. The animation team uses color, light, and motion not only to dazzle the eye but to communicate character beats and emotional shifts without a single line of dialogue.

The writing is equally impressive: rich and deliberate, paying off nearly every setup with satisfying precision. Plot threads are woven together with an almost musical sense of rhythm, building toward emotional crescendos that feel earned rather than manufactured. The dialogue crackles with wit and personality, often quite funny without breaking tone or undercutting the film’s stakes. The characters themselves pull you in and won’t let go. Each member of Huntr/x feels distinct, memorable, and emotionally real, with their own quirks, vulnerabilities, and arcs. You don’t just watch them perform, you find yourself caring about what happens to them.

And then there’s the music. The songs are as polished and hook-laden as anything you’d hear in the real K-pop charts, with infectious melodies, high-energy choreography, and a production sheen that borders on hypnotic. Numbers like “Golden” and “Your Idol” are woven deeply into the fabric of the story, functioning both as narrative engines and cultural earworms. By the time the credits roll, the film has not only told its story but left you humming it, carrying its emotional and thematic beats long after you’ve stepped away from the screen.

Far from weakening the argument, this strengthens it. What should have been a “woke” flop has succeeded spectacularly. Artistically, it is a triumph. Morally, it is deeply concerning.

The Moral Sleight-of-Hand

In the film’s own mythology, demons are portrayed as evil beings who have willingly sworn themselves to Gwi-Ma, the soul-devouring demon king, in exchange for power. They are predators who pose an existential threat to humanity, not misunderstood outsiders. This framework, while still perhaps a troubling inclusion for a children’s film, at the very least has internal coherence: demonhood is a visible consequence of moral choice. To be demonic is to be evil.

Unfortunately the coherence ends when it comes to the film’s protagonist, Rumi. She alone is different. Rumi’s demonhood is implied to be an immutable characteristic, something she inherited from her demon father. There are moments where the film’s writing hints that perhaps she has some hidden shame, some reason for why she is demonic. Ultimately, however, the film resolves this confusion by establishing that the object of her shame is her half-demon birth. This stands as a strange, hidden contrast to the film’s primary antagonist, Jinu, whose shame and demonhood is due to his choice to abandon his family for comfort and pleasure.

The film even makes this explicit in one of its most revealing exchanges. Responding to Jinu’s confession that he sold his soul to Gwi-Ma, Rumi says: “You made a mistake, Jinu.” Jinu replies, “It’s not that simple.” Rumi answers: “But I am a mistake. Have been since the moment I was born.” This line crystalizes the film’s central distinction. It is not the language of moral failure or repentance, but the language of inherent identity; the admission that her shame is not created by something she has done, but something she is.

In framing her demonhood as an immutable condition rather than a corrupt choice, the story severs demonhood from moral accountability, setting up its redefinition as something which can to be embraced rather than overcome. The film confuses this further by hinting that demonhood is not inherently evil, contrasting Rumi’s inherited traits with Jinu’s chosen corruption. This is the sort of moral blurring that makes the film’s message resonate as progressive individualism.

By redefining demonhood for her alone, the film muddles the moral logic of its world, transforming what was once a sign of corruption into a confused symbol of unjust prejudice.

When Vice Becomes Virtue

This inconsistency is leveraged within the narrative. The act of swearing oneself to Gwi-Ma is still portrayed as evil for everyone else, yet Rumi is celebrated for embracing the very marks that, in all other cases, signify a willing subordination with destruction and evil.

One of the film’s signature songs, “Takedown” illustrates this point perfectly. Initially written by Huntr/x as a diss trick to shame the demonic Saja Boys for their demonhood, Rumi attempts to rewrite the lyrics as they get closer to performing it, all while she begins to own her demonic identity. The film frames Huntr/x's condemnation of demonhood as morally wrong, even portraying the narrative's low point while this song is playing.

Drawing on elements of Korean folklore (where performers like the mudang can channel spiritual forces), the film frames demons as complex figures, not always wholly evil, but dangerous and powerful. This cultural nuance makes Rumi’s transformation feel authentic, even aspirational, to global audiences. Yet it is precisely this ambiguity that fuels the film’s ideological confusion, presenting self-acceptance as an inherent virtue even when tied to traits the story itself associates with demonic predation.

This sleight-of-hand reaches its peak in the climax. As Rumi embraces her demonic heritage onstage, the camera frames her transformation with triumphant music, radiant lighting, and rapturous crowd shots. The film offers zero explanation for why her powers are now virtuous while all other demonic power remains evil. She never wrestles with the implications of being bound to an inherited identity of soul-consumption, never confronts the inherent corruption of her paternal lineage. In fact, neither do her friends. Instead, she reframes every destructive element as a source of strength, and the story rewards her self-acceptance with victory, adoration, and power.

Self-Definition as Salvation

At its core, “KPop Demon Hunters” presents a deceptively simple doctrine of salvation: that self-definition and self-acceptance rather than truth, goodness, or moral reform is the ultimate salvation. Rumi’s journey is not about overcoming her demonic heritage or choosing between human and demonic values; Rumi’s journey is fundamentally about the supposedly liberating act of declaring both parts of herself equally valid and building her entire identity around that declaration. In other words, the primary message of this movie is an embrace and celebration of radical expressive individualism.

Expressive individualism¹ is a modern cultural belief that a person’s deepest identity is found by looking inward, discovering their unique feelings, desires, and intuitions, and then outwardly expressing and living in accordance to those findings regardless of external moral obligations or norms.

This framework, embedded within “KPop Demon Hunters,” represents an explicit rejection of traditional redemption narratives found all throughout fictional films and literature, wherein salvation comes through alignment with objective moral reality, often at a significant personal cost. Instead, “KPop Demon Hunters” suggests that the very act of self-acceptance, regardless of the moral quality of that acceptance, constitutes the highest form of moral achievement. This is not to say that challenging unjust shame or celebrating resilience is wrong; the danger lies in equating moral achievement with self-affirmation absent any moral transformation.

The False Binary & Real Redemption

The film offers a false choice: hide your “shame” and let it consume you, or display it proudly and make it your identity. Celine’s approach to Rumi’s heritage, to conceal it utterly from even close friends, is portrayed as oppressive, harmful, and evil. Rumi’s embrace is framed as a liberation. Nowhere does the story imagine a third way: acknowledge what is wrong without centering identity upon it.

Thematically, the story would have been far more powerful had Rumi’s demonhood been a terrible mistake rather than an immutable characteristic. For instance, her “shame” could have been framed as a desperate bargain made with Gwi-Ma as a frightened child, one that left her marked and bound to his service. Such a backstory could have given her shame real moral weight whilst also preserving her capacity for redemption. Every demon she hunted could have then been seen as an act of penance, every performance an attempt to drown out the shadowy voice that once lured her into the darkness. In that version, the climax would have actually been a rejection not of arbitrary shame, but of the lingering lie that her worst choices define her forever. That is a victory grounded in both truth and moral coherence.

Consider the Beast from Beauty and the Beast, a classic example of redemptive storytelling. Like Rumi, the Beast carries a monstrous nature that brings shame and isolation. But his outward form reflects inner corruption, punishment for earlier cruelty. The story shows him learning to channel strength toward virtuous ends at great personal cost. When his curse breaks, the acceptance he receives is earned through moral transformation, not self-declaration. True redemption comes through character change, not identity celebration.

This is the kind of nuanced moral storytelling “KPop Demon Hunters” abandons in favor of a framework where feeling authentic automatically constitutes virtue regardless of the moral weight of what is being accepted.

When the Hook Sings the Lie

The film’s most powerful element may also be its most disturbing: how it uses music, the story’s central metaphor for salvation, power, and influence, to normalize moral inversion. The hit song “Your Idol” exemplifies this excellently. Performed by Jinu, a literal demon whose purpose is consuming souls, it contains lines such as: “I’m the only one who will love your sins” and “You gave me heart, now I’m here for your soul.” Within the story’s framework, these aren’t metaphorical expressions of romantic devotion at all: they’re literal statements of predatory intent.

What makes this particularly effective is how the film frames Jinu himself. He’s not presented as a straightforward villain but as a sympathetic figure, conflicted, honest about his nature, and ultimately heroic when he saves Rumi from Gwi-Ma. The person delivering these seductive, soul-claiming lyrics is also the character who challenges Rumi to embrace authenticity and who performs the film’s most dramatically satisfying act of betrayal-turned-heroism. This moral blurring makes the dangerous content of “Your Idol” feel not just acceptable but aspirational, delivered by someone the audience is meant to find appealing and even admirable.

In an odd way, “Your Idol” is the most honest moment in the entire film. It says the quiet part out loud. Its lyrics, far from being coy metaphors, describe with chilling precision what celebrities sometimes become: objects of worship who take not just admiration, but devotion, identity, and even a piece of the soul. The film even depicts the crowds for both Huntr/x and the Saja Boys as literal worshippers. Ironically, it’s the demonic boy band, the supposed villains, who are truly honest about this reality, while the heroes absorb the same worship without question.

As I am writing, the song “Your Idol” is #5 on the global charts, having been listened to on Spotify nearly 214 million times. The writers use the film’s most appealing aspect to reinforce its message, to which children will spend hundreds of hours listening to on repeat without truly considering the song’s meaning. The repetition factor amplifies the film’s impact. Children and teenagers won’t encounter these messages once in a theater and move on, they’ll loop “Your Idol” hundreds of times, creating strong associations between explicitly predatory lyrics and the dopamine response triggered by catchy music. Each repetition reinforces connections between demonic imagery, language, and positive emotions, making what the film itself identifies as evil feel exciting and appealing. This isn’t passive cultural absorption but sustained exposure, using the proven power of both pop music and storytelling to normalize dangerous content.

How the Lies Become Beautiful

“KPop Demon Hunters” demonstrates how progressive storytelling succeeds by coordinating multiple techniques to make ideological inversion feel natural and inevitable. The film’s stunning production values make audiences receptive to its message, while confusing protagonists like Rumi blur moral categories until demonhood seems noble rather than evil. The infectious music embeds these inversions directly into listeners’ emotional responses, creating positive associations with explicitly predatory lyrics. Meanwhile, the central narrative arc frames self-acceptance as an automatic virtue, regardless of what is being accepted. Each element reinforces the others, creating a comprehensive system for transforming vice into virtue through sheer storytelling excellence. This is why the film succeeds where ham-fisted progressive messaging fails: it doesn’t lecture audiences about rejecting traditional morality, it makes that rejection feel like the most natural, beautiful, and emotionally satisfying choice imaginable.

Why It Matters

“KPop Demon Hunters” succeeds as entertainment precisely because it offers an appealing solution to genuine human struggles. Who hasn’t felt shame about aspects of themselves? Who hasn’t desired unconditional acceptance? The film’s emotional intelligence about these universal experiences makes its core message persuasive and effective.

This is exactly why the film deserves serious attention from conservatives. The story functions as a beautifully animated argument that moral categories are oppressive constructs standing between individuals and authentic self-expression. It packages the philosophy of expressive individualism in such a compelling form that audiences absorb it almost unconsciously, humming along to explicitly demonic lyrics while feeling emotionally satisfied by a narrative that celebrates moral inversion.

The film’s massive success (159 million Netflix views, multiple chart-topping songs, global cultural dominance) proves that “go woke, go broke” is a comforting myth. Progressive content doesn’t fail automatically. When wrapped in genuinely excellent storytelling, it succeeds spectacularly and reaches even conservatives themselves, audiences they might have assumed were beyond progressive influence, and shaping moral intuitions in ways that pure argument never could.

This represents something conservatives have been slow to recognize: progressives are getting better at storytelling. They’ve learned to embed their worldview in stories so well-crafted that millions of viewers, including many who would reject progressive ideology if presented directly, find themselves rooting for a protagonist who literally embraces demonic power as self-empowerment.

The Insidious Danger of Beautiful Lies

This mastery should concern anyone tracking shifts in American cultural messaging. If progressives continue perfecting the art of embedding their values in irresistibly compelling stories while conservatives assume good values naturally produce good art, the culture war will be lost by default.

Yes, conservatives face structural disadvantages. We are largely shut out of Hollywood studios, streaming platforms, music labels, and publishing houses. But this reality makes the challenge urgent, not impossible. Independent creators have more tools than ever, and streaming platforms remain businesses that follow audience demand. The real obstacle is our willingness to invest. Major studios greenlight dozens of projects knowing most will fail, understanding that few successes can define culture for decades. If conservatives expect to compete, we must fund creative projects with the same mindset, accepting that failure is part of the process.

The success of any story in the public imagination is measured by how well it is told, not by the righteousness of its message. The beautiful lies of “KPop Demon Hunters” work because they are beautiful. If we want our truths to win, we must tell them as beautifully as our opponents tell their lies. Otherwise, the next generation will inherit not our convictions, but their seductions.

1. For further reading on the concept of expressive individualism, see Carl Trueman's foundational work, The Rise and Triumph of the Modern Self: Cultural Amnesia, Expressive Individualism, and the Road to Sexual Revolution.