Sin and Shame in KPop Demon Hunters – Christ and Pop Culture

Note: This article contains spoilers for KPop Demon Hunters.

It’s not often that a studio strikes gold, hits the jackpot, and captures lightning in a bottle all at once. Yet that’s precisely what Netflix did when it acquired the animated musical KPop Demon Hunters, and ever since, the world has been captivated by the story of the Huntrix trio, a popular girl band that secretly moonlights as a demon-hunting warrior team.

These young ladies—Rumi, Mira, and Zoey—are the titular demon hunters, locked in a battle of wits, words, and weapons with the demon boy band Saja Boys. The boys want to harvest souls for their demonic overlord, Gwi-Ma, while the girls fight to keep the underworld from infiltrating and pillaging the human world. The plot might sound like nothing more than a corny Sailor Moon rip-off, but KPop Demon Hunters is so much more—musically, visually, and thematically.

What it Sounds Like

The film’s popularity rests largely on the shoulders of its songs, and there isn’t a single dud to be found in the seven original tunes sung by the dueling bands. Not only are the songs infectious earworms (sorry for the imagery), but they also act as emotional and thematic mileposts along the story’s narrative arc. I’m not a fan of K-pop, but I heard about the soundtrack and gave it a try—and subsequently listened to it dozens of times in the following months.

Of course, “Golden” is the film’s flagship song, what with its chart-topping and award-winning track record. Initially, one line from Mira in this song bothered me as a parent: “Called a problem child / ‘Cause I got too wild / But now that’s how I’m getting paid.” But in the context of Asian culture (which is more community-driven and honor-bound than Western culture), Mira’s “wildness” is basically just her speaking her mind. Watch the film in vain for even a hint of what we Americans would call wildness.

And while KPop Demon Hunters is not a Christian film in a literal sense, it’s worth noting that the two villain songs sung by the Saja Boys exhibit a surprisingly biblical theology of sin. Their first song, “Soda Pop,” illustrates how temptation works: it’s exciting and enticing on the front end, masking the true consequences of sin. Then, with “Your Idol,” the masks come off as the demons show their true colors. Songwriter EJAE leaned on her Christian upbringing to help write the lyrics for “Your Idol” so that the song literally “sounds like what an Idol is.”

Eye Candy Corn

The film’s visual palette blends 2-D and 3-D animation techniques and stylized movements. This gives the film’s characters a CG anime quality with choppy movements, slightly reminiscent of stop-motion photography. While not entirely unlike the Spider-Verse films in appearance, it forged its own unique aesthetic path.

There is one visual element, however, that deserves critique. While keeping things PG-rated, the story nevertheless dips its toe into sexual objectification. The main problem isn’t the trio of protagonists, however; with a wardrobe of mostly normal clothing, they are (to quote co-director Maggie Kang) “not overly sexualized but still very strong and feminine.” Rather, the main offense comes from the willing self-objectification of the demon boy band—specifically, the character Abby, named for his proudest feature. For example, in one scene his buttoned shirt pops open, revealing a ripped torso over which the camera and the Huntrix girls rapturously ogle. The screenplay itself refers to one or more of the Saja Boys as “hot” on three separate occasions, and says at one point, “The sex appeal is off the charts.”

This is just another example of our post-MeToo age moving away from female objectification (a good thing) by replacing it with male objectification (which is just switching one evil for another). As is the case with any vice, two wrongs don’t make a right. This abasement of the male antagonists has been defended as being played just for laughs, rather than for the sake of titillation, but visual objectification is still objectification, regardless of intent.

Demonology and Semantics

Serious concern has been raised in numerous Christian circles about KPop Demon Hunters focusing on, well, demons. The problem with any given film, however, is rarely the topic. Rather, it’s how that topic is handled. Including demons in your story can be both appropriate and effective, as evidenced by films like Nefarious and The Exorcism of Emily Rose, not to mention the Bible itself.

But we need to take a step back and make an important distinction. Based largely on Korean folklore rather than Scriptural reality, the film’s “demons” are closer to fantastical beings like goblins than the evil spirits that exist in the real world. Consider that, in this film, the word “demon” applies to both creatures with varying degrees of humanoid appearance and actual humans who have made a pact with Gwi-Ma.

These fully human “demons” could be compared to characters like Doctor Faustus and Dorian Gray who sold their souls to the devil in exchange for wealth and power. Consider also how the demons in this film act: instead of possessing humans, they harvest human souls—which causes the body associated with that soul to disappear entirely. With its numerous fantasy elements, the film’s title could also have been KPop Goblin Hunters.

Nevertheless, the word demon is apt for this film, as it works on two fronts: describing the external monsters that the Huntrix girls fight as well as the internal and metaphorical demons they must battle.

No More Hiding

Fifteen minutes into the story, we learn that lead-singer Rumi is part demon herself, as evidenced by the vein-like skin patterns that all demons share. She fastidiously hides these patterns from her friends through the long-sleeve clothes she wears, and her secret goal in defeating Gwi-Ma is to rid herself of the shame she feels about her lineage.

Shame is a major theme of the narrative. It is the key weapon Gwi-Ma uses to control and manipulate both demons and humans. And the way Rumi’s shame is resolved has led some audiences to believe that the film’s message is about self-acceptance at the expense of rejecting darkness. In other words, we defeat shame by embracing our faults rather than confessing and forsaking them.

It’s understandable why some audiences might walk away with this message. After all, we’re awash in a culture that promotes absolute self-acceptance as a way to justify all sorts of sins. A character coming to terms with their shame could be interpreted (rightly or wrongly) as being about accepting their shame, or even finding “glory… in their shame” (Philippians 3:19). However, at least two factors indicate that this isn’t the true message of KPop Demon Hunters.

First, co-director Maggie Kang has explicitly stated that the message of the film is about “overcoming your inner demons”—not about “accepting your inner demons.” That is an important distinction to make. There is a difference between confessing shame and embracing shame, and Kang’s intent was to promote the former, not the latter.

A similar confusion can crop up in response to the gospel itself. The freeness of the grace of God leads some to interpret the gospel message as antinomianism—i.e., you can sin all you want, because where sin increases, grace increases all the more (Romans 5:21). But rather than encouraging us to sin so that grace may increase (Romans 6:1), the gospel defeats our sin so that we can live a genuinely new life (Romans 6:4). As has been shown in redemptive history, promoting freedom can easily be mistaken as promoting lawlessness.

The second reason why KPop Demon Hunters is about overcoming shame rather than accepting it lies in Rumi’s character arc. Her initial response to shame, as expertly pointed out in my wife’s review of the film, is to hide and to work. These are the two natural human responses to shame, and they are both defunct. As to hiding, the Huntrix’s mantra—“Our faults and fears must never be seen”—is a form of self-deception that solves nothing. (Rumi eventually confesses as much during the song “Free” when she sings, “We can’t fix it if we never face it.”) As to work being the solution to shame, all of Rumi’s efforts prove ineffective in overcoming her inner demons; the more she insists that she can fix herself, the less she is able to do so.

What finally turns the tide is when Rumi comes face to face with Gwi-Ma, her accuser, and accepts the truth. Gwi-Ma tells her she can’t fix herself, and she admits, “I can’t”; Gwi-Ma reminds her that everyone finally sees her faults, and she confesses, “They do.”

I am reminded of what Martin Luther advises the Christian when faced with the reality of one’s failings:

When the devil throws our sins up to us and declares we deserve death and hell, we ought to speak thus: “I admit that I deserve death and hell. What of it? Does this mean that I shall be sentenced to eternal damnation? By no means. For I know One who suffered and made a satisfaction in my behalf. His name is Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

It is true that KPop Demon Hunters has no clear God figure, and Rumi does not appeal to anyone or anything outside herself for rescue. Interestingly enough, though, it is the subsequent sacrificial act of another character that finally secures Rumi’s freedom and empowers her to overcome both the outer and inner darkness. She confesses the truth, someone makes satisfaction on her behalf, and her shame is definitively overcome.

Truth over lies. Confession over hiding. Sacrificial love over self-effort. All the ways in which Rumi experiences liberation come not by denying the reality or legitimacy of shame, but by dealing with it in a way that brings true and lasting peace.

The filmmakers of KPop Demon Hunters didn’t set out to make a story exemplifying the gospel’s transforming power. Still, there’s enough common grace in the film’s narrative that paints “a shadow of the things to come” (Colossians 2:17), even if the reality is found in Christ. These echoes of eternal truth are likely a part of why this film resonates so powerfully with audiences around the world.