Why “K-Pop Demon Hunters” Might Be the Best Animated Movie Musical of the Year
by Chris Peterson
Every now and then, a movie comes along that feels like it was made with you in mind. Not just because it’s fun or fresh, but because it speaks directly to your identity, your culture, your pride, and the kind of stories you’ve always wanted to see on screen. K-Pop Demon Hunters isn’t just a good movie. It might just be the best animated movie musical of the year.
It’s bold. It’s empowering. It’s completely wild in all the right ways. And as a Korean American, I’ve never felt more proud or more seen.
Set in a dazzling version of Seoul where demons hide in plain sight, the film follows the world’s hottest K-pop girl group, Huntrix—Rumi, Mira, and Zoey—who just so happen to double as demon slayers. By day, they’re pop icons lighting up stadiums. By night, they’re protecting the city from supernatural threats. It’s part superhero fantasy, part coming-of-age journey, part concert spectacular—and it somehow balances all three without missing a beat.
From the very first song, it’s clear this isn’t your average animated musical. These tracks aren’t filler. They hit. Produced by K-pop heavyweight Teddy Park (BLACKPINK, 2NE1) and written in part by Lindgren and Jenna Andrews, the songs are legitimately fantastic. “Golden” and “How It’s Done” would be right at home on any K-pop playlist. These aren’t watered-down versions of the genre. This is K-pop, and it’s used to drive the narrative forward in really exciting ways.
Unlike many movie musicals that treat songs as momentary breaks from the story, here the music is the story. The choreography, the rhythm, the emotional resonance—it all works in sync. And as someone who grew up with both Disney classics and second-gen K-pop, I can honestly say this is one of the most satisfying soundtracks in recent memory. These are not just catchy tunes. They’re declarations of power, unity, and self-worth.
But what really sets this movie apart is its heart. At the center of it all is Rumi, the group’s charismatic leader, who harbors a secret—she’s part demon herself. Her internal conflict becomes the emotional core of the film, and for me, a deeply personal metaphor. As a Korean American, I know what it feels like to live between worlds. Not quite this, not quite that. Watching Rumi struggle with identity, shame, and acceptance hit harder than I expected. Her story isn’t just about defeating monsters. It’s about learning to embrace all of yourself—and finding power in what once made you feel like an outsider.
Visually, the film is a knockout. The animation blends K-drama beauty with anime intensity and the flash of K-pop concert footage. Every frame pulses with energy and intentionality. And the action sequences, choreographed with real-world dancers as reference, feel like pop performances turned up to eleven. This is not just eye candy. It’s thoughtful, grounded in style and storytelling, and rooted in cultural specificity.
And that’s what makes this movie matter so much. It’s unapologetically Korean. It pulls from folklore, shamanic tradition, modern pop aesthetics, and family dynamics that feel instantly familiar. And yet, it’s accessible to anyone who’s ever wanted to see a hero who looks like them, sings like them, or wrestles with the same sense of belonging.
I’ve watched a lot of animated films over the past year. Some made me laugh. Some made me cry. But K-Pop Demon Hunters made me proud. It’s the rare kind of film that reminds you of what’s possible—not just in animation, but in representation, in genre storytelling, in who gets to take center stage.
Will it win an Oscar? Maybe. Will it become a global box office phenomenon? I hope so. But what I know for sure is this. For Korean Americans, for K-pop fans, for anyone who’s ever needed a little reminder that they are powerful and worthy, this movie matters.