So… my husband and I may have watched K-Pop Demon Hunters a few more times since my last review—and yes, the soundtrack has been on repeat in our house ever since. I am still a fan of the movie and I think it hits a lot of core storytelling elements that have been missing in recent cinematic releases. I love love love the theme that we find healing when we focus on our common humanity.
The film shines when emphasizing unity. The group of demon hunters, styled like a K-pop girl band, only thrives when they harmonize—not just in song, but in soul. Each member brings her own wounds, doubts, and fears, but healing begins when they truly listen to one another. When the characters begin to operate out of secure belonging rather than fear, their power to overcome darkness multiplies. The film makes a powerful statement about shared experience and mutual support—a message that I think profoundly resonates with the Catholic understanding of the Mystical Body of Christ, the communion of saints, and the universality of the faith. We are stronger together. This theme is also at the core of attachment theory. Yet, for all the strengths of K-Pop Demon Hunters, one moment felt like a missed opportunity.
Disclaimer: SPOILERS AHEAD, only keep reading if you’ve watched the movie at least once, I don’t want to ruin it for you!
On our latest rewatch, my husband pointed out something that really stuck with me. He noticed that the transition from Rumi being told by her aunt that they can still “fix everything” by covering up her patterns—to her confidently stepping back into the ring with a newfound conviction felt a bit abrupt. And honestly, the more I sat with that, the more it started to stir something deeper for me.
Healing Happens in Harmony
Attachment Theory and the Catholic vision of the human person both propose that human beings are at their core relational. We all develop a way of relating to others based on our past experiences in foundational relationships – typically with our parents. Rumi’s character has some significant attachment injuries. She does not know her parents and was raised by her aunt who loves her, but is at a loss how to manage the tension between what her patterns represent and her role as a demon hunter. Her aunt believes that the only way she can be a demon hunter and fight to protect the world from evil is to keep her bad parts hidden. All three demon hunters have struggles that they keep inside. They only show the positive, put on a brave face, and present to the world the good.
After Rumi is betrayed by Jinu, it feels like she has lost everything. She went from soaring through the air and feeling her hope come alive through the Golden honmoon to her best friends performing a literal Takedown – leaving her feeling worthless and alone. In the next scene, she is seeking reassurance from her aunt. She is looking for a way to rebuild, to move forward, to fix things. Her aunt reinforces the old line, that the only way forward is to hide and get rid of her flaws. Rumi rejects her aunt and the old ways, leaving the scene with a sinister promise of destruction. This leaves the viewers wondering if Rumi is succumbing to her dark side, if the patterns are taking over, and twisting her into a demon herself.
Cut to, Rumi’s epic performance of This is What it Sounds Like. Hang on a minute… she felt betrayed by literally everyone, leaves her aunt on a warpath to destroy the honmoon, and suddenly she’s ready to fight to make a new one? This is the leap my husband and I felt was a missed opportunity. When Rumi decides to remake the honmoon, she does so entirely on her own – and off-camera! While this speaks to a kind of self-determination and agency, it lacks a key component of Catholic spirituality and Attachment Theory: redemption through relationship.
The Catechism teaches that we are not saved in isolation but as part of a people (CCC 781). Similarly, in the film, salvation comes not through solitary heroism, but through communion. The demon-hunting team only triumphs when they move from isolated pain to vulnerable interdependence. As they start to trust one another, their strength grows—not just in battle, but in spirit.
So imagine instead, if in that moment, Rumi encountered a vision of her mother—a past demon hunter—offering guidance or reconciliation. That encounter could have redeemed not just the honmoon, but Rumi’s entire journey. Rather than rewriting tradition from scratch on her own terms, she could have renewed it through connection with her past. This would have shown the power of generational healing, of receiving a legacy instead of discarding it, and of discerning rather than discarding.
As Catholics, we understand that tradition is not a chain but a lifeline. We don’t reinvent the wheel—we redeem it. Christ Himself came not to abolish the Law, but to fulfill it (Matthew 5:17). Rumi’s solo decision, while empowering in its own way, misses the deeper beauty of renewal and empowerment that comes through communion with those who came before.
A Word on Shame and a Missed Opportunity
I could probably write an entire blog post on how the film misses an opportunity to explore the deeper layers of shame. (Okay, I’ll try to squeeze it in here—three posts on K-Pop Demon Hunters might be pushing it. I swear I’m not obsessed.)
There’s a fascinating contrast between Brené Brown and St. John Paul II when it comes to shame. Brené Brown describes shame as the toxic belief that “I am bad”—an emotion that isolates us and distorts our sense of self. In her framework, shame erodes connection and fuels perfectionism and self-rejection.
John Paul II, on the other hand, offers a redemptive take. For him, shame isn’t inherently toxic; it’s a signal that we’re clinging to something—an identity, a wound, a fear—that separates us from others and from God. In healthy early relationships, especially with parental figures who affirm our worth, we develop a secure sense of self that protects us from shame. But when those relationships are broken or conditional, we often internalize the belief that we are the problem in order to preserve the connection. We carry that wound into adulthood.
From a Catholic perspective, God does not shame us—He affirms our goodness and invites us to let go of anything that distances us from Him. If we rooted our identity more deeply in His love, and less in our fragile self-concepts, maybe we wouldn’t feel so “bad” in the first place.
Hope as the Final Word
Despite its minor flaws, K-Pop Demon Hunters ends with a spirit of hope. Evil is not obliterated, but confronted and contained through love, community, and shared resolve. This is perhaps the most Catholic message of all—that though darkness persists, the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it (John 1:5). This film may not be overtly religious, but it carries echoes of sacred truth. In its pop-song battles and glittering fight scenes, it reminds us of the daily battle between light and shadow in every heart—and the enduring truth that we overcome not alone, but together. In the end, maybe the real exorcism isn’t just of demons—but of isolation, shame, and fear. And in their place, we find harmony, healing, and hope.