I can think of few images more full of hope than the idea that the forces of darkness are defeated by song. Stories with such epic elegance are normally the stuff of Tolkien.*
I did not expect it from Sony and Netflix’s Kpop Demon Hunters.
The premise? Three Korean women from each generation are born to protect humans from the demon realm. They are both hunters and singers — and by bringing people together with their songs of courage and hope, they strengthen the barrier that protects humans from demons.
Of course the film has flaws. For one thing, it glosses over how exacting the K-pop industry can be. But this is a beautiful, original and engaging story that can teach old and young alike about what hope is.
Let me tell you why.
“That’s the funny thing about hope. Nobody else gets to decide if you feel it.”
Hope is something chosen. It’s easy to wonder if hope is a thing you have or an action you do. Well, it’s both — but it’s mainly an action. Hoping (the action) is about doing things now that anticipate a good future, working to make that future a reality. Having hope is about believing that this good future is possible. Giving hope is about helping people hold that belief.
Yes, you could say that hope exists independent of us, that a good future exists whether we believe in it or not. And in that sense, there is always hope. But choosing that future — that’s something we have to do.
Hope thrives on truth, even when the truth is complicated and messy. Good futures are never built on lies. Not even half lies or white lies. Instead, hope requires that we face the realities of the present. And yes that can be hard, and yes we might need help and a safe companion to do that with, but ultimately hope is not about looking away from the present. It’s being able to see through the present to the future.
Hope dispels shame. The film’s message is not unconditional self-acceptance, as if there is no shame or nothing to be ashamed about. Rather, it shows how shame does absolutely nothing to remove guilt (see Jinu) and how shame can lodge itself in parts of ourselves where it is wholly undeserved (see Rumi). In contrast, hope reminds us that all of us have something beautiful in our being that is worthy of life and a future. Like Jinu, we have to decide what we do with this knowledge.
Hope is collective. In Kpop Demon Hunters, song itself is not what overcomes evil. (Neither is fighting, by the way.) Instead, our trio has to find a song that unites them and the people who listen to them.
Hope is bigger and stronger than even the greatest of lies. The villains’ climactic song Your Idol is a masterpiece of false hope that plays on fear. “I can be the star you rely on.” “I will love you more when it all burns down.” “I’m the only one who loves your sins.”
What starts as, “Don’t you know I’m here to save you” soon becomes “No one is coming to save you.”
“Nae hwang hore chwihae, You can’t look away”
It is mesmerising stuff. But even with all its intoxicating power, false hope hasn’t got a patch on the real thing.
Hope doesn’t need to be understood. There is something curved in the nature of hope — it doesn’t always behave in logical ways. Sometimes, it’s in our moments of greatest uncertainty and weakness, when we surrender the safety of package answers that have come to define us, when we open ourselves to new possibilities, when we recognise both our limitations and our power — that’s when we find hope in its clearest form and hope finds us.
It doesn’t matter if we can’t explain hope. What matters is hearing it, resonating with it and adding our voices to its song. And the film shows us this, fluidly and beautifully, in the climactic scene.
I love films like this, not because they tell us everything we need to know but because they tell us enough to remind us of who we can be. As I Christian, I believe we’re called to share the great message of hope. And yes, this is what it sounds like.
If you don’t speak Korean, I would highly recommend the lyric analysis in this YouTube video by Talk To Me In Korean.)
* I refer, of course, to Luthien who got the better of Morgoth (when he was Sauron’s boss) by singing. And for the record, my favourite piece of Luthien is by German artist Anke Eißmann and you can see it on her website Khorazir.
Photo by me.