A South Korean monk’s performance of a Buddhist ritual for a wildly popular K-pop boy band proved to be his most unconventional ceremony to date.
His objective: to guide the band’s souls toward peace and rebirth.
The band members were long gone—or, more accurately, they had never existed outside the fictional realm of the animated Netflix sensation, Kpop Demon Hunters.
Nonetheless, the YouTube video rapidly gained viral status.
Despite being cast as antagonists, the Saja Boys have garnered a devoted following due to their striking looks and charismatic swagger. Their name itself—”saja”—can be interpreted as “angel of death,” among other meanings.
The live-streamed service, a traditional Buddhist rite known as Chondojae typically conducted by monks for grieving families, extended for over two hours and attracted more than 4,000 viewers—a larger audience than he had ever encountered for a ceremony, even in person, according to the monk, a virtual YouTuber who has chosen to remain anonymous.
This was no mere jest. The BBC has verified his status as a registered monk. However, he could not guarantee salvation for the Saja Boys, including their leader, Jinu.
“That would depend on his good karma. I can guide him, but I can’t promise.”
As K-pop Demon Hunters continues to dominate charts—Netflix reports it as its most-watched movie ever—Koreans are reveling in the moment. Created and voiced by Korean-Americans, developed by Sony, and released by Netflix, the film draws deeply from Korean inspiration.
The narrative revolves around mythical demon hunters whose power stems from their music—in this instance, a sassy K-pop girl band called Huntrix. Naturally, the soundtrack, which fans worldwide are now singing along to daily, is rooted in South Korea’s most prominent export: K-pop.
All of this has ignited a frenzy in South Korea, mirroring the fascination with Korean culture that the movie has spurred in numerous other locations, and even a touch of FOMO (fear of missing out)—as, unlike the US and Canada, there are no current plans to release the movie in cinemas locally.
“Seeing all the sing-along clips [online] at cinemas… I’m jealous of Americans!” a fan wrote on social media. Another vowed, “I’ll even take a day off if KDH comes to cinemas”—a significant commitment in South Korea’s demanding work culture.
Part of the fandom arises from respect. Many Koreans are cautious about clumsy depictions of their country on screen, particularly given the current global popularity of Korean culture. A misrepresentation in such a widely successful project would have been a painful blow.
“I’ve encountered numerous films and dramas that touched on Korean culture, but they were consistently riddled with errors. They would confuse it with Chinese or Japanese traditions, feature actors speaking awkward Korean, and reduce everything to a superficial imitation,” says Lee Yu-min, a woman in her 30s.
“But I was genuinely astonished at KDH’s portrayal of our culture.” Highlighting the opening scene, she notes: “A thatched-roof house from the Joseon Dynasty, ordinary people in hanbok [traditional Korean clothing] with their distinct hairstyles—the details were almost perfect.”
She admits she had “never imagined” that it would capture hearts across the world in the manner it has.
Songs from the movie have become some of the most streamed on Spotify, while the track Golden hit number one on the Billboard Hot 100.
The fandom in South Korea is equally fervent. Surprisingly, one of the primary beneficiaries has been the National Museum of Korea, which houses traditional Korean artifacts featured in the film.
Already the most visited museum in Asia, it now experiences queues extending outside before opening hours, as Koreans line up to view exhibits and purchase merchandise at the gift shop. It recorded more than 740,000 visitors in July, over twice as many as during the same period last year.
“I arrived there at 10am sharp, when the museum opens, but there were already about a hundred people waiting,” says Lee Da-geon, who hoped to avoid the weekend rush by visiting on a Monday.
But she still left empty-handed: “Everything I wanted sold out.” Her wishlist included a badge featuring a tiger and a magpie—the movie’s animal characters Derpy and Sussie, which are inspired by folk painting.
The soaring sales represent a significant boost for individuals like Choi Nyun-hee, who runs the craft business Heemuse. “My revenue has jumped about five-fold,” she says, adding that her products are now being exported to the US and Australia.
Choi recalls discovering Kpop Demon Hunters when the tiger-shaped “norigae,” a traditional pendant adorned with mother-of-pearl, “suddenly started selling out.”
Choi had previously worked at a museum, where she developed educational programs on Korean artifacts. After watching the film, she concluded that “Korean culture was well-displayed and artfully woven into the narrative.”
For others, the appeal extends beyond imagery and symbolism. “Rumi, the heroine, conceals her true self out of embarrassment and shame. I related to that,” says Lee Da-geon. “In Korea, people worry far too much about what others think.”
Park Jin-soo, a YouTuber who has worked in the Korean film industry, admits that he initially dismissed the movie as “a bizarre animation based on K-pop,” but upon finally viewing it, he found himself thoroughly entertained.
“I would personally like to see KDH on screen, especially at a time when South Korean cinema is desperately in need of blockbuster movies,” he says.
“Right now, they are at war over sharing the same pie, but streaming and cinemas each have their own purpose. If they shape trends together and if it goes viral, won’t the pie they’re fighting over ultimately grow larger? I think KDH can play that role.”
To him, the “sing-along” experience—which is something that only a cinema can offer—is one way of turning a streaming hit into a box office blockbuster.
More than two months after its release, the film’s momentum remains strong—in fact, it’s extending into cinemas. In North America, special “sing-along” screenings have made K-pop Demon Hunters Netflix’s first number one film at the box office.
Now South Korean fans are clamoring for the same experience, with numerous individuals expressing online and offline, “I want to sing KDH in a cinema!!”
The movie will be showcased at the Busan International Film Festival in September, which has announced limited sing-along screenings this year, although tickets are anticipated to be scarce.
Lee Yu-min, who has watched the film more than five times on Netflix, affirms that she is determined to attend if it arrives in cinemas: “I’ll definitely drag my husband along—he hasn’t seen it yet.”
“I’m rooting for KDH screening in South Korea,” declares a fan online. “I know nothing has been confirmed, but I’m already starting to memorize all the lyrics.”
Another asks: “K-pop Demon Hunters is screening in North America, Canada and the UK… so why not in the home of K-pop?”
It is the latest country to restrict phone use among children and teens.
The K-pop band also enjoyed fish and chips ahead of their sold out show in Manchester.
It is the latest in a series of chart-topping achievements by the animated musical.
The deal was announced just hours after the presidents of the US and South Korea met in Washington.
Ahead of Lee’s White House visit, anxieties were bubbling in Seoul that the meeting could turn bitter.