This past weekend I watched Netflix’s inescapable summer megahit “KPop Demon Hunters” three times. Once in the Paris Theater, that stunning art-house cinema near Central Park, as part of a weekend of singalong screenings across the country. Later that day when I got home. And again the following day. That puts me up to 6 or 7 viewings since the movie’s release, and each time I remain charmed by its vibrant visuals and infectious tunes.

Those half dozen viewings are still a far cry from the most devoted “KPop” fans, many of whom I encountered at the singalong screenings. My show was as much a talk-along as it was a singalong; many of the pint-size patrons were so familiar with the movie that they spoke all the dialogue as well. Kids with long purple braids, like “KPop” hero Rumi, and wearing “KPop” shirts and hats, lined up to take pictures with “KPop” cosplayers. But it wasn’t just kids; my row at the theater was exclusively adults. The grown woman next to me sang and screamed with as much passion as anyone else.

Over the course of the summer, “KPop Demon Hunters” has gone from a slow-burn hit to a Netflix chart topper to an outright phenomenon. The song “Golden” reached No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100 charts, and theatrical screenings like the one I attended, propelled it to the top of the box office — impressive feats for what was originally seen as a modest streaming animated movie. Just this week Netflix announced it was the company’s most-watched movie ever, proving that the streaming service’s fervent commitment to producing new animated works is paying off.

Its success is because of many factors, but there’s one that I think has been overlooked in trying to explain the sensation — the movie’s fundamental understanding of, and respect for, fandom. We’re constantly awash in media meant to draw followers, but more often than not that translates to companies treating the public as consumers. Franchises that tell the increasingly bloated stories of caped heroes are built to prioritize output rather than narrative or cinematic integrity, let alone fan approval. “KPop” puts an emphasis on the experience of fans while also engaging devotees of niche communities, like anime and K-pop. And in doing so it has fostered the growth of its own thriving fandom.

It all starts with the story itself. “Happy fans, happy Honmoon” is the rallying cry of Huntrix, Rumi, Mira and Zoey, the movie’s demon-hunting pop stars. Their mission is to use music to help seal the Honmoon, a magical barrier meant to separate the demons from the human world. But when the Saja Boys, a demon K-pop band, threaten to steal their fans, the hunters set out to defeat them and thus prevent the collapse of the Honmoon.