Streaming on: Netflix
Episodes viewed: 5 of 6
Squid Game galloped out of the blocks when it premiered in 2021. Right off the bat, we saw the drowning-in-debt Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae) coerced into a deadly game of Red Light/Green Light, with the first season massacring contestants in almost every episode, folding in organ-harvesting, sadistic gold-masked billionaire patrons, and one of the worst hair makeovers imaginable. Now in its third and final season, the South Korean dystopian sensation remains entirely written and directed by Hwang Dong-hyuk, and stands as a testament to an astonishing talent and work ethic that infamously saw the creator lose ten teeth across the production due to stress.
Dental sacrifices aside, what he’s created is nothing short of miraculous: an internationally adored show, at once thrilling, gorgeous, and satirically astute. Much like Gi-hun knowing how to play Red Light/Green Light, nailing Squid Game comes from knowing when to tear ahead and when to slow the hell down. This playing with pace can be detrimental but largely works to the show’s advantage in its final run. The nauseatingly tense Episode 2 plays out in real time and, unlike in the first season, we’ve had ample time to come to love some of the remaining players — mother-and-son Geum-ja (Kang Ae-sim) and Yong-sik (Yang Dong-geun), and trans former soldier Hyun-ju (Park Sung-hoon) — as well as detest others enough to root for a brutal comeuppance.
Squid Game will go down as one of the darkest and most gripping shows on Netflix.
This thirst for brutality extends to the games. There is, it has to be said, a frustrating lack of consistency when it comes to human biology in this show: some characters shake off seemingly devastating physical events, while others fatally succumb to mere flesh wounds. But at the apex of a stunning performance from Lee Jung-jae, Gi-hun grounds the series’ tragic core, while the games themselves retain a childish glee that makes the juxtaposition with the savagery all the more disturbing. As the number of players dwindles, those that remain are increasingly corrupted into monstrous, sadistic capitalists, no longer distinct from those gold-masked patrons egging them on.
But the most complex and compelling dynamic remains that between Gi-hun and Lee Byung-hun’s Front Man. Both were irreparably transformed by winning the games, and the Front Man both loves and loathes Gi-hun for retaining a humanity that has since eluded him.
Squid Game will go down as one of the darkest and most gripping shows on Netflix, one that didn’t overstay its welcome and went out with a bang. Even if Hwang’s teeth didn’t all last the journey, viewers will be glad that they did.
