Following the initial round of dismissive reviews, I put off seeing Squid Game’s second season. Even as a fan of the first round, there wasn’t much reason to believe that returning to the world would be all that interesting. Sure, there was enough of a hook to move forward, but what would a show resting on such a childish gimmick possibly have to say? We know what to expect. You walk in while risking your life only to be assaulted by a masked individual over a popular South Korean kids' game. It’s a brutal way to make money, but… the metaphor works. As someone who lives in California and thus is exposed to daily commercials asking me to play the lottery, the desperation feels real.
My interest didn't emerge until news came out that “the final season” would be out in the middle of June. Suddenly, I became intrigued by the theory that maybe Hwang Dong-hyuk had a greater vision. Maybe this was a clear three-act structure. If nothing else, it meant I wouldn’t be shackled to the metaphor going the way of Hulu’s The Handmaid’s Tale for so long it ceased relevance. This would all end one way or another.
As I pressed play on Netflix a week ago, something became clear. Even if this is ultimately about social practices relevant to South Korea, there was something familiar and strange about Squid Game in 2025. Since the presidential election, I have been much more existential than usual. As I live in a country that has broken the rulebook multiple times over four months, I have been questioning the permanence of laws (if there ever was any). Everything feels scary because so much is changing so fast that feels antithetical to the vision I grew up understanding. Even looking ahead to June and Pride Month, I’m reminded of how bullies have basically reduced it to a crater in the wake of some heterosexual pride month pap. In my eyes, America is both a land still more united than we let on, but the hatred trickles down in ways that find the leprosy attacking limbs that used to be muscular. It’s sickening.
Along with my recent acquisition of The Hunger Games’ latest, “Sunrise of the Reaping,” I have been curious to explore how media depicts a country’s dystopic fallout. Suzanne Collins’ vision has real lab rat energy. There is a need to ostracize, turning innocent people into victims to be lessons for the greater public. Most of all, there is no rhyme or reason to The Hunger Games. They need two people per district, and the only real expression of freedom comes at the selection process (the reaping) if somebody dares step up and volunteer as tribute. The good luck phrase, “May the odds be ever in your favor,” works more as dark humor than a hopeful rallying cry. Unless one is born into wealth, every year will include a lengthy exercise about mortality, drenched in reality TV iconography that dehumanizes the harsh realities.
In theory, The Hunger Games and Squid Game are cut from the same cloth. Both are ultimately about watching one individual in a crowd of many survive profound carnage at the hands of the elites. However, as I watched season two, I came to one conclusion that I found very shocking. More people may die in senseless ways, but Squid Game is equivocally more optimistic and aspirational.
Let me backtrack a minute. How can a story built around hundreds dying for the sake of a cash prize possibly be seen as an ideal situation? The larger answer is that it isn’t. At no point should capital replace the value of humanity. However, I think this comes down to the value that a country’s identity places on its citizens. In America, it’s a land of individualistic accomplishments, meaning that we celebrate the ingenuity of one person. A lot of collaborative processes are hard to process and, in fact, has lead to many stories of greedy individuals hogging credit. It’s a tale as old as time. In fact, according to “The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes,” it’s that very reasoning that The Hunger Games were born. To be clear, I’m not familiar with South Korean history, but it’s easy to look at Squid Game and understand the collectivist mentality where everyone helps society to function.
On some level, Squid Game is more aspirational because there is still a greater sense of purpose. Despite the cruel premise, the games exist closer to a black market that one seeks out. There is no sense of gathering in the town square to watch a woman gowned in flamboyant tapestries happily announce the member who is likely to die. Dong-hyuk acknowledges that there are financial restraints that would lead people to act desperately, but they also have a level of freedom that is slowly fading from America’s identity. In a time where citizens are being put in concentration camps and Photoshopped to look like gang members, something is appealing about Squid Game having the courtesy to be an offer instead of a mandate.
In fairness, the sinister network has its own manipulative tools to prey on vulnerable people. The mind tricks include offering the destitute a choice of bread or a lottery ticket. The mystery of potential wealth causes many to take the less filling. There is this hope that having more money will buy more than bread. In most cases, they end up handing the scratcher coin back to a man who seems to mock them by proceeding to smash the bread and blaming them for this meaningless waste. The simplicity gets to the heart of how humans are motivated to question what’s valuable. After all, someone with an empty stomach will do anything to get more food. Suddenly, a card to a mysterious, shady organization seems appealing.
Something I found more haunting about Squid Game this time around was how practical it all is. Compared to other dystopian properties, this story never strays too far from a vision that makes sense. It may be why Netflix expanded the brand with their own less fatal game show version, which many have rightly noted has missed the point. Even Amazon has made its own knock-off hosted by a YouTube phenomenon. It’s a story so accessible in part because the games are tied to something juvenile within all of us. In theory, we all know how to play Red Light Green Light. We should know how to spin a top. And yet, placing it in the context of life or death circumstances provides a bizarre imbalance of control. Everyone is judging you, and failure is fatal. How could something so innocent be so morbid?
To be honest, I don’t think Squid Game is saying the most revolutionary things about capitalism and the treatment of the working class. Most of these stories aren’t (The Hunger Games in particular has been accused of ripping off the similar plot of Battle Royale (2000)). Even the conceit of Squid Game’s second season feels reminiscent of “Catching Fire.” At some point, you must accept that it’s just about how it entertains and persuades the viewer. There is a need to build empathy for the right people and, I’d argue, Squid Game does a fantastic job of making you care in the broad strokes. It’s there in highlighting identities like the expectant mother, a recently unemployed woman, a trans woman wanting money for surgery, and a handful of people who fell victim to a Cryptocurrency crash-out. These are all plausible reasons to feel desperate. The way security can fall out at a moment’s notice would drive someone to fill their bellies with potential cash. It presents a conceptual safety that could solve their problems.
Again, the thing that makes Squid Game one of the more optimistic dystopian properties is the fact that it presents everything as an option. Everyone is given the chance to avoid falling into the unknown pitfalls, albeit at the risk of never financially recovering. It’s a show rooted in uncertainty, and the only way to understand its depravity is to enter a mysterious island. There is no escape. Once the game clock starts, the challenge is to make it to the end before everything falls apart.
Protagonist Seong Gi-hun ended season one traumatized by his experiences. He has guilt regarding the group’s ongoing practices. He feels in his heart that he must stop it, and the only way to achieve it is to dismantle it from the inside. It’s a tale as old as time. But how can Gi-hun possibly lead a revolt more attractive than capitalism? Upon playing the games and seeing the casualties, there are still people who believe they’re lucky enough to move forward. The phrase “one more game” becomes the squad’s motto, believing that a few more deaths could give them a comfortable increase in winnings.
A reason that this is important is that Squid Game is ultimately about the collectivist mentality. Whereas The Hunger Games emphasizes the whims of its leader, there is a perceptive democracy in Squid Game. Following each game, the group has the right to vote to stop or continue. The majority dictates the outcome.
It’s here that I also felt a strange cross-cultural dread. It wasn’t necessarily just the risk of watching dozens more die over a kids' game, but the way it reflects my feelings on the prior American election. For every topic that could be considered in the candidates, it all came down to economics. Why did Republicans win? There was a sense that they’d provide jobs and safety. Watching Squid Game, it became nauseating to watch the group bet against their self-interest (i.e., their lives) just to make a little more money. Never mind that there was a shared collection of the pot already. Instead, the cries “one more game” overpowered. Who doesn’t want more money? The empathy I felt for Seong as he realized that a revolt wasn’t a sure thing is not dissimilar from how I felt living through the past few months and noticing the exclusionary practices of America’s federal government. I accept that our financial distribution isn’t as convenient as Squid Game, but the idea of voting against self-interest just to risk life for capital is a painful metaphor to grasp right now.
Without delving too far into the narrative, season two’s emphasis on the revolt meant it spent more time in the trenches. Along with deconstructing how the institution was run, Dong-hyuk spent long periods letting characters discuss their motivations and dreams. There was a level of empathy that’s always been there, but now it felt like a greater understanding of society’s failures. Everyone just wants to live comfortably. The fact that it has to come at the hands of others dying is a terrible conceit… at least for those who have a sensible head.
In fairness, The Hunger Games eventually reaches the point of social class rebellion in “Mockingjay.” There is a moment where everyone comes together to solve a greater problem. However, the institution they’re taking down has more to work against. The titular game is grafted into their cultural traditions. Every name becomes mythic, willing an ironic joke about their untimely passing. In the case of Squid Game, the casualties are mostly forgotten, thrown to the dregs of society, and mostly accused of throwing their life away. It’s cruel in its own subtlety.
All in all, there is something weirdly comforting about Squid Game in 2025. It may not have the potency that it did upon premiere, but I think it has thankfully gone away from being about more than the gimmick. It is about recognizing that change is difficult but can only be achieved by the masses. Hopefully, it doesn’t involve as many firearms, but that is why this is fiction. I wouldn’t say any of these narratives are aspirational for a functioning society, but as someone fearful of America’s future, there is something hopeful about Squid Game still providing opportunities to have your say and opt out. Admittedly, it won’t happen overnight, but with enough time, there’s a good chance something will happen. My only hope is that season three ends everything with a personal and declarative statement that is more than senseless violence. I know it’s all fantasy, but through fiction one can dream of a brighter future that can be willed into existence.
Comments
Post a Comment