For many, the current state of Squid Game is one of irony and disappointment. When it first arrived, it was an Emmy-nominated series that was imported on the wave of Eat the Rich media that criticized the role of money in society. While South Korea can never be considered a complete mirror of the United States audience consuming the fatalistic series, there was enough of a hook that spoke to the dire straits of society at the time and, frankly, even more so in the wake of the final season’s airing. Anyone who doesn’t see the parallels between the recent Big Beautiful Bill passing and the potential for the streets to be littered with its own desperate madness needs to stop and think for a minute.
Squid Game should theoretically still be as relevant as ever. Given that we’re also only a few months removed from yet another “Hunger Games” book, the idea of dystopic futures is prevalent once again. Not only that, but I could argue that Squid Game’s vision is more horrifying because of its adjacent realism. There could be a mysterious island where people bet on the slow decay of humanity. They watch as everyone votes against their best interest (survival) in favor of eliminating the competition for a little extra.
It's not a terribly new premise, but one that I considered season two to have tackled in a somewhat compelling manner. The idea of having the chosen protagonist return to overthrow the establishment had merit. Even the feeling of helplessness of a rebellion gone wrong hinted at how lazy and repetitive said systems are. It’s one thing to go in without awareness. It’s another to be so familiar with the fate and to have seen hundreds meet their end at the hands of masked men and the humiliation of not being able to complete kids' games. The psychology is ripe in how it deteriorates the ego and leaves behind something even more childish.
The struggle for everyone to pay off their debts creates perfect tension and makes season two an ideal melodrama. The scenes of characters awaiting their fate while bearing their souls created a cross-section of society that at times outweighed the conciseness of season one. It was there in people desperate to pay for surgeries, overcome crypto scams, plan a future following their current pregnancy, or simply not be destitute. As a collectivist narrative, Squid Game was an impeccable glimpse of humanity that exceeded the grim prospects of its premise. Even as it delved into campy twists and mustache-twirling villains, there was something fun in the conceit of survival, of finding humanity in a world that is recognizably against everyone and only wants to see them spill each other’s blood first.
The irony is that Squid Game is an evergreen concept that could run forever. It may be why there have been game shows adapted from it, and the former one-and-done success was now doomed to go in a million directions. It had no choice but to become overbearingly symbolic in season three to avoid redundancy. There was a need to spend the final 15 minutes of this flagship series basically setting up a spin-off – of which Netflix didn’t have the decency to avoid spoilers even on the day of launch. Maybe it’s fitting that Squid Game has very little about it that’s sacred, but for a story that commented on how vengeance doesn’t lead to happiness initially, it’s weird how little has really been explored since.
To be fair, the show exceeded expectations by simply having more games to play. The gist of seeing innocuous premises become the sources of people’s fates always lands. Even as the show dragged out the interstitials so that the game rarely fit neatly into a runtime, there was that compulsory element to keep watching as they tackled games as banal as “hide and seek” or “jump rope” in a context that promised casualties. Add in the timer, and it was the type of pulse-pounding narrative that a show like this should thrive on. Given that the pop philosophy element wasn’t exactly saying anything new, the fact that it at least gave some heightened emotion should be considered a well-worn win.
The aspect that made season three initially appetizing was finding love in a hopeless place. Season two ended on a failed coup that served more as fodder for obedience than a changing of the guard. It was the move that led to disappointment and fear, that nobody had the power necessary to effect change, let alone use tactics counterintuitive to their search for safety. All they found on the other end was deceit as they wandered the bright pink hallways now littered with bullet-holed walls. The illusion may have faded, but they were still in a prison whose only caveat was that the people chose it and were deciding to stay.
Had this show maintained more of a presence in the cultural zeitgeist, there is a chance that the turn of events in season three would rival Game of Thrones for sheer absurdity. As it stands, the verdict came out roughly how people expected, though with sacrifices that ranged from unnecessary to out of character. Some of the dread was considerate, but others felt like plot tools to keep the narrative focused on the desired outcome. There was a need to recognize the mortality of genuine, caring characters whose outside lives were full of promise and hope. They were the type to believe in and wish that somebody had an arc as surprising as a certain supporting character in season one.
Alas, that never happened. That isn’t to say that there wasn’t A twist that quickly became the source of ridicule. However, the penultimate episode came down to a protagonist who symbolized Squid Game’s lawful good against several players who wanted to eliminate the vulnerable for their own gains. One of them had his eyes so much on the prize that he seemed to calculate the earnings immediately as each player was eliminated. There was a hostility to that scene that might’ve felt necessary, but also by that point had become the de facto alternative. The humanity of the players had disappeared, and all that was left were the hypocrites who would probably sell out their own mothers for a few extra bucks.
Which is all to say that Squid Game could have hundreds, if not thousands, of outcomes to choose from. Some are more exciting than others, and I’d argue that this one was far from the most gut-wrenching. It’s easy to root for evil being punished, especially when it comes to being catharsis several episodes in the making. There isn’t that hook necessary to make the tension land, and it may be why everything about the final stretch ground to a halt as the familiar dramatics failed to deliver anything new. Any speculation wasn’t on empathy, but paranoia.
What the show ultimately went with is a premise worthy of mockery. In the “hide and seek” episode, a pregnant woman manages to have her water break and give birth within the span of half an hour. From there, it becomes a conflict of interest as the baby has no voting power or agency, yet has to play the games while being carried by the protagonist. The mother had also broken her foot, making the upcoming “jump rope” segment nearly impossible. The idea of sacrificing one’s guaranteed win to help two parties across a dangerous chasm is maybe the last novel idea that series has, and one that comes with its own last-minute disappointment. For a show selling you on the idea of constant death, it’s amazing how well it works when the characters are developed in broad strokes.
The baby is farcical if taken too literally. When its mother dies, the powers that be decide to induct the infant as a replacement player and, thus, anticipate a quick exit. The evil players obviously have it out for the baby, especially as the mulligan nature of its existence leaves understandable bitterness.
To say the least, the final stretch is divisive and maybe the greatest downfall in the show’s short history. Part of that is simply that it had no other choice. It either reflects the hollowness of the games and perpetuates a season four reset, or it does something completely out of pocket and risks humiliation. The baby is dumb. The baby is dumb because it’s the easiest sympathy points imaginable. Whereas audiences would have to comprehend their own empathy for each adult player, a child is innocent, brought into the darkness without a greater motive. It may explain why it's easy to dismiss their chances, if just because of the subtextual horrors of having a life prolonged in such a hellscape. At least with adults, they’ve had chances to cope and find some solace.
A baby is hope. It presents a chance to start anew and forget about the horrors of the past. Given how many examples of paternal and maternal themes appear in the very thought of Squid Games, the idea of breaking generational trauma seems like a decent send-off for the South Korean show. It may have been in a clumsy manner befitting sensationalist TV, but it still lands as a greater metaphor. Sometimes, pain is worth sacrificing if it makes the world a better place. It could’ve been done without reinforcing the values that society will prey on the weak, but that just goes to show how difficult it was to capitalize on a premise that never should’ve been a franchise.
That is the greatest issue with Squid Game. In spite of telling a mostly enjoyable story, there is a larger sense of necessity absent. The cruelty can only be tolerated so long until it fetishizes the miseries of the working class. As it stands, the dramatics never lost their luster. It fulfilled the urge to press play on the next episode and fill in the gaps. There was a healthy curiosity that never went away, even as it embraced the tropes of dystopian media and made its overly-complicated plot end on somewhat of a shrug after building up so much good will.
The question as to how much more Squid Games content we need will be dependent on the individual. As someone who rates the three seasons favorably, there was something groan-worthy about getting to the end and having the hokey line reading suggesting that “another game” was next. I was so much in disbelief of what that twist was that when I initially saw footage from it, I blamed generative A.I. for creating an unachievable fantasy. There was no way that a spin-off could attract any Hollywood talent of THAT HIGH caliber.
Nevertheless, I was fooled good. It’s hard to say that an American take really could say, especially when “The Hunger Games” exists. Are there really enough kids' games that will lead a new class to the grave? Maybe it’ll be the darkest round of Mahjong yet. Gin rummy? Bocchi ball? Chutes and Ladders? Guess Who? The answers from there veer further and further into satire, and not even the enjoyable kind. Where does the creative integrity end and plots reminiscent of bad Saw and Jackass clones begin? I’d even argue that the United States being an individualistic nation compared to South Korea’s collectivist mindset really plays against Squid Game USA being the least bit titillating.
That isn’t because the premise couldn’t happen here. If anything, the economic structure at times alludes to that potential collapse. Something is haunting about watching Squid Game a few weeks after ICE Raids featured real-life masked men of unknown origin capturing civilians. It’s not the same, but it’s enough to make the show resonate in 2025. Not to the extent it had earlier, but maybe that was because the games were new and the potential felt less predictable. Now that Squid Game is partnering with Experian, it seems more indebted to stretching things as far as they’ll go to please the powers that be. I’m sure somebody is voting against their self-interest for that, but hopefully it’ll make more sense than what is currently out there.
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