Certain shows are so effectively self-contained that it’s challenging to envision any additional creative benefits from producing a second season. However, unexpectedly, some of these seemingly redundant renewals have led to delightful surprises. For instance, the show Barry grew increasingly complex and bizarre as it progressed, while White Lotus transformed into a captivating anthology series that spanned different parts of the world.
Occasionally, the initial doubt turns out to be valid. The second installment of the Netflix sensation Squid Game from South Korea fell short compared to the first, repeating many of the same themes and narrative arcs at a slower pace with fewer fresh perspectives. It also offered only half of a full season’s plot, setting up conflicts that would later explode but abruptly ending before things reached their climax. A fair-minded observer may have anticipated that a third season could offer enough resolution to render some of those missteps worthwhile.
I regret to inform you that unfortunately, the third and final season of Squid Game serves as a reminder that, much like Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), we should have abandoned that haunting island forever following his initial triumph.
As I dive into season three, I find myself right in the heartrending aftermath of season two’s events. The remnants of Gi-hun’s rebellion, a group once filled with hope and resilience, have been brutally suppressed, their bodies callously cleared away. Yet, miraculously, Gi-hun himself is still alive, but this knowledge brings him no solace. Instead, he returns to the dorms as a man crushed by grief and guilt, barely clinging to existence, awakening only to scream at the guards, begging them to end his life already.
The surviving participants in the game, needless to say, do not heed his previous requests to withdraw. Instead, they continue playing as normal, with the game (and Squid Game) carrying on just as before, leading contestants through lethal variations of hide-and-seek, jump rope and a game called “Sky Squid Game”, which is essentially a pushing competition on precariously high pillars.
However, despite their return, the excitement seems to be dwindling. Even as VIPs attempt to persuade us otherwise with their stiff delivery lines, their claims of the voting being “more thrilling than the actual games!” and “this is getting more and more intriguing!” only serve to echo previous season’s complaints about excessive voting time. Their repeated assertions, such as “it’s becoming increasingly fascinating!”, while loud, fail to convince us that we should believe them without any solid proof.
As a devoted fan, I must admit that the recent unfolding fell short for me. Creator Hwang Dong-hyuk certainly hasn’t exhausted his arsenal of unexpected plot twists – one particularly brutal one left me reeling when I grasped its implications – but this latest installment seemed to lack the necessary elements of surprise, emotional depth, and instead, dwelt excessively on sorrow and, unfortunately, length.
The central theme of this piece critiques the injustice inherent within contemporary capitalism, with a keen focus on how democracy can be used as a mask for heinous acts. The narrative often employs irony, as it contrasts the notion of “free and democratic” decisions in a system that is manipulated by powerful figures behind the scenes and enforced by nameless enforcers. In one of the series’ most thought-provoking yet grimly humorous scenes, a character politely expresses regret before revealing that the majority have decided to sacrifice him. “I beg your pardon, but we must make you die,” he says, trying in vain to justify this action through the principle of majority rule and distancing himself from the act’s harshness and his own complicity.
However, the third season seems quite a distance ahead for those sporadic moments of insight, and it’s not exactly a pleasant journey in the meantime. The show Squid Game, from the very beginning, has never been considered “kind” by any measure. Initially, its grimness was softened by a profound compassion towards the characters ensnared in this labyrinth, and fleeting hints that kindness and camaraderie could bloom even in the most unforgiving conditions; part of what made the first season so intriguingly unsettling was the balance between feeling sorry for the characters’ hardships and finding their struggles compelling to watch.
Currently, the series offers plenty of fresh and imaginative methods to distress its characters; a recent plot twist involving an infant is both emotionally disturbing and seems questionable in terms of practicality. However, it appears less proficient at exploring their emotional depth. Consequently, the former creative torments feel more like unnecessary suffering rather than a meaningful exploration of character development.
If the new characters introduced during season two were found lacking depth, the third season fails to expand on their backstories, creating a missed opportunity. This oversight impacts not only detestable characters such as Nam-gyu (Roh Jae-won) and Jeong-dae (Song Young-chang), but also empathetic figures like trans soldier Hyun-ju (Park Sung-hoon) and pregnant Jun-hee (Jo Yu-ri). Apart from Gi-hun, who has transformed into a taciturn character with no remnants of his previous outgoing nature, all these characters share the characteristic of appearing more like pawns in a game than complex individuals with their own motivations and inner lives.
Instead of focusing on character development and relationships, Season 3 of “Squid Game” is overflowing with intricate plotlines. There are some positive aspects to it – for instance, the amusing moments provided by Woo-seok (Jeon Seok-ho), the somewhat silly but clever loan shark; however, the overall pace is slow and laborious. The persistent attempts by guard No-eul (Park Gyu-young) to rescue a player she knows from outside sources, Jun-ho’s (Wi Ha-joon) prolonged search for the island, and constant interruptions to revisit the Front Man (Lee Byung-hun) in his luxurious chair and the VIPs in their opulent suites merely stretch out the action in the arena with minimal new information, emotional resonance, or thematic substance.
As Squid Game nears its conclusion, there’s no euphoria from wrapping up an exceptional tale; instead, only gratitude that this grueling ordeal has finally ended. The show delivers one final twist before departing, which could either serve as a charming wrap-up or the launch of another installment. Fingers crossed it’s the former. At this point, perhaps the most compassionate act for this universe is to put it to rest.
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2025-06-27 10:25