‘Squid Game’ Season 2 Review: Netflix’s South Korean Smash Loses Its Edge

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As a critic who has spent years immersed in the intricate world of international television, I must say that I was eagerly anticipating the return of Squid Game. The first season was a groundbreaking masterpiece that left an indelible mark on the global entertainment landscape, and I couldn’t wait to see where Hwang Dong-hyuk would take us next.

Approximately 3 years ago, the streaming platform Netflix launched a relatively unknown South Korean drama titled “Squid Game,” which centered around themes of financial struggle, deadly competition, and childhood pastimes. Despite minimal marketing efforts and no initial critical reviews, it swiftly rose to become one of their most-viewed shows.

The break has been unusually lengthy, even considering the irregular broadcasting pattern of television shows following COVID and strikes. So, I decided to revisit every episode of Squid Game, cautious about how its subtle shifts in tone would hold up under the weight of heightened expectations.

It turned out that Hwang Dong-hyuk’s first season was just as engaging without the element of surprise. Despite the grim social satire, overpowering sense of despair, and nostalgic undertones, I found it incredibly entertaining. The episode I initially disliked, titled “VIPs”, which has been criticized by many, seemed like an odd, exaggerated anomaly to me.

The follow-up to the hit series “Squid Game” has been disappointing for many viewers. It remains intriguing to consider whether those who are most frustrated are those expecting a clever replication of the first season’s successes, or those seeking more complexity in the series’ lore and universe development. Regrettably, across its seven episodes, this second season of “Squid Game” seems unable to deliver on either front. It misses the charm and playfulness that helped prevent the initial season from being overly weighed down by its grim setting, and fails to provide any fresh information or perspectives on the nature of the game itself.

As a devoted fan, I must admit that the second season of “Squid Game” fell short of my expectations, but it didn’t completely disappoint me either. It wasn’t a betrayal of what made the first season so captivating, as Netflix had already ventured into that territory with “Squid Game: The Challenge.” In essence, this isn’t really a season; it’s more like a seven-episode prelude to the anticipated third season in 2025. Unfortunately, it feels more like a weak bridge than a self-contained story, lacking the sturdiness to justify comparisons to “Empire Strikes Back.” Instead, it resembles the glass bridge from “VIPs,” where Hwang and the team took a step on an unstable panel, only to find themselves falling through.

Similar to the first season, penned and overseen by Hwang, the second part commences right from where we ended in the final episode of the first season: Lee Jung-jae’s character, Gi-hun, despite winning an astounding 45.6 billion in the Game, chooses to forgo a flight to the U.S. to reunite with his daughter. Instead, he pledges to track down the mysterious Front Man (Lee Byung-hun) and permanently shut down the Game.

Two years have passed, and Gi-hun continues his relentless pursuit to connect with the Front Man or engage in the mysterious Game. His main focus remains on locating the Recruiter (Gong Yoo), who initially encountered him on a subway platform, engaged him in progressively dangerous rounds of the game “ddakji,” and subsequently handed him an invitation to join the Game itself. However, tracking down the elusive Recruiter proves challenging for Gi-hun.

Officer Jun-ho (played by Wi Ha-joon), who was previously believed to have been fatally shot by his brother, the Front Man, is miraculously alive. Now, he’s assigned to a more low-key role in traffic enforcement. In his free time, he’s diligently searching for proof that a deadly game called “The Game” exists, where ordinary individuals participate in childhood games under the watchful and sinister gaze of masked VIPs resembling animals.

Eventually, Gi-hun will return to the island and rejoin the Game, as this is the logical sequence of events and it’s heavily advertised by Netflix. However, the duration until this reset happens is significantly longer than anticipated.

In the initial season of “Squid Game”, the narrative unfolds with a deliberate slow pace. The pilot episode, which makes up more than half of the series, doesn’t feature the iconic Red Light, Green Light game until later. Instead, the second episode focuses less on the games and more on portraying the intense desperation experienced by characters like Gi-hun, as well as other players. This depiction underscores the stark economic disparities prevalent in contemporary South Korea.

The second season takes a couple of episodes to fully dive back into the Game’s storyline, but it doesn’t create a common theme like “This is a man who has hit rock bottom.” Instead, it presents “This is a man eager for season two of the TV show.” For two hours, it appears as though Squid Game is arranging the season to have Gi-hun and Jun-ho, who had a brief encounter in the previous season, collaborate. However, by the third episode, Jun-ho becomes more of a diversion again. Upon rewatching, I recalled 90% of Gi-hun’s storyline and only 5% of Jun-ho’s storyline. This pattern continues; the character serves as a hindrance rather than offering anything else.

It seems unfair and inattentive to storytelling to delay Gi-hun’s return to the game excessively. However, when he finally does enter the game again, it creates a significant change within the game that the series struggles to effectively manage.

The fundamental irony of the Game, as presented initially, is that it’s grotesque, but in an unfair world it’s fundamentally fair. The Front Man turns a blind eye to black market organ harvesting, but what really pisses him off is when he learns that some of the pink-clad guards have been telling a participant which games are upcoming. 

Redefining the Game by bringing back Gi-hun turns it from a 456-player contest, where each participant is the protagonist of their own heartrending tale, into a solitary, intricately designed lesson, where the other 455 players serve as spectators and potential victims for Gi-hun’s chastisement. Is this darkly philosophical? Absolutely! Does it deliver the same level of satisfaction? Not by a long shot. Unlike before, these individual participants don’t receive personal backstories this time around; they are merely stereotypes: a soldier (Park Sung-hoon’s Hyun-ju), struggling with her gender transition; a mother (Kang Ae-shim’s Geum-ja) and son (Yang Dong-geun’s Yong-sik), trying to pay off gambling debts; a failed cryptocurrency investor (Im Si-Wan’s Myung-gi) and his pregnant ex-girlfriend (Jo Yu-ri’s Jun-hee).

In contrast to establishing new character relationships within the game, the second season focuses on pre-existing relationships, such as the one between the rapper (Choi Seung-hyun’s character resembling Thanos) who was bankrupted by Myung-gi’s crypto scheme and Jung-bae (Lee Seo-hwan), another acquaintance of Gi-hun from outside. This pre-existing drama feels more imposed rather than genuinely developed.

In the Game once Gi-hun arrives, it bears a striking resemblance. There’s no indication that the M.C. Escher day-glo stage has been recently repainted, and the new games seem only loosely connected to the theme. At some point during the first season, everyone discusses the multitude of childhood games they could play next, but even with so many options available, Hwang already feels overextended.

Based on this standard, it’s almost clear why the game takes a backseat in the latest developments of the season. Hwang seems to have grasped that viewers didn’t care for the VIP characters and they’re absent from this season. However, he also seems to have picked up that the aspect viewers found most appealing was the moment in the pilot where players decided whether or not to end the game. This season, a new rule requires voting during every competition, and the voting process consumes as much screen time as the games themselves, without offering any comparable reward. If I’m being generous, I could say it serves as a critique of how often democracy forces people to vote against their own interests, whether individually or collectively, which is relevant not just to South Korea but to all democracies. Unfortunately, this theme gets repeated excessively and becomes monotonous.

The show’s portrayal suggests that democracy, as well as its events, are grim. Lee Jung-jae, in his role, displayed a dynamic performance encompassing both broad humor and deep tragedy, culminating seamlessly by the end of the season. Although Lee’s performance skillfully developed Gi-hun’s single-note haunted persona, it made the character less intriguing overall. Besides Choi, who breathes unpredictable life into Thanos while maintaining an electric energy (though never resembling a real person), every new character seems like a pale imitation of someone we lost earlier in the series. The absence of O Yeong-su’s cunning Il-nam, Jung Ho-yeon’s tormented Sae-byeok, and more significantly impacts the quality of the series.

Among the fresh characters introduced, Jo and Kang have the potential to make their roles significantly notable. However, if characters aren’t memorable, their deaths fail to create an impact. Consequently, for me, the only new episode that mirrored the intense effect of the initial season was the sixth one. Until then, there is a lot of violence, but no emotional resonance.

2024 saw the release of a TV show featuring a trans character, played by cis actor Park Sung-hoon. While I admire the strides made for representation in South Korea, I find myself questioning certain creative decisions. It’s crucial to note that merely having a trans character is groundbreaking in this context. However, as we step into 2024, there are specific standards we expect international productions to meet, and this show didn’t quite hit the mark. I believe both observations hold true.

In a similar vein, it’s possible that many of the lessons Hwang seems to have learned from the first season might not have been used effectively, but I’m still intrigued about whether the more imaginative aspects and format-altering surprises could be saved for the third season. The initial allure of the show hasn’t completely vanished (the energy of the sixth episode demonstrates that); the aesthetic remains consistent, albeit not evolving; and Lee’s acting remains solid, although it might not be as engaging as what initially captivated viewers.

It’s not a fundamental level on which Squid Game is broken, but season two simply doesn’t work.

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2024-12-26 11:25