After watching the third and supposedly final season of Netflix's surprise hit South Korean drama Squid Game, it's tough to remember why this show became such a genre-redefining hit when it first debuted in 2021.
That's not because the show has changed. To be sure, all the elements that powered its success back then are still in place now. Most importantly, it has retained a striking visual aesthetic — one that transforms a space where people in poverty are forced to play deadly children's games into a twisted vision of a playground-turned-nightmare.
And there's the bonkers concept — wealthy VIPs secretly bankrolling what amounts to the most deadly reality TV competition in the world for their own amusement.
But ultimately, even as Squid Game amps up the brutality and forces characters to make even more terrible choices, we have seen versions of this story before. And that familiarity robs the narrative of its impact – particularly when the show so often telegraphs what is coming for viewers well before it finally happens.
The show's second season expanded Squid Game's universe by introducing us to the world of the staffers who implement these horrific games, dressed in pink jumpsuits and masks adorned with a triangle, square or circle. In this new season, we learn why one of them seems so different from the others, pursuing a personal mission that requires infiltrating the games.
The main story of this final season concludes the quest of our hero, Lee Jung-jae's Seong Gi-hun – aka Player 456 – a father and degenerate gambler who returned to the deadly games last season after surviving in the show's first run of episodes, hoping to find a way to dismantle them from within.
Unfortunately, the new episodes mostly confirm a sad truth he learned last season – there are just enough people here warped by greed, addiction, selfishness and desperation, that stopping this lethally exploitative game is awfully tough to do.
As the third season begins, Gi-hun is broken by his failed attempt to stop the game by leading a team of competitors with weapons to overpower the guards. It's a constant theme in Squid Game – the heroic goals of some characters, often completely subverted or undercut by the failure of other, less heroic figures. This season reinforces that theme constantly, making it even bleaker and unpromising than earlier editions.
There are at least three stories playing out here: The efforts of the subversive staffer inside the organization, Gi-hun's quest for renewed meaning inside the competition and, outside the game, attempts by a former police officer to find the island where it's all going down. Turns out, the ex-cop's brother is the organizer Front Man — played with chilling intensity by Lee Byung-hun — who always seems one step ahead of everyone trying to subvert the game.
There is stuff in this third season that fans may love but pulled me up short. Too many plot twists were so obvious, I was distracted waiting for characters to catch up.
The show still draws its characters with a heavy hand — making sure we know who is virtuous and who is not — foreshadowing which players are destined for an honorable death and which are likely to go down mired in their own weaknesses. There are also way too many performances — particularly the English-speaking, mostly-white VIPs who chortle over the deadly fates of the contestants — that feel overwrought or too stiff or both.
The larger ideas behind Squid Game are also spelled out in neon letters. We see a character who claims to be a shaman with special powers of perception draw in a desperate following. Surprise: it doesn't end well – an obvious take on the dangers of blindly following deceptive blowhards. We endure moments when greed leads contestants to unspeakable acts – including a father turning his back on his child.
And we take in how the wealthy toss crumbs to desperate people, just to watch what extremes they might go through to snatch those crumbs up.
According to Netflix, Squid Game's first season in 2021 is the streamer's most popular original season of TV ever. There is no doubting the power and global influence of the franchise, which spawned Halloween costumes, a live experience and comedy sketches around the world – which makes me wonder if this really will be the show's final season, particularly if the last installment proves equally popular.
Fans may disagree with my criticisms, and enjoy the heightened violence, extended world building and sobering, poignant conclusion of Squid Games' third season a lot more than I did. But I do salute creator/showrunner Hwang Dong-hyuk for producing a TV series that helped wake up American audiences to the power of South Korean entertainment, ending its story with as pointed a critique of capitalism as I have ever seen on television.
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