Squid Game: Binge, Fringe, or Singe?
Written by Andreas Babiolakis
Binge, Fringe, or Singe? is our television series that will cover the latest seasons, miniseries, and more. Binge is our recommendation to marathon the reviewed season. Fringe means it won’t be everyone’s favourite show, but is worth a try (maybe there are issues with it). Singe means to avoid the reviewed series at all costs.
Warning: Squid Game spoilers ahead. Reader discretion is advised.
I’m ten thousand years too late to the Squid Game party, but I have had far too much on my plate. Besides, it’s kind of nice to look at the series after its massive amounts of hype. After all, this was Netflix’s biggest show upon its release, and it was hardly a sleeper hit at all: it exploded into the stratosphere upon impact. There’s something about Hwang Dong-hyuk’s twisted vision — poorer class strugglers being forced (in ways) to partake in childhood games that could cost them their lives — that really captured audiences. Maybe this was the first brush with such a concept that a number of Netflix subscribers experienced; then there was the fear-of-missing-out that had a stranglehold on the population of the world. So, it was time to watch Squid Game, and I took part in that event as well. I’m only getting around to writing about it now, but it helped to have time to really think about how I feel about this latest Netflix craze.
In case you couldn’t tell by my grading of the series, I am actually on the fence with Squid Game. I think the title games themselves are absolutely the main attraction. Hwang has something to say here: society turns people desperate enough to do anything, and the elite are bored and corrupt enough to want to see poorer folk suffer. We see the whole series primarily through the eyes of Seong Gi-hun: a gambling addict who owes far too much money to be able to even see straight. We see his current predicament, and get a glimpse of where his woes can turn in the second episode “Hell” (as well as the living conditions of other players). It’s not looking too good, especially if his first impression he leaves us is him stealing money from his own mother. He is in dire straights, and wants to be there for his daughter (who lives with his ex-wife and her new partner). He wants a second chance at life. These games matter so much to him. They matter to all of the players, even if we don’t get the scope of their full stories (we can just sense the corners they are shoved into).
The actual games at the centre of this series are anxious, thrilling television.
Seong is introduced to some mysterious program that promises to help pay back all of his debts, and he finds himself the four hundred and fifty sixth contestant of these games. We start off with the title match of the first episode: “Red Light, Green Light” (and easily the best moment of the entire series). Anyone can move forward when the light is green (or when this big mechanical doll is looking away from the runners). Once the light is “red” (or the doll faces the crowd), any movement will result in players being eliminated (code word for “killed”). The audacity of this moment is insanely startling, and the shock of the gravity of this scenario is immidiate. The bright and stunning visuals were the initial draw for me when Squid Game began, but this morbid exercise is what kept me interested. Where the hell does the series go from here? The games keep coming, and they hold up in their own ways: Ppogi is tense, tug-of-war left my heart in my chest, any of the marble games were the most heartbreaking moments of the season, the bridge felt like the intense closure the series was gunning for, and the titular squid game was that actual fight-to-the-death that went the extra mile.
That’s all well and good, but what about the rest of the series (well, season, now that Squid Game has been confirmed for a season two)? Well, after “Hell”, virtually everything else that isn’t based on the games flounders. Allegedly, Hwang came up with the side stories once Squid Game was being worked on, and it shows. They either go nowhere with what can actually be said about the story overall, or they make absolutely no sense logically. This includes a player who is a doctor whose expertise is used by some of the “employees” to harvest the organs of some of the dead players; this makes zero sense with how the execution is done, because there is no way that trap doors could be installed in the incinerators that burn the caskets of the deceased that leads to a hidden lair for these operations when there is security everywhere (even with the camera trickery being used, the amount of time this would take to even make makes zero sense). Had these organs been harvested for the big company behind these games and were approved, this would add up a lot more. Otherwise, another main example is the cop Hwang Jun-ho, who sneaks into the games to try and find out what has happened to his missing brother; outside of the revelation that takes place, all of his efforts lead to a dead end that serve the viewer barely any use outside of what we already know or could discern.
Outside of the titular games, Squid Game completely collapses with its storytelling.
Once we make it out of the games, that’s when Squid Game plays its final cards and really shoots itself in the foot, as if the season was one of the players that got ahead of themselves during red light, green light and made the wrong moves that lead to their grave. First off, the biggest twist of all (surrounding contestant 001) is a pretty strong one, but its revelation doesn’t do us any good outside of making the games themselves instantly re-watchable (let’s see what they’re like knowing that the mastermind is amongst us). His confessions remind us what we have been told the entire series: the rich got bored and want to see the poor kill each other for their amusement. We see Seong feeling guilt stricken as the sole survivor of the games, but he finally sees the good in himself to help those around him. He aims to go see his daughter and catch the next flight, and then the biggest annoyance of the entire series happens: he turns away, knowing that the games are still going and that his every move is being monitored. Is he returning to play again and reach the top to stop these games? Is he going to infiltrate them some other way with a different crusade? Does it matter?
This is meant to be an ambiguous ending, but I’m not buying it. No ending that comes from this haphazard conclusion feels good. It either leads into a new season (which was apparently not the end game, but, surprise, we got one), or to a statement that makes no sense and continues to make Seong a terrible father, stunting his growth that he has achieved the entire season. Again, outside of the actual games, Squid Game actually makes little sense to the point of near-irritation and frustration. What is Hwang trying to say in all of these subplots and aftermaths? His writing is all over the place, and it meanders around the shocking life-or-death moments, of which are obviously used as the series’ focal points. That just isn’t good enough. There’s being confused with a story’s message, and then there’s completely losing the plot within the story itself. It makes minor faux-pas (like the ghastly performances and scenes featuring the English speaking aristocrats) even more intolerable, as they act as the cherries-on-top of the biggest gaffs that the series has to offer. Maybe that’s why the dust has settled. Squid Game is a massive rush on the first watch, especially seeing the boldness of Hwang’s vision (key word: vision). Once you really get to thinking about it, it all falls apart, and there isn’t much left to say outside of “the rich get richer, and the poor need to do whatever they can to survive”. I’m not sure how I feel about the plans for a second season, but all I can suggest is some better plot maintenance that will drive these frightening images, harrowing themes, and major purpose home. For now, Squid Game is as aimless as some of its characters that are scrambling to keep going, and that isn’t great news.
Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Ryerson University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.