Squid Game: the Netflix Series that has captivated so many

On the off chance you have been living in a spoiler-free haven, Squid Game, currently ranked #1 in 90 countries, is a dark and disturbing South Korean show that tells the story of a group of people who are in financial ruin, playing a twisted version of children’s games where being eliminated means certain death, with every death sickeningly increasing the prize money to a final jackpot of 45.6 billion won (£28.6 million).

Unless you have a taste for darker narratives, this show may seem unappealing: but it is undeniably gripping, and somehow, I could not stop watching.

Although some of the mystery had gone, because I had seen spoilers, and then watched a video on Youtube on how exactly you could beat each game (which was my own fault, but I do tend to like to know what I am in for with unsettling narratives), Squid Game still created unwavering tension through hauntingly relatable themes.

Focalised through Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), Squid Game starts with an insight into Gi-hun’s life, someone who ultimately makes careless decisions, e.g., is deeply in debt, gambles away what he does have, and is tempted by a mysterious man in a suit (Gong Yoo) to play a game of Ddakji, where you try and turn over a square paper tile with another by throwing it. Every time Gi-hun loses, he gets slapped in the face, but if he wins, he gets 10,000 won. This is essentially a diluted premise of the other games, meant to lure in the competitors with the promise of a greater cash prize, something that subtly echoes multi-level marketing schemes.

After calling the number on the mysterious card given to him by the salesman, Gi-hun, along with 455 other players, are kidnapped and wake up in blue uniform, with numbers on their clothing, in a vast room full of beds, later revealed to be hidden on a remote island.

Image: Netflix

Each episode reveals more about individual character’s backstories, allowing you to empathise with them individually. Relatability is key to Squid Game’s success: Hwang Dong-hyuk’s writing powerfully provides a social critique on the lengths desperate people would go to to make money, and how working-class people are ultimately exploited for other’s gains.

Symbolism makes the series particularly strong: the character’s histories allude to their choices in games, or their deaths, pointed out by Digital Spy and Tik-Tok creators, e.g., Sae-Byeok (HoYeon Jung) holds a knife to someone’s throat and is finally killed through the same method, Jang Deok-Su (Heo Sung-Tae) jumps off a bridge, then dies falling from the glass steppingstone bridge, and so on.

Snippets of dialogue from Oh Il-Nam (Oh Young-soo), elderly player 001, later revealed as the creator of the games, on retrospection, contains many allusions to the truth of his role in Squid Game.

The mysteries to uncover throughout are heightened by the settings: in the final episodes, with the beds no longer stacked up, the walls are revealed to have been plastered with illustrations of each of the games all along. The stunning pastel staircase room and Russian-doll style doors within doors reveal the intricate staging of the games, making it impossible for players to escape. Settings in Squid Game provide a visual feast that you cannot help but gaze at.

Image: Netflix

All these elements make it ultimately more haunting: the VIPs introduced later are disappointing, they are not evil overlords, just bored, rich, old white men, with far too much time on their hands, betting on the survival of the competitors through a voyeuristic glass window. This, however, proves more effective as critique, and feels all too real when you remember the monopoly on wealth in our society, as half of the world’s net worth belongs to the top 1%.

Choice is discussed by Oh Il-Nam, he never ‘forced’ anyone to do anything, but the very staple of the game is to coerce vulnerable people, even without his persuasive comments to Gi-hun after a majority decided to leave (as part of the contract signed at the beginning). The idea of free will and power here is cleverly conveyed, with the vulnerability of characters like Abdul Ali (Anupam Tripathi) utilised to firmly place the audience’s empathy with the players.

Despite this, characters like protagonist Gi-hun are developed over the series to show the stark difference between them and others, such as his childhood friend Cho Sang-woo (Park Hae-soo), who he faces in the final game after Sang-woo actively deceives and harms others.

Running alongside the main storyline, detective Hwang Jun-ho’s (Wi Ha-joon) discovery that his brother is the front man (played by Lee Byung-hun), after episodes of him witnessing the brutal games first-hand, left me with an itch for more; Season Two will be interesting if he did in fact survive being shot.

The epic cliff-hangers and creepy social critiques make Squid Game an equally unique and unsettling show that has clearly captivated the attention of millions because of its scary relatability, mystery and vivid imagery.

By Rozz Cottrell