“Squid Game” (2021) is the name of a South Korean kids’ game, which later takes on a sinister meaning for Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), a divorced man and father who lives with his elderly mother, says that he is a chauffeur, but is never shown driving, steals then gambles his mom’s money to turn a profit. He cannot enjoy his winnings because he owes more to loan sharks and will have to pay with parts of his body. While on a subway platform, a man in a suit (Goblin’s Gong Yoo) offers to play a game, and Gi-hun allows the well-dressed man to slap him if he loses and money if he doesn’t. The man offers him an opportunity to win more money if he calls the number on a business card with symbols on it, which Gi-hun does. A car picks him up, drugs him then takes him to an unknown location. He wakes up in a warehouse sized dormitory wearing a uniform with his player identification number on the pocket. He is player number 496, the last one to join the secret contest, which consists of six official rounds of kids’ games, but there are unofficial rounds in between the games. The price for losing a game is usually death. Gi-hun tries to form a community within this hostile environment but is traumatized as he is forced to choose between his humanity and survival.
Starting November 19, 2021, I and a bunch of friends watched an episode per week of “Squid Game,” which was a few months after Netflix released it so I had a rough idea what I was getting into. It consists of nine episodes and is eight hours five minutes long. Because I have a high tolerance for onscreen, fictional violence, I was not as shocked as the average viewer by the volume of mayhem and death. If you were into “The Belko Experiment” (2016), “The Hunger Games” franchise and “Battle Royale” (2000), then you are primed for this type of television series, but the series has the overt class consciousness of such South Korean films as “Parasite” (2019) and “Snowpiercer” (2013). The guiding principle of this series is inside and outside the game, the game is rigged and dehumanizing even for those at the top of the game. No one escapes the exploitive effects of such brutal, casual cruelty and desperation. I am going to try and avoid rehashing anything that others have already analyzed. I am also not South Korean so I obviously can get a ton of crap wrong because ignorant American here!
I watched it again in one sitting to see if after the hype settled, I would still enjoy “Squid Game.” I did; however, after the first viewing, Gi-hun seemed transformed into a better person, and now I feel as if he has not changed at all.
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Due to no fault of his own, Gi-hun experienced trauma and tried to galvanize a union to oppose mass layoffs. Without the layoff, he was a responsible, married man, but after being traumatized, he becomes a gambler. He was literally never there for his daughter, Ga-yeong (Cho Ah-in), not even for her birth. Gi-hun is a man who prioritizes himself, his work and anyone who is not his family.
The series starts and ends on his daughter’s birthday. Instead of just accepting her cash and following his mother’s advice to buy a fried chicken (think Bon Chon) dinner for his daughter, he steals her debit card to gamble, gets beat up to increase the pilfered money then instead of just buying a toy, he must win it, and the toy is a toy gun lighter, completely inappropriate, and unwanted.
Gi-hun wants to appear heroic with tons of money and extravagant presents instead of giving his daughter what she wants, routine dependability. We are rooting for him to win, but if he simply stopped gambling, he would, but then he would not feel the high of winning though he fears physical violence or has become somewhat numb to it. When he first leaves the game, he realizes that in his absence, his mom is sick so he understands that if he goes back into the game, he can afford her medical expenses, but he could also end up not being there for her when she needs him the most. He also could accept charity from Ga-yeong’s stepfather, which he had no issue doing until the stepfather asked Gi-hun to promise not to see his daughter. Gi-hun has a level of pride that is human and understandable, so he strikes the stepfather and refuses the money, but his anger is not about wanting to be with his daughter considering his later actions. The game is not for his mom or his daughter.
When we see him treat his fellow players with respect, even the pickpocket, Kang Sae-byeok (Jung Ho-yeon), it is easy to believe that he is less selfish and has grown as a person, but he is treating them as he treated his former coworkers by prioritizing them. During Episode 5, the series draws explicit parallels between with the mass layoff and witnessing the players die in the game. He is willing to turn down the winnings instead of killing someone, but during the tug of war and marble game, he is willing to kill to survive. His relationship with mysterious Player No 1 reveals the limits of his kindness, which I do not judge him for. He steals from player no 1 just as much as he steals from his mother except he feels guilt with this stranger because the consequences are more serious. Of all the players, he is the best human, but he is not growing. He may be getting worse.
During the final episode, Gi-hun discovers the identity of Player No 1 as the game’s mastermind, The Host, Oh Il-Nam (O Yeong-su). Gi-hun is outraged that anyone could bet on human life as if they were horses as Gi-hun bets on a human life on the street below. There is another option: he could not bet, pick up a phone and call for help, or go downstairs and help the man himself. He is still betting and playing the game just as he did instead of buying his daughter a present. Rewatching the series made me reconsider what I formerly thought of as heartwarming moments between Gi-hun and Player No 1 into extremely manipulative and horrifying grooming scenes, especially when he encourages Gi-hun to return to the game. They both genuinely enjoy relieving childhood memories except Gi-hun is also scared for his life while Player No 1 is always jubilant. The Host wants Gi-hun to take over hosting the game and to keep playing.
My heart sunk when Gi-hun fails to keep his promise to Ga-yeong and be there for her birthday. Once again, he chooses work, the bigger, admirable goal of stopping the game and preventing murder, but let’s be realistic. He can’t do that. He was never the sharpest tool in the shed. He is still choosing the game. How can he stop playing the game when he cannot do the small things such as hold his mother’s hand as she died or celebrate his daughter’s birthday? Saving a stranger’s brother from an orphanage or giving money to a dead player’s elderly is a quick fix not requiring sustainable changed behavior. He does more for people at work than his family. To destroy the game, you must imagine a life without speculation, without being a big winner, without adrenalin. You must build a life for yourself and your loved ones.