‘Red light, green light’ - Uncovering the True Appeal of Squid Game
Image credit: Netlix
Warning: this review contains spoilers
If you’re reading this article, you’ve probably seen the spectacularly popular, groundbreaking series that is Squid Game - or at least are intrigued by what you might have heard of it from others who have.
The fact that the show is on track to being Netflix’s most popular show ever is by now common knowledge; indeed, for several weeks after its release it boasted top-of-the-charts status in over 90 different countries, the U.K among them. From online discussion forums to established newspaper features, the show seems to have penetrated every stratum of the internet, and this flurry of content begs the question: why is Squid Game so popular, and why has the West taken to it so dramatically?
At first glance, it seems strange that a South Korean show about a group of debt-ridden people could capture the attention of a global audience. Yet perhaps this is not so surprising. Squid Game is ultimately an expression of social inequality: while the premise of the game itself is exaggerated, the underlying concept is not. Despite the alien context in which the show unfolds, it has succeeded in capturing the hearts and minds of audiences across the world - and here a parallel might be drawn with Parasite, the record-breaking, show-stealing 2019 film directed by Bong Joon-ho. Both are Korean productions that portray the shocking disparity in living standards within society, and as such both are able to transcend cultural differences and appeal to all viewers, regardless of nationality. Perhaps this success lies in the fact that South Korea holds one of the highest poverty rates among major economies in the OECD, falling only close behind the U.S.; productions are successful in portraying such inequalities because they do not have to look very far to find the real-life inspiration behind them.
Parasite (2019) film poster
Image credit: flickr
Yet to claim that the consumerist, capitalist critique couched within Squid Game is solely responsible for its success would be to ignore the most attention-grabbing aspect of the show - the games themselves. It seems that the “death game” genre has never failed to attract popularity, whatever the setting. Of all our desires for entertainment, it might be that this kind of blood-thirsty contest has the most appeal: from The Hunger Games to Alice in Borderland and even to that classic novel, Lord of the Flies, competitive struggles to survive have always been popular. Might this also be where the appeal of Squid Game truly lies - in its being an expression of our violent, and now obsolete, survival instincts?
Such questions cannot be answered in short and light-hearted articles, but what is certain is that this twisted type of competition comprised of children’s games mirrors the more insidious kind which permeates modern society. In a way, Squid Game is a twenty-first century take on “survival of the fittest”, heightening real-life struggles to dramatic extremes against the merciless backdrop of capitalism. The 456 players called to compete in the games raise a poignant question about the value of human life in relation to wealth, or the lack thereof. The participants have been tracked down and recruited because they are all in debt. They are seen as disposable, with each death causing the cash prize to increase by 100,000,000 won (roughly £61,520), thereby attributing a concrete, monetary value to their lives. Their increasingly violent behaviour towards each other seems to dehumanise them further still, yet ultimately their actions are those of the desperate to whom society has proffered no redemption. As epitomised in the final episode, the players’ prospects outside the games are naught - within the walls of the compound, at least, they stand a fighting chance.
This unflinching assessment of society is complemented by a cast of flawed, complex, and commendably realistic characters. Director Hwang Dong-hyuk expressed his desire for these to be recognisable people, “characters we’ve encountered in real life.” The result is engrossing. While they are not always likeable, they cannot be faulted for their lack of depth: each character is shown to have their own hardships and motivations, their moments of generosity and of ugly selfishness. The protagonist, Gi-hun, is a paragon of duality. Despite the gambling, the lying, the lazing around and having seemingly brought only misfortune to those around him, it seems impossible to label him a bad guy. His entrance into the games sees him simultaneously as a low-life and yet, somehow, a person of moral standing. Gi-hun’s character possesses a certain kind of naïveté, seen most of all in his persistent willingness to believe in the best of people. The foil to his own trusting nature is the calculating Sang-woo, whose prestigious university credentials have not prevented him from falling into crippling debt. The mettle of each character is tested throughout the course of the series, challenging their beliefs and morals and in turn prompting us to question whether we might take human goodness for granted. That the characters defy categorisation is one of the most appealing elements of the series: human nature is neither dressed up nor dumbed down but portrayed simply as one might expect to see it in reality.
Significantly, the show leaves many plot-related elements unanswered, causing a net-wide clamour for a second season. Yet the seemingly circular, highly ambiguous ending is arguably the most fitting: as with Parasite, viewers of Squid Game are left to sit after a period of intense action and reflect on events past. Such subtlety and space are rarely found in more mainstream, or perhaps Western, productions, and allow the audience to fully consider their own reactions to the show. That the ending raises as many questions as it was expected to answer is a provocative yet thoughtful way of leaving viewers invested and insuring against potential disappointment. Whilst there are those who think that Squid Game is overhyped, one is also forced to recognise its phenomenal achievement in exciting global interest - a feat that might be attributed to its successful marriage of sobering realism with fantastical, suspense-filled plot.
