The Cutprice Guignol

Well, that was an infuriating way to bring this story to a close.

Squid Game, without a shadow of a doubt, has earned its place amongst the biggest zeitgeist shows of the decade – and, frankly, with cause. The first season of the brilliant, high-concept South Korean thriller remains one of the most singularly compelling and entertaining pieces of speculative fiction in recent memory – a strong, muscular story, interesting characters, great performances, and a pitch-perfect tone that balanced wit with outright horror with apparent ease. The second season, which released after a three-year break at the end of 2024, was a really solid (though entirely uncalled for) continuation, even if it did feel distinctly like a bifurcated half of a whole we had yet to see. And, now that Squid Game 3 has finally dropped and brought this story to a close, the best way I can describe my reaction is…annoyed.

Which might lead you to think that I just outright didn’t like this season. But that’s not true – in fact, I think Squid Game 3 features some of the most polished and effective storytelling across the entire series, and serves to bring to a close the story of Gi-Hun (Lee Jung-jae) in a satisfying emotional climax.

It’s not a particularly happy ending for Gi-Hun, but it’s one that feels entirely true to the show’s cynical outlook about the crushing machinery of capitalism; to have him walk out of the games in one piece would just feel wrong, even if you can’t help but find yourself rooting for him to do just that. Lee Jung-jae has created one of the definitive leading men of this era of television in Gi-Hun, even if he does have to spend a good portion of this season tenderly cradling a baby created by ChatGPT in a makeshift papoose.

There’s a lot of downright brilliance here in this final run of Squid Game, from superb performances (my personal favourite coming in the form of Kang Ae-shim as Ms Jang – a magnificently tragic character who felt like the most fleshed-out and interesting of the new contestants from this particular game) to story-driven setpieces that will, in a just world, set the standard for action-centric storytelling for years to come. The second episode alone might be the single best of the show’s entire run, deftly matching character beats with dynamic direction to deliver one of Squid Game’s most compelling challenges. The production design is as gorgeous and striking as ever, those cheerful pastels spattered in blood and bullet holes, and the visuals alone would have elevated this show to all-time iconic status even if nothing else served to.

And, if this had been the entirety of Squid Game’s third season – if it had just been this collection of interesting characters, cool games, fun execution, and satisfying plot beats – you wouldn’t hear me complaining. But, instead, what we get is all of those things, packed with enough bloat and padding to justify dragging this story out over twelve episodes and two separate high-profile releases to drive viewers to Netflix, and the result is an intensely frustrating close to what could have been a near-perfect story.

I’ve talked a little about the Netflix bloat before, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen it displayed quite as obviously – or damagingly- than it is in Squid Game 3. The worst offenders are, without a doubt, the VIPs – a sort of Greek chorus overlooking the games, I found myself bracing at every moment of real tension within the games knowing that we were about to get a cutaway to three people in bedazzled Grove masks and opera glasses snarking like sociopathic versions of Beavis and Butthead. I understand what they represent, as the all-seeing benefactors of this exploitation, but there was not a single instance in the show where their presence enhanced the plot or themes, nor did they even make for particularly entertaining characters.

There are a scattering of other storylines in this season, most notably the very, very slow approach of The Boat Plot – which has distinctly more relevance than the VIPs, but still feels as though it takes up far too much time for not very impressive results. When we’re spending five minutes looking at fishing trip photos on the wall of one of our main antagonists to deliver plot points that the audience has already known for the last five episodes, maybe we need to give that script a second go-over, you know? The most engaging subplot comes in the form of No-eul (an excellent, restrained Park Gyu-young), a North Korean defector working to free one of the players of the game so he can get back to his daughter, but even that is broken up into such piecemeal chunks that it never really feels like it gets going the way it might have been able to had it been plotted a little tighter. And, of course, the season ends on the threat of some American spin-offs, which I can say with some confidence will be complete ass taken out of the original South Korean context of the story.

There is a perfect end to Squid Game in this season – there’s also just all the rest of that, too. It’s a real shame to see a show so interesting and so impressive bogged down by such padding, and I can’t help but wonder if creator Hwang Dong-hyuk originally envisioned this as the ending to his fantastic story. But, regardless, this is what we got, and I’m really interested to hear where you stand on the show as a whole and this season in particular now that it’s over. Did it live up to the previous seasons for you, and how do you feel it worked as an ending? Let me know in the comments below!

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(header image via Variety)