sparkle

Season 3 of Squid Game, directed by Hwang Dong-hyuk and produced by Siren Pictures Inc. under Netflix, had all the elements to be a strong continuation. However, it felt more like a forced sequel aimed at cashing in on the global success of its predecessors. The season begins right where Season 2 ended, pulling viewers back into the chaos of a morally grey world. It poses a haunting question: Do you still have faith in people? Unfortunately, the story fails to answer this question coherently.

The season starts with promise, showcasing emotional depth and character-driven storytelling, but quickly loses its way. Dae-Ho’s character arc is inconsistent; his shift from an anxious participant to someone who mindlessly blames Gi Hun feels sudden and unearned. Gi Hun, too, becomes a contradiction. His refusal to kill seven contestants on moral grounds is puzzling, especially since he kills Dae-Ho without seeking closure, driven by bitterness from his past. The moral compass that once guided his character becomes erratic.

A major plot twist, introducing a baby as a player, initially sparks interest and suggests emotional and ethical depth. However, it falls flat when the baby is absurdly named the winner, stripping the story of logic and meaning. Gi Hun's death, while perhaps expected, lacks emotional impact. The ongoing roles of the Front Man and his brother add little value; in fact, the brother's storyline resembles that of a lost explorer, searching for an island he already knows, contributing only narrative clutter.

The Front Man could have shown emotional growth after witnessing Gi Hun’s sacrifices, but he remains a static figure, merely going through the motions of “the game.” His actions, like giving Gi Hun a chance to save himself or taking the baby with him, lack emotional clarity and feel more like rituals than meaningful gestures. Myung Gi’s transformation from a responsible man to a deranged psychopath willing to harm the very baby he once protected seems completely out of character and poorly written.

One of the most criticized aspects of Season 1, the exaggerated VIPs, unfortunately returns in Season 3. Their lifeless acting and monotonous delivery drain energy from the scenes. Their presence only brings annoyance, wasting screentime that could have better developed unresolved character arcs, particularly those of the Front Man and his brother.

In a move that signals Netflix’s profit motives, the season ends with a tease for an American spin-off via the dakjji game, a Korean element awkwardly inserted into a context unrelated to American culture. This reflects the network's tired strategy of simply repackaging a hit across cultures without sensitivity or depth.

The central themes of morality, desperation, and the fragility of human trust are overshadowed by rushed character deaths, most of which happen in the second and third episodes, leaving little room for emotional engagement or character development. While Season 1 explored how far people would go for survival, Season 3 assumes that betrayal, death, and shock value are sufficient to sustain the story, which they are not.

The human emotions that once gave Squid Game its soul appear intermittently but are buried beneath incoherent twists, plot holes, and an overwhelming sense that the director, perhaps under pressure, was pushed to extend the franchise regardless of creative rationale. Ultimately, Squid Game Season 3 feels less like a continuation and more like a corporate product: technically polished but emotionally empty. What could have been a poignant and thought-provoking season ends up as a disjointed collection of scenes that disappoint both the characters and the audience. A few moments shine, but they cannot redeem the season from its narrative chaos. It had potential and a voice, but it chose profit over purpose.