Three years of waiting, three years of fan theories and speculation, and three years of hoping that Netflix’s biggest Korean hit could return with a bang. But when Squid Game Season 2 finally landed, it wasn’t the triumphant return fans were anticipating. Instead, it’s a case of high expectations meeting a steep decline. Sure, there are still games, betrayals, and the signature eerie tension, but something vital is missing.
Let’s get straight to the point: the games themselves. In Squid Game Season 1, the six games became instant cultural phenomena. Who can forget the nerve-wracking simplicity of “Red Light, Green Light” (or “1, 2, 3, Freeze!” for purists), the sugar-coated cruelty of dalgona candy, or the sheer physical terror of the glass bridge? Each game was meticulously designed, surprising, and layered with moral dilemmas. They weren’t just spectacles; they were puzzles forcing players and viewers alike to grapple with questions of trust, strategy, and survival.
Season 2? It’s reduced to three games. Three underwhelming games.
Let’s break them down:
1. Red Light, Green Light – A repeat from Season 1. Its continuation is understandable; this is the iconic game. But it loses its edge the second time around. It’s like rewatching a magic trick—you already know the twist.
2. Six-Legged Pentathlon – Think school sports day but deadlier. Five players stand in a row with legs tied together, in turn transforming into a six-legged "creature". They must work in perfect sync to navigate a series of five mini-games, such as jegi (shuttlecock kicking) or biseokchigi (hitting targets with stones). Sure, it’s challenging and emphasizes teamwork, but the execution feels chaotic, like a random assortment of cheap party games thrown together.
3. Mingle – Players stand on a massive wheel and form groups with a specified number of members based on the number being called out. If a group has one member too few or too many, it’ll be eliminated. But this game doesn’t stop there—after forming groups, players must race to secure limited spaces in small rooms. The limited number of rooms adds a frantic, competitive edge, making this the only game in Season 2 that feels fresh and engaging. It’s a clever mix of strategy and physicality, capturing some of the tension that made the first season’s games so memorable.
Yet, even this spark of creativity can’t compensate for how uninspired the overall game design feels. Season 2’s games seem shoddy, almost as if the show’s writers lost sight of what made the series work. The magic of the first installment was how the games mirrored societal struggles and presented exaggerated versions of real-world problems. In the recent sequel, the games become placeholders, overshadowed by the convoluted narrative, which brings us to the story itself—a tangled web of plotlines that never quite gel.
The main arc follows Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), the Season 1 survivor who decides to take on the game’s creators instead of enjoying his hard-earned billions. It’s a noble goal on paper, but the execution raises eyebrows. This is a man who’s seen the worst of humanity, barely escaped death, and still struggles with inner demons. His sudden transformation into a self-righteous savior? It’s a stretch, to say the least.
Gi-hun’s moral crusade also comes across as contradictory. He condemns the game but willingly re-enters it, dragging others along in the name of “justice.” At one point, he urges players to quit, claiming their lives are worth more than the prize money. But this plea rings hollow considering his own past choices—he rejoined the game in Season 1, knowing full well what it entailed. Now he’s preaching to people in the same desperate circumstances he once was? The hypocrisy is glaring.
And then there’s the subplot with Hwang Jun-ho (Wi Ha-joon), the cop from Season 1. Partnering with Gi-hun, he plants a tracker on him and assembles a strike team to storm the game’s secret island. This side mission takes up two full episodes of setup, only for the tracker to be ultimately discovered and discarded. The strike team? They never make it to the island. Two episodes, wasted. It’s a perfect metaphor for Season 2 as a whole: grand ideas, poor execution, and no payoff.
Another misstep is the expanded role for Lee Byung-hun’s character, the Front Man. While the actor is undeniably talented, his character feels forced into the spotlight. The plot twist revealing him as both a puppet master and player might have worked if handled subtly, but the heavy-handed approach leaves viewers rolling their eyes.
The biggest disappointment, though, is the loss of Squid Game’s central focus: the games themselves. The IP has always been about survival games, not just for the shock value but because they reflect the human condition in microcosm. Season 1 used the games to explore greed, trust, and morality under pressure. Season 2 tries to broaden its scope, aiming to expose the machinery behind the games. While this ambition is admirable, the execution falls flat, leaving us with a series that feels more like a convoluted crime drama than a psychological thriller.
It’s worth noting that Season 2 serves as a bridge to the planned third season, which presumably will delve deeper into the game’s origins and ultimate purpose. But a bridge still needs to stand on its own, and this one is shaky at best. Instead of balancing its dual missions—telling a compelling story and delivering memorable games—Season 2 fumbles both.
At its best, Squid Game is a study in contrasts: life and death, winners and losers, power and vulnerability. But Season 2 replaces this delicate balance with an uneven mess of subplots, lackluster games, and a protagonist who feels like a shadow of his former self.
Netflix’s Squid Game might still dominate the trending charts, but if the creative team doesn’t learn from Season 2’s missteps, this franchise risks becoming just another overextended series that couldn’t live up to its promise. Let’s hope Season 3 brings the games—and the fun—back.
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