In the lead-up to the season finale of the Korean drama that completely took over the world, fans were buzzing with theories about how Squid Game might wrap up. One of the more popular ideas floating around was that Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae) would step into the role of the new Front Man. After witnessing the sheer cruelty and desperation of the players around him, he’d come to understand the Front Man’s (Lee Byung-hun) twisted philosophy: the poor are all equal and deserve a shot at wiping the slate clean. And if they don’t make it? You’re just “taking out the trash.”
Another theory gaining traction was that Gi-hun and Detective Hwang Jun-ho (Wi Ha-joon) would succeed in exposing the notorious Squid Game to the public. But instead of justice being served and the masterminds being brought down, the games would explode in popularity, turning into a global franchise. Soon, Squid Games would be popping up everywhere, with thousands lining up for their shot at a fortune and their deaths livestreamed for millions. And weirdly enough, that’s basically what’s happened in real life with games such as, Squid Game: The Challenge and Beast Games. Unfortunately, neither of these theories came true. The show went in a totally different direction. And while I can respect the creative choice, the ending was so bleak that I couldn’t help but wonder: what was the point?
Gi-hun’s attempt to end Squid Game completely backfires, with almost every ally he had along the way being executed. His mission to take down the games? A total failure. With most of the remaining players fully on board to keep the nightmare going, Gi-hun is left a hollow version of himself, broken, defeated, and done. But when a new player enters the arena, everything shifts. Gi-hun finds a new sense of purpose, redirecting his fight not just against the games, but against the greed and corruption infecting the players themselves.
Before I bog the room down too much, let me give Squid Game credit where it’s due. Even if the narrative is kind of a mess, the show is still undeniably well-crafted. The direction? Razor sharp. The editing? On fire. The score soars when it needs to and drops like a hammer when it wants to terrify. The games are still wildly entertaining. And the acting is easily one of the strongest ensembles on television. Led by Lee Jung-jae, who dominates the screen with a presence that’s as terrifying as it is heartbreaking, the cast dives headfirst into the absolute worst parts of human nature. Their performances are raw, gripping, and devastating, as their characters are pushed to the edge physically, psychologically, and morally. But even with all of that, they can’t save the show from its chaotic storytelling.
There were two major narrative flaws that ultimately doomed this show. The first was that the series overstuffed its story. What made the original Squid Game work so well was its self-contained structure. It really only had two main threads: Seong Gi-hun trying to survive the games alongside his fellow players, and Detective Hwang searching for his missing brother while investigating the games. It was tight, focused, and left very few loose ends.
But in seasons two and three, or more accurately, Season Two Part Two, the story bloats with multiple arcs, most of which never really connect. We’ve got a brand new group of players, but instead of following a small handful like before, the show now tries to juggle over ten character arcs at once. There’s a North Korean defector who works for the games and is searching for her lost daughter. There’s the Front Man grappling with his own morality and the ethics of the games. And, of course, there’s still Detective Hwang, endlessly island-hopping in search of his brother. Stuck in the same narrative loop as before.
The problem is none of these arcs are meaningfully tied together. Honestly, if you cut the defector’s storyline entirely, nothing changes. Same with Hwang’s arc, it spins its wheels, adds nothing, and goes nowhere. If the series had just trimmed some of these storylines and actually given Detective Hwang something to do that mattered, it might’ve landed the plane, even if it was a bit repetitive. But even that couldn’t save it from the second fatal flaw: a newly introduced character that takes the show off the rails completely.
The second narrative decision that tanked the show was the sudden introduction of Kim Jun-hee’s baby. Not only was it one of the fastest births I’ve ever seen on television, but it completely derails Gi-hun’s entire arc. He came back to the games to end them. After his rebellion fails, he’s left shattered physically, psychologically, and morally. At that point, I honestly expected him to finally understand the Front Man’s twisted logic. But then the baby is born and instead of reigniting Gi-hun’s mission to stop the games, the entire story pivots into a desperate attempt to save this newborn. And just like that, every narrative thread and thematic buildup we’d been following gets tossed aside.
The show could have salvaged it. If Gi-hun had watched the other players try to kill the baby, and become so disillusioned by their cruelty that he abandoned his morals and took on the role of the new Front Man, with his adopted daughter by his side, that would’ve made sense. It would’ve tracked with the show’s recurring idea that those who try to break the wheel often end up joining it. But no. Gi-hun sacrifices himself to save the baby, and the games just pack up and move somewhere else. On one hand, I get it. Thematically, it still kind of works. On the other hand, I’m left asking, what was the point? Our protagonist has no real effect on the outcome. Nothing changes, not for better or worse. His story ends in a whimper. And while I respect the creative decision, it’s such a bleak, hollow conclusion that I can’t help but wonder why I stuck around for it.
In the end, Squid Game should have remained a limited series. Its first season was a near-perfect self-contained story as it was sharp, thematically rich, and emotionally devastating. But in trying to expand its world, the series lost its focus and muddled what once made it great. Instead of deepening the narrative, the later seasons overcomplicated it, trading clarity for excess. Sometimes, the most powerful stories are the ones that know when to end and Squid Game sadly didn’t.
My Rating: C
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