Squid Game: Breaking Bones, Hearts and Records

By Conor Spencer Originally Published in Issue 17.4 on 29 October 2021

Image Courtesy of Netflix

October 12th saw a landmark moment in the history of digital media as Hwang Dong-hyuk’s Squid Game hit 111 million views in its first month on Netflix, smashing the previous record set by period drama Bridgerton less than a year ago. Though the show’s viewing figures speak for themselves, Squid Game has also earned itself widespread critical acclaim from numerous major outlets, with Vulture praising the show as “a hugely addictive dystopian drama,” whilst the BFI commended the series’ ability to stir “horror, science fiction and social commentary into only the latest manifestation of pop culture’s favourite way of critiquing the dog-eat-dog world of late capitalism.” Less than a month into the show’s release, Hwang has already been confronted about the possibility of a second season, yet it feels that the world is yet to truly digest the first nine episodes that are in easy reach for millions.

In what was initially visualised as a limited series, Squid Game follows the journey of 456 seemingly debt-riddled contestants in pursuit of a 46 billion won prize, equivalent to 38 million dollars. What separates the players from boundless riches is a series of simple minigames which appear innocuous at first before the price of failure becomes apparent. Though hundreds play the game, the show fixates on a small cohort of the contestants whose real-world struggles appear in greater clarity as the series progresses (as does their ultimate fate in the face of the games).

The brilliance of Squid Game is its ability to leave an indelible mark on your memory and cerebration. Visuals such as stairways that look like M.C. Esher prints on psychedelics, or oversized children’s playground apparatus stained with blood, are not forgotten easily. The show is weighted perfectly so that your emotional connections with contestants reach their peak only in the show’s most sinister moments. Whilst the overall narrative and conclusion of the series may feel predictable early on, Hwang Dong-hyuk instils a great selection of subplots, character arcs and cruel developments to ensure that viewers are compelled to hit ‘next episode’ every time. However, when the river of Hwang’s revelations runs dry, fans do not need to open their web browser to understand the show’s deeper symbolism but instead, open their curtains and visualise the rat race, the sacrifices needed for success and the piggybank of materialism that shadows our every decision.

Wherever you turn today, Squid Game references are lurking. It might be through conversations at work, or it may be through videos on social media where the show is combined with our favourite pop culture figures such as SpongeBob SquarePants or even Adele. Households are only a few button-clicks away from being able to engage with this smash hit, but they are also only a few meters away from being outside their front door and engaging with the world which Squid Game is symbolic of because in a capitalist society, we are all part of the 456.