In the dystopian world “inside the game centre” of ‘Squid Game’, all things are bright, orderly and disturbingly neat. (Image: screen grab)
Hwang Dong-Hyuk’s Korean-language web series Squid Game is set in contrasting worlds, a bleak ‘outside world’ with misery, unemployment, theft, criminals and debilitating debt. In another dystopian world ‘inside the game centre’, all things are bright, orderly and disturbingly neat.
This is a bizarre story, with shades of The Hunger Games (2012), Maze Runner (2014) and The Game (1997). In this Korean drama, marginalised individuals – men, women, old and young – are picked up from the streets, of their own free will, and are thrown into a dangerous do-or-die underground competition. The participants, escaping debt collectors, poverty and enemies, agree to this fatal exercise because it offers a get-rich-quick scheme – the lure of winning close to $ 38 million, even though the probability of getting out of the situation alive is low. It also gives them a chance that the ‘real world’ does not by treating each of the 456 competitors as “equals”.
At times shocking, often unbelievable, occasionally laced with black humour, a little predictable and also theatrical, the surprising global appeal of Squid Game—reportedly it’s the top-rated Netflix show in 90 countries—is in the issues it tackles, packaged in highly stylised costumes and elaborate sets. This is a story about inequality, of hopelessness and getting a second chance. It is also a sharp comment on the wealthy, whose decadence allows them to play with the lives of the others.
Unemployment takes the lead character, Seong Gi-hun, down the path of hopelessness, spiralling from one mistake to the next as he struggles to be a good father and a responsible son. Another character, Sang-Woo, has done everything right, gone to good colleges, built a seemingly successful life, but is caught in a financial mess. Kang Sae-byeok is an immigrant from North Korea. There is a doctor escaping a botched surgery. A Pakistani illegal, Ali, is chasing a better life for his young family. An old man with a terminal illness has nothing to lose.
No single character is completely good. Alternating between greed and guilt, the frightening effects of money, they form friendships and betray them just as easily. After a particularly devastating game, as a participant fervently prays, his teammate tells him to thank the others and not God for saving him.
The violence is both stunning, and numbing, trivialised to depict these 456 adults as disposable. As a character Mi-Nyeo says, they (the under-privileged) are heard only if they scream.
The games themselves are lessons in teamwork, on strategies triumphing over brute strength, on building trust. The beauty of these games lies in their simplicity, because children commonly play them in South Korea. But set in an adult world, with fatal consequences, these are not just games but life lessons. The nostalgia of childhood games is upturned with a brutal and shocking twist. The survival drama equally is a commentary on South Korea’s capitalistic society—and could possibly apply to most countries.
When you place this dystopia within vibrant, bold colours, the uniformity of costumes and coded masks, the candy-coloured maze-like winding stairs that are reminiscent of Dutch artist M.C. Escher’s lithograph ‘Relativity’, the symmetry of bunk-beds in a vast barracks, the march of the guards, and you get drawn into the fantasy world. But it all boils down to the games. Speaking on the show’s success, writer-director Hwang Dong-hyuk told a Korean news agency that he thinks people “are attracted by the irony that hopeless grownups risk their lives to win a kids’ game. The games are simple and easy, so viewers can give more focus on each character rather than complex game rules.”
Then there’s the use of music – classical songs including ‘Trumpet Concerto’ by Joseph Haydn and ‘By The Beautiful Blue Danube’ by Johann Strauss II’s, and contemporary tunes such as Way Back Then by Jung Jaeil and Pink Soldiers by 23. The soundtrack cuts across age groups and enhances the show’s accessibility, while also boosting the satire and mood.
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Through the English speaking high net worth characters, however over-the-top and B grade the acting is, the director makes another cheeky comment on the white man’s capitalist greed.
A Korean drama that uses enough global references, including casting a South Asian actor, has managed to speak to a world audience. The success of the nine-episode series lies not just in its audacious wildness and simple game design, but also its social commentary and the astute use of elements that make Korean culture seem disquieting and relatable, and the issues addressed by the series are potently universal.
