Squid Game 3 Review| Peeling Human Instinct Under Capitalism’s Sadistic Dystopia

Throughout every season of Squid Game, I observed a deeply unsettling aspect of human nature embedded in the plot and characters—sadism. Squid Game by Hwang Dong-hyuk, released in three seasons over three to four years, is a survival horror series. Dystopic in nature, it revolves around a children's game, wherein participants gamble their lives in pursuit of a massive cash prize. The latest season not only brings the storylines of the previous seasons to a dramatic culmination, but also vividly projects the escalation of brutality and the manipulation of human nature. It presents a stark portrayal of the sadistic pleasure those orchestrating the game derive from witnessing the players' suffering.

It is not peculiarly strange that the individuals chosen as players face extreme financial hardships. In contrast, the ones funding and deriving entertainment from this game of life and death are immensely wealthy—the VIPs in the series. This foundational contrast underscores the insurmountable divide between the rich and the poor, embedded within the broader social structure of the Korean society in particular, and the world at large. The economic instability of the lower classes is exploited by the financial elite, who indulge in this grim spectacle. Squid Game 3 is not a mere thriller or an engaging cinematic experience—it sheds light on socio-economic dynamics, moral decay, social realism, human psychology, and the unrelenting penetration of capital. The series, even with its occasional flaws, effectively captures the complexities of human behavior throughout its episodes.

The latest season opens by continuing directly from where the previous season left off. It immediately constructs two distinct depictions of human nature for the audience. The first includes those who are deeply flawed and engage in actions both morally and ethically reprehensible—guards trafficking human organs and players who persist in playing the game for money, even at the expense of others' lives. The second version presents flawed individuals, seeking reconciliation and redemption, striving to end the game. These include a female guard who risks her life to save a man whose organs were about to be harvested, the protagonist who persistently attempts to dismantle the game, and the sacrifices players make for one another. These contrasting portrayals offer a layered understanding of what it means to survive in a world driven to its edge by capitalism. While the series may be consumed as binge-worthy entertainment, it subtly lays bare the intricacies of the human mind, behavioral unpredictability, and psychological conflict.

The protagonist, Seong Gi-hun / Player 456 (Lee Jung-jae), returns to the game with a mission: to expose and dismantle the organisation behind the gruesome spectacle. His return is driven by guilt, trauma, and a deep-seated desire for justice. He no longer seeks personal survival but instead wants to protect others and break the cycle of violence from within. He actively tries to end the game through the voting process. With the ever-increasing monetary reward however, greed seemingly translates into survival, compelling the players to continue. What emerges from this decision is a relentless spiral of death, brutality, betrayal, and viciousness.

In the first episode, players are randomly divided into two groups, distinguished by red and blue colors. Each is given a knife or a key. Those with knives must find and kill the players who possess keys; those with keys must hide, locate the exit door, open it using their keys, and win the game. The challenge puts to test bonds of kinship and community that have fostered among the players over the course of the game. A mother-son duo, both selected as players, become central figures through whom this theme is explored—random assignment results in the mother receiving a knife and the son a key. The son persuades his mother to exchange roles, believing she wouldn't be able to kill anyone. She hesitantly agrees. Later, the son, having failed to kill anyone, returns to try and murder his mother's companion—a woman who has just given birth. The culmination of their narrative arc is as shocking and incomprehensible to the characters within the game, as it is to the audience. It underscores how human minds function in strange and unpredictable ways, even in intimate relationships.

Throughout the series, killings like these occur repeatedly—so frequently that the players seem to lose their sense of shock or remorse. The boundaries of their humanity are slowly eroded. Survival and the prize money become paramount, overshadowing any value for human life. The wealthy VIPs, clad in glittering animal masks and sipping wine, watch the carnage unfold through giant screens and glass walls. They derive deep gratification from the players' suffering, pain, and death. The more dramatic the agony of the players, the higher is their pleasure.

Not only do the VIPs passively enjoy the horror that unfolds, but they also actively participate. Donning guard uniforms, they shoot players themselves. Their conversations reflects a chillingly sinister amusement as they compare the slaughter of players to hunting wild animals in Africa: "I always enjoyed watching it from outside, but it was a completely new experience putting on the uniform and taking part. What can I even compare it to? It was like I was a Maasai tribesman stalking the African wilderness." Another follows up: "I've done plenty of hunting in Africa, but this was on another level." This sadism becomes the primary fuel driving the entire game's conception. They even mock an old lady player who tries to convince others to end the game to spare the newborn child: "I almost cried when I heard that old lady's speech," one VIP sneers, while the others laugh. This moment highlights the emotional and moral void within the VIPs, who cannot think beyond their selfish pursuit of pleasure.

A particularly harrowing moment occurs when the VIPs' sadism reaches a fever pitch. Seeking greater emotional torment for their entertainment, they suggest including the newborn child in the game. The intention is to provoke the mother into heightened emotional distress, thereby enhancing their enjoyment. Gi-hun, ever the moral centre, attempts to protect Jun-hee (Player 222), the new mother. He advises her to leave the baby on the other side of the game's boundary, promising she could return for the child once the 20-minute match concludes. However, the guards counter that every player must proceed through the game. "My baby is not a player," Jun-hee insists. "Everyone here is a player," a guard replies. Gi-hun, appalled, shouts, "Don't be ridiculous, the baby has nothing to do with this game!" But faced with the guards' guns, he ultimately proceeds, carrying the baby with him. Meanwhile, the VIPs revel in the drama, exclaiming that including the baby was a "genius idea" that made their watch "twice as fun and dramatic." The baby, now seen as a player replacing its deceased mother, becomes a target for the other players, who demand its elimination, fearing that an extra participant would reduce their prize share.

As the game progresses, the VIPs watch eagerly through their lavish binoculars, sipping wine and eating fruit. "What a great start," one exclaims as the first player falls off a bridge to their death. Deception seethes through their psyche as players constantly plot against one another to secure a larger prize cut. The final game, while representing the VIPs' peak in sadistic gratification, simultaneously reflects the transformation of humans as both social and political constructs, constantly shifting their dynamics to survive. Themes of individualism, economic pressure, fear of death, trauma, and voyeuristic pleasure—all converge to reveal an intricate psychological exploration.

It's as if humanity has come undone. The creators seem to implicate the audience alongside the VIPs, drawing parallels between the grotesque pleasure VIPs derive from watching the games and the modern-day audience's appetite for content that excites, shocks, and stimulates their adrenaline. The VIPs may be the in-universe spectators, but outside the screen, audiences are also the consumers of this curated terror.

Although this season may not feature the most innovative game designs, it is packed with unparalleled brutality, psychological darkness, visceral fear, bloodshed, death, and a disturbing thrill with a dystopic charge. These elements evoke curiosity, catharsis, trauma, and empathy for the players as well as the audience. With the addition of Cate Blanchett at the end of the series, it remains to be seen whether Squid Game will continue its global expansion as an international production, diving even deeper into the human psyche with greater nuance, international resonance and better games.