Creator: Hwang Dong-hyuk
Rating: ***½
As the summer TV landscape gets flooded with reruns and forgettable reality shows, Squid Game Season 3 arrives like a lightning bolt—dark, daring, and undeniably thrilling. With its final installment, the South Korean survival drama—still holding the record as Netflix’s most-watched series—delivers a fitting end to a narrative that has captivated millions across the globe.
Unlike typical summer blockbusters full of bright visuals and feel-good vibes, Squid Game Season 3 doubles down on its signature brutality and psychological tension. Creator Hwang Dong-hyuk pushes the envelope with this climactic six-episode saga, turning up the stakes and stripping away any remnants of whimsy the earlier seasons clung to.
Picking Up Where the Chaos Left Off
The third season wastes no time diving back into the aftermath of Season 2’s cliffhanger. Following a failed rebellion inside the twisted playground where contestants play fatal childhood games for prize money, protagonist Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae) finds himself at a crossroads. The resistance failed. The architect of the cruel game—known only as the Frontman—remains in power. Now, the only way out is to play... and win.
New Games, Higher Stakes, Darker Themes
What sets Season 3 apart is its uncompromising exploration of morality and survival. The games are no longer simply tests of strength or wit—they force participants to confront harrowing ethical dilemmas.
The opener—a deadly reimagining of hide-and-seek—is a masterpiece in suspense, played out in an arena that mirrors an M.C. Escher painting gone mad. Compassion is punished; cold-blooded calculation is rewarded. The season finale shifts gears entirely, plunging viewers into a psychological battlefield where players have unprecedented influence over their destiny.
This moral tension—between self-preservation and empathy—is what fuels the season’s emotional depth.
A Character-Driven Emotional Core
While the first season thrived on grotesque novelty and pulse-pounding action, Season 3 succeeds by humanizing its players. Gi-hun remains the emotional anchor, tormented by the guilt of his failed uprising. But he’s not alone.
Audiences will find themselves drawn to new faces: a pregnant woman and her fiercely protective guardian, a transgender ex-Marine; an elderly woman clinging to hope; and her bumbling, well-meaning son. Each brings new dimension to the show’s central question: How far will you go to survive?
Though the show retains its trademark intensity, there’s a deeper sense of sorrow woven through every game. Action sequences are no longer pure adrenaline—they’re soaked in emotional consequence.
The VIP Problem: A Tonal Disruption
However, not all returning elements serve the story well. The VIPs—grotesquely wealthy onlookers betting on human lives—make a reappearance, and unfortunately, they still feel like caricatures. Poorly written English dialogue and over-the-top performances undercut much of the show’s poignant moments. Rather than deepening the show’s critique of global capitalism, their presence becomes a distraction.
That said, the metaphor remains intact. These elite voyeurs reflect our own complicity as viewers. As we binge-watch, mesmerized by graphic violence and personal suffering, the show subtly asks: Are we really that different from the VIPs?
A Creator Torn Between Cynicism and Hope
Hwang Dong-hyuk walks a creative tightrope in this final season. At times, he plays the role of the cynical showrunner—the “Frontman” orchestrating a grim spectacle designed to expose human cruelty. At other moments, he’s Gi-hun himself, fighting to believe that goodness and solidarity can survive even in the bleakest circumstances.
This internal conflict becomes the heartbeat of Season 3. It’s no longer just a survival thriller; it’s a philosophical meditation on greed, empathy, and the very nature of entertainment.
The Verdict: A Bitter, Brilliant Farewell
While some of the early magic has faded—gone are the surreal visuals and darkly comic tones of Season 1—Squid Game Season 3 delivers a finale that is more emotionally resonant and thematically rich than ever before. It replaces shock with substance, spectacle with soul.
Yes, the horror is still there. The games are still deadly. But what lingers this time isn’t the gore—it’s the haunting moral weight of each decision, each betrayal, each loss.
Final Thoughts: Netflix Wins Either Way
As the dust settles and the final credits roll, one thing becomes clear: Squid Game was never just about the games. It’s a mirror held up to society—a brutal reflection of the systems that drive us, break us, and sometimes, unite us.
Whether audiences interpret the finale as hopeful or hopeless, Hwang Dong-hyuk leaves us with a story that demands introspection. And in the streaming wars, Netflix walks away the undisputed victor—cashing in on a show that dared to question what we find entertaining in the first place.
