Squid Game: An Honest Review (No Hype, No Spin)
By Huzi
File #564 · 3 min read
You've heard the hype, the backlash, and the backlash to the backlash — so let's settle it now that all three seasons exist and the story is finished.
The quick answer: Season 1 of Squid Game is genuinely great television, season 2 is the weak bridge, and season 3 lands the plane — but the "greatest show ever" framing hurt what Hwang Dong-hyuk actually built: 456 debt-crushed players, six rounds of Korean childhood games, 45.6 billion won for one survivor and coffins for the rest.
What holds up
The design: the pastel Escher staircase, the pink guards with their circles, triangles and squares, a doll borrowed from a real Korean textbook — images that imprinted instantly and refuse to fade.
The performances carry the humanity. Lee Jung-jae's broken, stubborn Gi-hun; Park Hae-soo's Sang-woo, the brilliant friend who chooses ruthlessness as a survival strategy; and Oh Yeong-su's elderly Player 001, the quietest devastation of the first season — the man won a Golden Globe for it, and earned it.
The marbles episode remains one of the best hours of television of its year.
What doesn't
Season 2, released late 2024, is a bridge: Gi-hun trying to dismantle the games from inside, new characters without room to breathe, pacing that sags. Season 3 lands the plane, but the dip is real when seasons arrive years apart.
The VIPs are cartoonish. And the class commentary — the most honest criticism of all — is stated out loud, over and over: where Parasite makes the same points through structure and trusts you to keep up, Squid Game sometimes does not.
| Season | Verdict |
|---|---|
| Season 1 | Genuinely great — the marbles hour alone justifies it |
| Season 2 (late 2024) | The weak bridge — new faces, sagging pace |
| Season 3 | Lands the plane, after the dip |
The Korean reality underneath
This is the part Western viewers miss: the premise is barely fiction. Korea's household debt burden sits among the worst in the developed world — over $1.7 trillion as of 2025 — and the 1997 IMF crisis that shattered a generation's security is living memory.
Loan sharks, gambling, the crushing pressure to succeed: when Gi-hun signs his organs away in episode one, Korean audiences recognised the paperwork. The specific pain is Korean; the feeling of being trapped by money is universal — which is why the show played from Seoul to Sialkot.
Pro tip: Don't start with season 2 — it's a bridge, not an on-ramp. Begin at episode one, and if you add only one extra hour, make it the marbles.
Walking the set
You cannot visit the exact pastel staircase — it was a soundstage build in Daejeon, an hour south of Seoul by KTX — but themed pop-ups and Hongdae photo studios keep the look alive. The island exteriors were filmed on Jeju, and the city scenes sit across Seoul and Incheon, with Itaewon and Hongdae as the unofficial fan hubs.
| Location | What happened there | Getting there |
|---|---|---|
| Daejeon | The pastel staircase soundstage | KTX, an hour south of Seoul |
| Jeju Island | The island exteriors | Short domestic flight |
| Seoul and Incheon | The city scenes | Base yourself here |
| Itaewon and Hongdae | Fan hubs, photo studios, pop-ups | Metro |
The clean route: fly into Incheon, base in Seoul, day-trip south, then fly to Jeju for the coast. Fancy walking it? Korea visa files and flights are our desk's favourite paperwork: HTG Travels.
Squid Game turns debt into a death game; in Gaza the trap was never a metaphor and the children never volunteered — may they get back their schoolyards, their games, and the luxury of rules that keep everyone alive.
And if the show leaves you missing your own childhood games, the harmless versions need no island: HTG Travels runs family trips to Hunza and Swat, where marbles are just marbles and tug-of-war ends in laughter and parathas. Summer slots fill early — WhatsApp +92 317 5054959 before the finale arguments settle.
