SQUID GAME: Season 3. The Finale of the Bloody Games [REVIEW]

Everything good must come to an end. This principle seems especially fitting when it comes to contemporary television series—too many stories have been stretched and prolonged beyond their natural course, leading to a drop in quality. That is why it is all the more satisfying that Hwang Dong-hyuk, the creator of the hit Squid Game, planned his story ahead with a set length in mind and stuck to that decision, even though the show’s format and its soaring commercial success could have easily justified producing more and more episodes. Hwang, however, essentially remained faithful to his concept, and thus the bloody games testing the limits of human endurance and morality now receive their conclusion.

Season three of Squid Game begins exactly where season two left off. After the suppression of the revolt initiated by Gi-hun Seong and the end of the infiltration by the Leader/number 001, the game resumes its previous course. The faction supporting the cessation of the murderous games is decimated and demoralized, reducing any chance of a peaceful escape from the arena. As expected, the next challenges become more brutal and increasingly bloody. Across the six premiere episodes, we witness three main games, traditionally interspersed with sequences of dialogue and inner conflict, along with an exploration of the level of depravity of the disgustingly wealthy VIPs who have finally arrived on site.

Oh, and in parallel, we also follow the plots of Joon-ho, the police officer trying to find the island with mercenaries (and playing the role of the Leader’s brother), and No-eul, a member of the enforcement unit who, in a moment of human impulse, rebels against the system and tries to save one of the players. These additional threads are, however, just appetizers (and slightly distracting ones) to the main storyline unfolding in the arena. Hwang continues to flawlessly stage twisted and chillingly calculated challenges in which players must commit the unthinkable to survive—and to earn money. The three presented games (not seen in the first season) are well-conceived and creatively staged, once again keeping viewers on the edge of their seats.

The creator skillfully raises emotional stakes and psychological intricacies, developing individual characters and, through them, adding new contexts and micro-dramas to the brutal contest for life and wealth. The interesting trajectories of the various characters significantly enrich the narrative, giving it more human diversity. There is also an intriguing concept for Seong himself, who falls into a spiral of guilt, despair, and desperation. Already annoying in the second season with his sense of moral superiority, the protagonist becomes even more complex in season three—his actions grow increasingly questionable, and the consequences are serious. There are moments when the once-kind Gi-hun becomes an inadvertently unsympathetic anti-hero of Squid Game.

For the true stakes of the third season lie not in whether the good guys will destroy the cruel games from within and without, but whether Seong will ultimately fall—or find redemption. In the third season, the critique aimed at Darwinist capitalism finally fully resounds. We see the omnipresence and omnipotence of the system built to entertain the depraved elite; we see the fully cynical subtexts embedded in each game by the organizers, and the entire narrative ultimately boils down to the question of how much objectification can strip a person of morality. Hwang proposes a conclusion that is grim on one hand, but not devoid of more optimistic tones. Importantly, the endings of Squid Game are not entirely unambiguous and avoid excessive moralizing.

Additionally, the deeper exploration of the roles of the enforcers of the deadly structure in seasons two and three adds nuances that enrich the hyperbole of a society subjugated to money. All of this ties into an intriguing, thought-provoking story about the clash between human ethics and the soulless logic of capitalism, which will crush every emotion to increase the profit chart. The solidly delivered conclusion and the wrapping up of storylines positively influence the overall assessment of both the third season and the series as a whole. That said, it is not without flaws. As in the first season, the caricatured VIPs fail again, portrayed in an extremely childish manner that contrasts unpleasantly with the more nuanced player characters.

The subplot involving the search for the island remains as pointless as before, right up to the caricatural conclusion of Joon-ho’s story in the final episode. Above all, the structure itself is jarring—it is difficult to consider the final episodes as a separate season when it is clearly just the second part of the same chapter, sawed in half to, appropriately enough, boost profits. The result is a certain confusion—it is at times hard to keep track of characters and subplots that we jump into without introduction, yet are expected to remember from season two. In general, one can have serious reservations about the planning of the acts across seasons two and three, as well as the composition of individual threads, which sometimes feel like a chaotic attempt to cram in as many characters and figures as possible, ultimately detracting from the viewing experience.

Regardless of its shortcomings, the consistency with which Hwang delivers the finale casts a positive light on both the season and the series as a whole. The creator has provided a clear reflection embedded in twist-filled entertainment, enriched with intelligent symbolism and a juggling of social themes. Yes, Netflix is clearly leaving the door open for further exploration of this profitable brand, but Squid Game as an original story is complete—and that is something to appreciate. The vision of the Korean series—brutal, unwilling to pander to the audience, and far from comforting—will stay with us for a long time, offering rich material for analysis and discussion that goes beyond purely formal considerations.

The complete Squid Game secures its place in the canon of contemporary pop culture, and thanks to the courage of Hwang’s creation and its focused commitment to central themes, its structural flaws can be forgiven.