Squid Game - Netflix - Season 2 and 3

When Squid Game exploded onto Netflix in 2021, it was more than just a hit — it was a global phenomenon. The shocking mix of social commentary, childhood games turned lethal, and a desperate, downtrodden cast fighting for survival struck a chord that resonated far beyond South Korea. Overnight, it became Netflix’s most-watched series at the time, propelling its actors into international stardom and setting a new bar for high-stakes survival thrillers.

With that level of success, a sequel felt inevitable — but it also presented a massive challenge: how do you capture lightning in a bottle twice? Netflix’s answer was to split the follow-up into two connected seasons — Squid Game Season 2 and Season 3 — each with six episodes that together tell a single, continuous story. Did it work? In some ways, yes. But much like the desperate contestants within the show, the sequel struggled to survive its own expectations.

Highlights

Squid Game S2 & S3 return with bigger stakes and new twists but fail to match the original’s tension and depth. A decent watch, but the magic’s faded.

Back Into the Arena

At the centre of the story is Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), the original winner of the deadly games, now haunted by the moral stain of his victory. Seasons 2 and 3 hinge on Gi-hun’s transformation from a desperate everyman into a reluctant crusader determined to expose and destroy the Squid Game from within. He’s older, wearier, and motivated not by survival, but by justice — though whether he’s equipped for such a monumental task is debatable from the outset.

What’s interesting is that Gi-hun doesn’t go it alone. He recruits allies, including Jun-ho — the Front Man’s brother — to infiltrate the operation. We get more depth into Jun-ho’s backstory and his moral conflict as an undercover figure trying to bring the game’s shadowy organisers into the light. The idea is compelling: a righteous crusade from within the machine. But while it starts strong, this plot thread fizzles into a directionless sideline, leaving you wondering why the writers even bothered.

A Deeper Dive Into the Villains

One of the sequel’s more successful swings is giving more screen time to Squid Game’s lurking puppet masters. The enigmatic Salesman (Gong Yoo), who famously recruited desperate souls with a slap to the face and a wad of cash in Season 1, finally gets a proper backstory here. We see more of his motivations and how he manipulates the powerless — an addition that’s genuinely unsettling and expands the show’s moral decay in a satisfying way.

We also get new layers to the Front Man (Lee Byung-hun). This time, he’s not just an ominous masked figure orchestrating death matches — he enters the arena himself as Player 001, mirroring Gi-hun’s position as Player 456. This unusual twist brings the show’s core conflict to the fore: can two people, once bonded by trauma, find common ground when they’re fundamentally on opposite sides of a brutal game? It’s a fascinating idea… but the execution leaves much to be desired. The dynamic between the Front Man and Gi-hun promises to be the show’s emotional spine, but their interactions are brief and underdeveloped. A friendship with moral tension could have carried the series — instead, we get a single meaningful interaction and then silence.

The Contestants and the Games

Any Squid Game must live or die by its contestants and its twisted games. On this front, the sequel seasons are hit-and-miss.

Season 2 gives us a new line-up: standouts include T.O.P.’s charismatic but deadly “Thanos,” a mother-and-son duo, a pregnant player fighting for two lives, and a transgender contestant whose inclusion feels timely but underexplored. These new faces come with compelling hooks, but the show struggles to develop them with the same depth that made Season 1’s characters so memorable. There are villains you love to hate — and some genuinely tragic figures — but the emotional gut-punch of Ali’s betrayal or Ji-yeong’s sacrifice from the original is missing.

Even more glaring is the games themselves. Season 1 had unforgettable, tension-filled showpieces: Red Light Green Light with its monstrous doll, the fragile sugar honeycomb, the deadly tug-of-war on a skyscraper edge, and the nerve-wracking glass bridge. These scenes were burned into pop culture overnight.

Season 2 revisits Red Light Green Light but after that, none of the new games land with the same primal terror or originality. They’re more violent and more chaotic, but less psychologically gripping. The sense of dread — that unbearable tension of childhood innocence twisted into a fight for survival — is mostly gone.

A Revolt and Its Fallout

To its credit, Season 2 introduces a rebellion storyline: players and low-level guards plot an uprising against the Game’s creators. This fresh angle injects some intrigue and moral ambiguity, raising questions about complicity and resistance. However, as Season 3 unfolds, the payoff is lacklustre. The uprising’s potential is squandered for abrupt twists that feel more like shock for shock’s sake rather than careful storytelling. Loose ends are tied up, but not in satisfying ways — more in ways that feel determined to subvert expectations for the sake of subversion.

The VIPs, meanwhile, make their unwanted return. Meant to be grotesque caricatures of the ultra-rich, their scenes are painfully awkward, with wooden, stilted English dialogue that lands with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. If anything, they drag the tension down every time they appear, reminding viewers of the weakest parts of Season 1 that should have stayed buried.

Production and Pacing

One thing that can’t be faulted is the production. Visually, Squid Game remains top-tier: the claustrophobic sets, the bright yet sinister colour palettes, and the surreal, dreamlike staging of each game all feel true to the original. The pacing, however, suffers under the split structure. Twelve episodes stretched over two seasons should have given the story space to breathe, but instead, it feels padded and directionless in parts, especially with Gi-hun’s plotline stalling until the final episodes.

Final Thoughts: A Franchise Running Out of Games?

In the end, Squid Game Seasons 2 and 3 do just enough to justify their existence — but they fail to recapture what made the original a phenomenon. They expand the world and deepen a few characters, but the thrill, the tension, and the moral punch land softer. Worse, they show the risk of a concept stretched thin: when the games aren’t compelling and the story tries too hard to be unpredictable, you’re left with a series that’s only a shadow of its former self.

There are hints of a spin-off to keep the franchise alive. Maybe it will work, maybe not. But for many viewers, it’s clear that Squid Game might have been better off as a one-and-done classic. If you want the same gut-punch survival game tension, perhaps Alice in Borderland Season 3 will scratch that itch instead.

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