Ever since Parasite, I have become quite keen on watching Korean films and shows. For some reason, I feel like their plot twists remind me of the inner workings of my own mind, and my existence in general – just when you think you have figured me out, out I come with something to throw you off course. And it has been quite some time since I found myself enthralled and totally captivated by a foreign series with murderous and psychological thriller elements.
Netflix has landed on a gem with Squid Game. The premise of the show is quite simple – a group of troubled adults who are down on their luck for various reasons (whether it be health, financial woes, or having a history of poor decision making) are invited to partake in a series of games from their childhood in order to win a monetary prize. Unbeknownst to the contestants however, in order to win the prize pool, they must risk their lives in a string of games that are notoriously known for bringing joy to the lives of children worldwide. But there is no such thing as joy in these deviously twisted Olympic-esque games. Think about your own childhood for a second. How many times did you find yourself competing in a game of tug of war as a child? And how many times did you find yourself playing tug of war on a suspended platform with a gap between the two teams, where the losing team dangled in the pitfall and was guillotined to their unfortunate death? Never, I’d say. And I’d hope not.
It’s the juxtaposition of the pastel coloured playground in which the games take place, and the unfortunate reality of what the outcome of each game entails that makes this series gripping. The players are all fitted in matching green tracksuits like inmates in a prison, and each has a number on their jacket. The number however could work for or against each player. In some instances decisions are made in reverse chronological order. In others it could be a matter of higher or lower that determines when you will take your turn and play the game. The sad thing is that the contestants are unaware of how they became unwittingly roped into the game, and that the ultimate decision of whether they withdraw and spare their lives, or play on and risk their lives, comes down to a collective vote – where of course, greed prevails and the games continue.
I particularly like the way in which Squid Game explores the moral compass of individuals and society. Where some think about the greater good of the collective, others thing atomically and would sacrifice anyone and everything for money. And in a time such as 2021 with a roaring pandemic taking the lives of millions worldwide, it makes us question our own motives in this unprecedented event, and how we too are like pawns on a chessboard, impacting our own lives and those of others around us. There are moments in the series where compassion prevails, but the show highlights how motivations change as the competition decreases. Allies become backstabbers. Backstabbers face karma. Karma changes people’s lives.
As I mentioned previously, the show has so many twists and turns that right when you think you have figured things out, a curveball comes your way and you are back at square one again. From the mysterious masked task master, to the hooded security equipped with guns to “eliminate” the losers (pardon the pun), as well as the aristocratic masked men themselves who bid on the winners, you’ll be left scratching your head for quite some time.
It is the general aesthetic of the show that makes it so whimsical, and the cast is just phenomenal in conveying the fear, desperation, animosity, paranoia, and the plethora of other emotions which creep in from game to game. The interspersed English also is quite effective in creating intrigue and mystery, adding to the already cryptic plot line.
This is definitely one that I would highly recommend for people to watch. But remember, nothing is what it seems. Nothing is cute. And nothing is pleasant. Suspend your disbelief and enjoy the cruelty of the games.
The Gasconade Project 