How Squid Game Held Up a Mirror to Our World

In the fall of 2021, a Korean series appeared on Netflix and, quite unexpectedly, became a global obsession. The show, Squid Game, has since been hailed as one of the most successful non-English projects on the streaming platform, with a real chance of becoming one of the most popular series in history. It seems the whole world was captivated. Social media platforms were flooded with content inspired by its chilling children's games. The phenomenon grew so large that schools in some countries reportedly cautioned students against imitating the dangerous challenges depicted. But with many critics pointing out that the premise isn't entirely new, what was the secret ingredient to its staggering popularity?

An Old Game with New Rules

The main character, Leo, is a man drowning in debt. Living with his aging mother, this gambling addict can’t even afford a birthday present for his young daughter. With debt collectors threatening to take his organs as payment and his own family looking at him with disdain, he sees a way out. He agrees to participate in a mysterious competition where 456 players risk their lives for a prize of 45.6 billion won (about $38.5 million).

Despite its massive success, many have called the series derivative. Comparisons were immediately drawn to the Japanese drama Alice in Borderland, The Hunger Games franchise, and the cult classic Japanese film Battle Royale, where students are forced to fight to the death. Some viewers even claimed direct plagiarism of the film As the Gods Will, which also features deadly children's games.

However, to dismiss Squid Game as unoriginal is to miss the point. The survival game genre has a long and storied history, particularly in Asian media, and often serves as a vehicle for sharp social criticism set in eerie, claustrophobic environments like in the Cube film series. The creator of Squid Game, Hwang Dong-hyuk, openly acknowledges his inspiration from a rich history of manga and anime like Kaiji. The series masterfully blends the accusatory passion of social cinema with the nail-biting tension of a thriller, all while weaving in touching moments of humanity between people trapped in a terrifying ordeal.

The horror is amplified by a deliberately childish and colorful aesthetic. The coffins for the eliminated players are wrapped up like gift boxes with bright pink bows, a stark contrast to the grim reality of their contents. This visual dissonance makes the unfolding events all the more jarring and forces the viewer to engage more deeply with the horror.

The Human Heart of the Matter

While the show features a memorable cast, including the model Jung Ho-yeon as a resilient North Korean refugee, it's impossible to imagine the series without the brilliant performance of Lee Jung-jae as the protagonist, Leo. He begins as a somewhat foolish, archetypal rogue, a character you might see Charlie Chaplin play. Yet, as the story unfolds, Player 456 reveals himself to be a much deeper character, haunted by a past trauma from a violent labor strike, crippling depression, and profound self-loathing. Lee Jung-jae portrays this complexity with a stunning naturalness, carrying even the most absurd scenes with a captivating smile that masks a world of pain.

Perhaps the simplest explanation for the show's success is the global rise of Korean culture. But it’s more complicated than that. Many new Korean dramas are released every year, but none before had reached this level of global fame. The key is that Squid Game, much like the Oscar-winning film Parasite, speaks not just to Korean issues but to universal ones. It uses familiar tropes of Korean cinema—sharp social commentary, unflinching violence, and striking visuals reminiscent of films like Oldboy—to tell a story that resonates with a global audience.

A Reflection of a Nation's Soul

To truly grasp the series' depth, one must understand a little about modern South Korea. The problems of debt and bankruptcy are incredibly acute. It is a nation defined by unbelievable competition that begins in school. A person's reputation is everything, and bankruptcy is not just a financial failure but a profound social disgrace, contributing to one of the highest suicide rates in the world. The players locked on the island, forced to commit desperate acts for money, are a metaphor for young Koreans fighting for a foothold in a brutal job market.

South Korea's geography, largely cut off from the Asian mainland, has fostered what some call an "island mentality"—a feeling that there's nowhere else to go, so one must work to the point of exhaustion to survive. The country also suffers from one of the world's highest income gaps between the rich and the poor, where a good education is no longer a guarantee of success. The mysterious VIP guests in animal masks, watching the games for sport, are a clear critique of the ultra-wealthy business elite who, after helping build the economy, are now often criticized for abuses of power.

This societal pressure is mirrored in the game's strict rules. Many believe this rigid social structure has roots in Confucianism, whose principles of loyalty and obedience to elders have, in modern times, sometimes morphed into a culture of bullying and conformity. This is symbolized by Player 001, the old man for whom Leo feels pity and takes under his wing. The final reveal that this seemingly frail man created the entire horrific system for his own amusement is a devastating commentary on the hidden power structures that perpetuate suffering.

The key to understanding the emotional core of the series lies in the Korean concept of han (한). Often translated as a mix of sorrow, resentment, and anger, han is a collective feeling born from experiencing injustice. It is a sadness that is not passive but is tied to a desire to react and fight back. We see Leo experience han at the end of the series. After winning, he finds no peace. Instead, he is filled with a righteous rage that compels him to fight the system that created the games. His transformation is complete when he dyes his hair a fiery red, an outward expression of the inner fire he has finally decided to unleash against the world.

Even within its rigid, military-style structure, the game itself is imperfect and corrupt. Guards steal organs from players to sell on the black market, proving that even a system designed for "fairness" is susceptible to human greed. The island is a microcosm of a society that preaches equal opportunity but is rigged from the start. The players are offered the choice to leave, but this is merely an illusion of freedom. The crushing weight of their real-world debts holds them more powerfully than any armed guard.

The deadly children's games become a chillingly simple illustration of a theory by the French philosopher Jacques Lacan, who believed that our sense of self is formed through rivalry with others. We constantly define ourselves in opposition to those around us. This might be why the entire world found itself discussing Squid Game. Despite its Korean-specific context, its themes are universal: the struggle for freedom, the sting of social injustice, and the desperate need for genuine human connection. Even if you disliked the show, you likely asked yourself the same question it poses: is financial independence worth your humanity?

References

• Jin, D. Y. (2016). New Korean Wave: Transnational Cultural Power in the Age of Social Media. University of Illinois Press.
  This book provides a framework for understanding how South Korean popular culture, including television dramas, has become a global force. It delves into the ways this media often embeds sharp critiques of the nation's social and economic issues, such as extreme competition and inequality, which are central themes in Squid Game.
• Lacan, J. (1977). Écrits: A Selection (A. Sheridan, Trans.). W.W. Norton & Company.
  This collection of essays by the French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan offers theoretical ground for the psychological dynamics in the series. Concepts like the "mirror stage" and his theories on desire help explain how identity is formed through rivalry and the perception of others, which is vividly and violently dramatized by the players' competition in Squid Game. (See especially "The Mirror Stage as Formative of the I Function as Revealed in Psychoanalytic Experience," pp. 1-8).