Squid Game Season 1 Review

Let’s start by showing y’all the trailers shall we?

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Wait… why is it called Squid Game again?

Okay, so if you’re like me and sat through three seasons wondering where the actual squid was, you’re not crazy. You probably thought the name was just edgy nonsense, like calling a dystopian horror series Goldfish Brawl or Octopus Trials. But it turns out, Squid Game is actually based on a real Korean kids’ game from the ’70s and ’80s. The original version involves drawing a squid-like shape on the ground and playing an aggressive version of tag with offense and defense.

Do they explain this clearly in the show?
Nope.
Not until the final episode of Season 1, by which point you’ve watched people die over marbles, hopscotch, and crypto fraud, and you’re just emotionally cooked.

So if you were confused by the title and were expecting a giant cephalopod to show up and host the games—same. But the name sticks because it’s nostalgic and culturally relevant in Korea, even if the show itself mostly revolves around triangles, circles, and squares like we’re trapped in some deathmatch version of a PlayStation logo.

⚠️ Content Warning & Viewer Advisory:

Squid Game is not just violent — it’s psychologically brutal, morally exhausting, and hauntingly real. If you’re expecting a simple game of survival with flashy colors and suspense, prepare yourself: this show goes far beyond shock value. It dives deep into economic despair, exploitation, and systemic cruelty that mirrors our own reality in disturbingly accurate ways.

Episodes contain graphic depictions of murder, suicide, organ trafficking, and manipulation of the most vulnerable — including the elderly, the indebted, and the mentally unwell. The emotional toll is just as intense as the physical violence. You will watch good people break. You will see innocence weaponized. And worst of all? You’ll realize none of it is as far-fetched as it seems.

If you are sensitive to themes of desperation, hopelessness, betrayal, or financial exploitation, this show could be emotionally triggering. Approach with caution, and don’t be afraid to step away if it becomes too much.

This is not just a game.
It’s a mirror.
And some reflections aren’t easy to look at.

Non-Spoiler Thoughts & Plot Rundown:

What happens when you mix The Hunger Games, Monopoly debt, and a terrifying love for playground games? You get Squid Game — one of the bleakest, most unnerving social horror series to ever hit Netflix. This is not some cheesy battle royale. This is psychological torture dressed in pink jumpsuits and haunting children’s music.

The plot follows a broke, unlucky man named Gi-hun, a divorced gambling addict who lives with his mom and is drowning in debt. One day, he receives an offer: play six children’s games and win a massive cash prize. Sounds simple… until people start dying. Like, brutally. What unfolds is a six-episode gauntlet of violence, manipulation, and survival instincts that force you to question morality, class, and desperation.

Among the key players: Gi-hun, our deeply flawed but oddly sympathetic lead; Sang-woo, the friend turned corporate snake; Ali, the sweet and trusting immigrant worker; the mysterious old man with a smile too calm for comfort; Sae-byeok, a fierce North Korean defector who doesn’t trust anyone; the shady Front Man orchestrating the games behind a mask; and a determined police officer who sneaks onto the island searching for his missing brother.

The games themselves are horrifying in their simplicity. Red Light, Green Light turns into a bloodbath. Tug of War becomes a fight for your life. Marbles? Hope you didn’t get emotionally attached. The way the show turns innocent childhood nostalgia into grotesque executions is deeply disturbing — and genius.

Character Breakdown:

Gi-hun (Player 456): A man you want to root for, even when he makes selfish choices. He’s clumsy, emotional, and morally conflicted, but he’s the heart of the series.

Sang-woo: That one guy who looks polished and successful but slowly reveals he’s a selfish manipulator who will do anything to survive. A fascinating descent into villainy.

Ali: Gi-hun’s friend and a gentle soul who deserved so much better. He’s one of the most lovable characters, and his kindness is his undoing.

The Old Man (Player 001): Starts off as a sweet, slightly senile grandpa-type. You think he’s just there to remind us of humanity. Uh. Yeah. More on him later.

Sae-byeok: The stoic, cautious, and guarded one. Her backstory is tragic, and she plays her cards close to her chest. She slowly forms a connection with a more talkative young woman.

The Cop: Sneaks into the game compound as a guard to uncover the truth behind the whole operation. Probably has the worst anxiety of anyone in the cast.

Front Man: Cold, calculating, and theatrical. He’s the ringmaster of this nightmare circus.


Other contestants include a loudmouth gangster guy, a woman who manipulates people to survive, and plenty of extras who exist purely to show us what failure looks like.

Here’s a con I have with this franchise.

🐷 Season 1 VIPs – A Masterclass in Cartoonish Villainy

Let’s talk about the VIPs in Squid Game Season 1. You’d think the show was building toward this eerie, disturbing reveal—mysterious elites pulling the strings behind the deadly games. But what do we get?

A bunch of bathrobe-wearing, gold-animal-mask-wielding, half-drunk Saturday Night Live rejects lounging around like they just lost their invite to the Eyes Wide Shut orgy.

They’re not just evil. They’re obnoxiously stupid.
They speak in this painfully forced English that sounds like AI tried to recreate what billionaires sound like after snorting coke and watching one Bond film. Their lines are delivered with the emotional depth of a sock puppet. It’s like they told the actors, “Pretend you’re wealthy, dead inside, and have never interacted with another human being before—GO.”

And don’t even get me started on the one VIP who tried to sexually assault Jun-Ho.
Like, really? In this show? You thought that was the type of tension we needed?
He slaps him around like he’s auditioning for RuPaul’s Villain Race, and it’s just gross. Not threatening. Not scary. Just embarrassing.
They don’t feel like terrifying puppet masters—they feel like a bunch of dads who got lost at Comic-Con and accidentally wandered into the Hunger Games.

These guys were supposed to be a critique of wealth and corruption.
Instead, they felt like a last-minute addition from someone who read one Reddit post about capitalism and said, “Yeah, I got this.”


Final Thoughts:

This show is heavy. Squid Game is what happens when you turn capitalism into a literal death trap. Every moment feels like a gut punch, and the tension never lets up. It doesn’t glorify violence — it wallows in how horrifying and degrading it is. People are reduced to numbers, debt becomes a death sentence, and loyalty gets tested in ways that hurt to watch.

It’s a darker, more grounded version of The Hunger Games — with adults who aren’t fighting for glory or rebellion, but just a last chance at financial survival. And that’s what makes it so bleak: these people volunteer to return. They aren’t being forced, not really. They’re just so hopeless, they choose the games over reality. That’s the real horror.

Also I’d describe this show as a darker Hunger Games and I much prefer this over Hunger Games.

But let this be known this is the type of show where I’ll ever watch once and never again, it’s that bleak.

I wouldn’t call my relationship with Squid Game “mixed” — that’s way too soft. It’s emotional blackmail. This show drags me in with gripping tension, a few phenomenal characters, and insane plot twists… only to repeatedly gut-punch me by killing off the best ones and leaving the worst people standing. Every season, I tell myself, “Don’t get attached,” and every season, I do. And then they die. It’s not entertainment anymore — it’s a trap I keep walking into voluntarily. I love it. I hate it. And yet I can’t look away.

This isn’t love. This is Stockholm Syndrome storytelling. Squid Game has me emotionally handcuffed, and just when I think I’m free? It hits me with another character death or existential gut punch. I’m not mixed on this show—I’m trapped in a twisted emotional hostage situation with my own feelings.


☣️ Rating: 8.5/10


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🚨 SPOILERS AHEAD 🚨

Let’s talk about Sang-Woo, also known as Mr. I-Went-to-SNU-So-That-Makes-Me-Better-Than-You.

This man is the definition of a snake in a suit. At first, he plays the quiet, level-headed strategist — the guy you think is going to lead the group with brains and empathy. And then BAM: betrayal, manipulation, and gaslighting all the way down.

The worst offense? What he did to Ali.
Ali, the kindest soul in the game, trusted Sang-Woo like a brother. And what does this guy do? Straight-up scams him out of his marbles, lies through his teeth, and leaves him to die like it’s just another day in the office. No remorse, no second thought. Just pure survival-mode villainy.

By the end, he’s so far gone morally that his “redemption” (if you can even call it that) is stabbing himself in the neck to give Gi-Hun the win. Too little, too late, Sang-Woo. You don’t get a hero moment when you spent the entire season stepping on anyone who got in your way.

In short:
Sang-Woo is a well-written character but an absolute irredeemable piece of garbage.
The kind of guy who’d push you off a lifeboat, steal your ID, and tell the rescue crew he tried to save you.


Okay. Let’s talk about the parts that emotionally ruined us:

Ali’s death: Absolutely gut-wrenching. He trusts Sang-woo, calls him “brother,” and Sang-woo robs him. Then Ali dies alone and confused, betrayed by the one person he relied on.

Sae-byeok and her new friend playing marbles: They open up about their lives, talk about dreams and family, and then only one can survive. It’s heartbreaking.

The old man reveal: Just when you think you understand the show, bam — the sweet old man who tugged at our heartstrings was behind it all. He created the games for entertainment. That twist shattered trust.

Gi-hun refusing to kill Sang-woo: Despite everything, Gi-hun tries to do the right thing. But Sang-woo kills himself instead. That final choice is haunting.

The cop Hwang Jun-ho and the Front Man: Turns out, the masked leader is his brother Hwang In-ho. The emotional weight in their confrontation is sharp, and the silence after the shot is deafening.

The ending: Gi-hun wins the money but loses everything. He becomes hollow, traumatized, and refuses to spend the cash. When he finds out the games are still happening, he turns back. It isn’t victory. It’s a loop.


This isn’t just a game. It’s trauma packaged in confetti. It’s a carnival of suffering wrapped in ice cream colors. And the scariest part? It doesn’t feel that far off from reality.

Welcome to the game. Hope you survive the night.