Squid Game’s first season dropped seemingly out of the sky in 2021, spanning nine episodes and giving Netflix its biggest hit to date, winning Emmys for creator Hwang Dong-hyuk, star Lee Jung-jae, and others. Season two arrived in late 2024 with seven episodes, picking up three years after the events of season one. Six months later, season three is here; it has just six episodes and begins immediately after the season two cliffhanger.
It’s tempting to wish Netflix had just released all of season two and three as a single chunk—six months is enough time to almost forget certain plot points, but not long enough to make viewers want to do a full revisit—but you can see why the decision was made. Though its episode count is abbreviated, Squid Game’s third and final season is still six-ish hours long, and the amount of agony and brutality infused into that running time cannot be overstated.
Much of that agony and brutality, of course, comes as a direct result of the events of season two, especially as season three gets started. Player 456, Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), is the only survivor of the rebellion besides 388 (Kang Ha-neul)—who had a meltdown while retrieving more ammunition—and 120 (Park Sung-hoon), who went after him to see what was taking so long. Player 001 (Lee Byung-hun) is presumed dead, though we of course know he’s merely returned to being the Front Man full-time.
Player 456 is baffled as to how he’s still breathing. He’s also nearly paralyzed with a confusing blend of survivor’s guilt and a laser-beam determination to make 388 pay for his failings. But the other players take his miraculous return surprisingly in stride. Most of them are far more focused on the prize money, which has increased exponentially as a result of the player brawl and subsequent rebellion. Those events have also given the “O” side a significant advantage over the “X” side, meaning the next vote will favor continuing the games despite all the recent bloodshed.
This is a non-spoiler review, so we won’t be getting into the specific games introduced in season three—though a variation on jump-roping was previously revealed—but rest assured they follow the classic Squid Game formula of childhood favorites expanded into elaborate set pieces, then blended with shocking violence. This season in particular leans into player-on-player attacks, to the point that they’re actively incorporated into the competitions. The results are gory and either heartbreaking or satisfying, depending on if the victim is likable or obnoxious.
But this is Squid Game; the whole point is “win or die.” Viewers already know that a majority of the players, even the ones who actually seem like good people, will not make it to the end. Again, we won’t spoil any specifics here—part of the fun of the show is thinking someone’s safe, only to be gruesomely proven otherwise—but certain deaths do make you wish, again, that seasons two and three had been combined into one. It would make the investment into individual players feel more rewarding, especially those who die early in this season but later in the actual cycle of games.
Of course, that issue could be remedied by watching season two immediately ahead of season three—if you have the time. That approach might also help you dive more easily into the side plot involving No-eul (Park Gyu-young), the North Korean military vet turned pink guard. Remember the sick little girl she befriended while working at the amusement park at the start of season two? And whose father popped up in the games as Player 246? It all becomes very important in her season three arc, which also features No-eul’s own bloody rebellion of sorts.
Meanwhile, Squid Game’s other big side plot—that team of mercenaries led by detective Jun-ho (Wi Ha-joon) frantically searching for the island where the games take place—finally justifies all the time it took up in season two. The audience knows the boat captain is secretly sabotaging the mission, but the show builds up the reveal to Jun-ho and company with some unexpected twists and, much like the games themselves, a ticking-clock element that ratchets the tension to sky-high levels.
Other elements that come into play in a big way in season three: the masked “VIPs,” who make a return to spectate the games and offer cruel commentary in the form of hilariously terrible English dialogue. There’s so much of the latter this time around, you have to imagine Squid Game’s creators are leaning into how cringe-inducing it is.
The cross necklace belonging to the not-so-dearly departed Thanos finds new importance as other players consume the hidden stash of drugs he left behind. And it’s no secret that Player 222 (Jo Yu-ri) was extremely pregnant in season two. Netflix’s marketing for this final installment even included the sound of a baby crying—and unsurprisingly, the situation swirling around 222 shapes season three’s most emotional moments.
But the center of Squid Game’s universe has always been Gi-hun, and that remains the case throughout season three. Even though there are episodes where he barely has any dialogue, Lee’s performance speaks volumes: his haunted expression, particularly the look in his eyes, telegraphs the depths of his pain. He was already grappling with having witnessed so many deaths in the previous game—and the cycle continues here. The audience still can’t help but root for him, but in season three you also worry for him. His soul is clearly broken beyond repair.
Gi-hun’s suffering anchors Squid Game season three in a deeply bleak place; there are far fewer lighthearted moments to be found, and that may be challenging for some viewers. But in the end, the story does figure out how to punctuate this vicious final chapter in a memorable, very terminal way. You’re allowed, however, to roll your eyes at what feels very much like a tacked-on Netflix tease for more to come.
Squid Game season 3 is now streaming on Netflix.
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