SQUID GAME 3…Regretful, but perhaps inevitable
Squid Game has finally come to an end.
Why “finally”?
Because it dragged on for far too long.
Season 3—or more accurately, Part 2 of Season 2—took me two nights to finish. As I watched, I kept thinking: “If only this part had been released together with Part 1, it might have been better.” But then again, would it have changed much? Would it have surpassed Season 1? No, definitely not. At best, it might have left a slightly better impression than this staggered, awkward release.
I won’t go into the details of the plot or the ending. I've always believed that a work's content belongs solely to its creator. As an audience member, we’re entitled to our reactions, but not to editing the piece itself. It’s like viewing a painting—whether you like it or not is your right, but you don’t get to point at it and say, “If the artist had just added a stroke here, I’d like it more.” That’s just shallow.
So why was I, and many others, disappointed in Season 2 and 3 (or Season 2 Part 1+2)?
The answer, I believe, lies in a single word: uncompromising.
But not in the sense of inspirational, motivational resistance against hardship. I’m talking about the refusal to conform to what I call Political Correctness 1.0—that stale narrative where justice always prevails and the good guys always win. To put it bluntly:
Evil triumphs over good, not because justice is late, but because it never even got out of bed
That’s the world we live in. And that’s what Squid Game Season 1 captured so powerfully. It was, like many great Korean films (emphasis on films), unflinching, brutally realistic, and emotionally raw. In that world, everyone deserved to die—and also didn’t. Life and death were random, unjust, absurd.
Even if the final episode tried to “elevate” the message a bit, the overwhelming sense of nihilism and despair made that momentary positivity feel harmless, even poetic.
This is what audiences crave today: not fairy tales, but visceral truth.
Not because people enjoy “negativity”, but because after decades of being preached to by the media, audiences want one thing from cinema: to dream. And not just pleasant dreams, but real ones—dreams that reflect the world we live in, with all its cruelty, contradictions, and unresolved tension.
So when creators now wave the flag of “reconciliation” or “redemption”, I can’t help but see it as a convenient excuse—a shield to cover up creative fatigue or the pressure of being milked dry by capital and data-driven content models.
So yes, Squid Game Season 3 gets a 65/100 from me.
Season 2? Barely 40/100.
I’m disappointed that the series couldn’t maintain its integrity to the end.
But if we’re calling this yet another victim of capitalism and algorithmic storytelling—then yes, I accept that too.
母语:
虽感遗憾，但也早已预料。
《鱿鱼游戏》，终于完结了。
为什么说“终于”？
因为这部剧，实在拖得太久了……
第三季，或者更准确地说，是《鱿鱼游戏》第二季 Part 2，我用了两个晚上的时间才勉强看完。观看过程中，脑子里反复冒出一个念头：“如果Part 2和Part 1当初能一并放出该多好。”但转念一想，即使真的一次性播出，又能改变什么？就能超越第一季了吗？显然不可能。最多，也就是让观众的评价（至少我自己）不至于像现在这么低而已。
具体情节和结局我不想多谈。一直以来我都认为，作品的内容属于创作者所有。作为观众，我们可以表达感受，但不该指点内容本身。就像你去看一幅画，可以喜欢、无感、厌恶，但你不能对着画说：“我觉得这里该再多加一笔，这样我就会喜欢了。” 说这种话，只会显得自己浅薄。
我只想说说——为什么我（以及一部分人）对第二季、第三季，也就是所谓第二季Part 1+2感到失望？换句话说，为什么第一季会受到那么多人的认可？
其实就三个字：不妥协。
别误会，我说的“不妥协”并不是那种“面对生活挫折不妥协”的励志鸡汤，而是不向影视中所谓“政治正确1.0”妥协。所谓“政治正确1.0”是指那种【惩恶扬善】【好人终将胜利】的叙事模式。直白点说，就是：
正义战胜邪恶？不会迟到？不，是它根本就没起床。
现实世界就是这样，《鱿鱼游戏》第一季之所以震撼，就是因为它保留了那种极致的、干脆利落的现实主义残酷感——一种典型的韩国电影式表达（对，我这里特指“电影”，不是电视剧）。
在第一季中，每个角色的生死本质上都“该死”，也都“不该死”，是完全随机、没有意义的状态。这种“从头到底的不讲道理”，反而让人感受到一种真实。即便最后一集试图升华，但由于整季已经铺满了负能量，那些稍显“正能量”的处理也就无伤大雅。
如今的观众，其实要的就是这种“负能量”。不是说大家喜欢负能量，而是因为看腻了千篇一律的光明美梦，反而渴望能在影视中体验“比现实还真实的梦境”。
影视作品曾被赋予教育意义，但在经历百年发展后，观众已不再满足于说教，而更倾向于回归影视的本源——造梦。梦境当然有美梦，也该有噩梦。而今天，越来越多观众需要的，正是那种真实得让人出戏的“噩梦感”。
所以，当创作者们举起“和解”之名，试图让剧情皆大欢喜、皆大圆满的时候，我只看到一种疲态：他们只是用“和解”给自己在创作中失去灵感、在资本压力下被反复“挤奶”的状态找个体面的借口罢了。
对我来说，《鱿鱼游戏》第三季只能打 65/100；
第二季的话，可能只有 40/100。
是的，我很遗憾它没能守住晚节。
当然，如果你说这只是又一个被资本和大数据逼迫到最后烂尾的作品，我也同意。