Squid Game is a great show. Tapping into the general sense of late-stage capitalism and despair that permeates, well, everyone these days, it’s a stylish dystopian story that doesn’t forget the raw, beating heart of humanity at its core. This is a show that has spawned a billion memes, and it hooked me almost immediately—which was surprising only because the first episode takes its time, and I am an impatient man when it comes to entertainments. Plus I’m a sucker for any show where literally all the employees wear masks literally all the time, which is my secret dream.
I fear many things: Unfamiliar bugs dropped on my feet by uncaring cats1, sudden involuntary pantslessness in public2, that moment when my wife the Duchess realizes just what sort of man she married3. One thing I don’t fear is subtitles. I usually prefer them to dubbing; Dub jobs can be frequently hilariously terrible, and the actual words an actor speaks are about one-fifth of their performance. There is a ton of information in an actor’s tone and delivery—the scratch in their voice, the shake, the hesitation, the volume. Subtitles preserve that at the cost of tiny microseconds when my eyes are pulled from the visuals.
A lot has been made about the possibly janky nature of Netflix’s subtitles in Squid Game, and even the best subtitles will unfortunately lose some of the subtle cultural references4 and other information. But if the subtitles are half as good as the original writing, it’s still a very well-written show. Besides, it doesn’t matter: The subtitles could all be gibberish and you’d still understand what’s going on, because Squid Game is a powerfully visual show.
That’s what a lot of people don’t get about Squid Game. It isn’t great because of the writing, or the acting, or the dystopian messaging (though all of those things are very, very good). We come to Squid Game for the games, duh. It’s great because the game sequences slap.
So I reach into my pocket for the fresh amount
Let’s take a look at the six official game sequences and how each one is framed and edited to ratchet up the tension:
Red Light, Green Light (aka The Mugunghwa Flower has Bloomed). Appropriately, this game is filmed with a lot of wide shots. This underscores the large number of people playing, and suggests a certain exuberance—this is still fun for folks. Then, when the deadly nature of the game is made obvious, there’s a shift to close-ups and medium-shots, suggesting the way everyone involved finds themselves suddenly trapped. The “green light” bursts are also staged in chaotic, unstable shots that sell the panic—especially as time runs low5.
Honeycomb (Ppopgi). The candy game starts off with tight, claustrophobic shots to convey the panic and fear everyone is feeling because they have no idea what’s coming. It then uses some wide shots to show how intensely everyone is working, coupled with some truly gross shots of people sweating like dogs, which serves to visually show us how difficult the task is—and remind us what happens to those who fail. It really succeeds in conveying tension during a scene where almost no one moves much6.
Tug-of-War (Juldarigi). This is just a masterful scene. The show really dispenses with any sense that this is going to be a survivable experience—the first two games were on the ground and staged in almost a casual way, contrasting the innocence of the games with the horrifying nature of the place. With the third game, the show dispenses with that contrast and leans into just how fucked everyone is. The massive installation for the game dwarfs the players, showing the power imbalance. From the fast cuts of the team selection sequence to the tight shots of the players being handcuffed to the ropes, the show reminds us that these are desperate people who have given up their freedom. And then the actual games are masterfully blocked and staged with the camera getting eye-level with the players as they struggle and strain, swooping over them to capture their grimaces of pain and terror, then diving down to show their feet, the most effective way to gauge their progress—or lack thereof. By the end of these episode the viewer is as exhausted as the players7.
Marbles. This one must have been a challenge for the show to stage, because it’s essentially a bunch of people sitting or standing around ... playing various games of marbles8. Two smart decisions elevate this scene to one of the most tense in the show (and also the most emotionally devastating): One, the setup in the early portion of the episode when Gi-hun chooses The Old Man as his partner, then discovers he’s an experienced marbles player, then realizes they have to play each other to the death. When the Old Man wanders off in an apparently senile moment, the tension begins to skyrocket, because it puts Gi-hun in the position of actively working to defeat the Old Man. He’s not just going along to save his life in this moment, he’s working at it.
Appropriately, the camera worms its way through the maze of faux streets and houses, restlessly jumping from one mini-drama to another and only giving occasional glimpses of the full scene. Denying us more visual information makes us feel the same frustration Gi-hun is feeling as he desperately tries to corral the old man. It also serves to underscore Ali’s confusion at the end, where we come to the emotional devastation9.
Stepping Stones. Here the show often shows the players from one end or the other, demonstrating how limited their choices and information is by limiting the information available to the viewer. Even as people die by stepping on the un-tempered glass, the rear players only gain one piece of knowledge10. As with the tug-of-war game, the sheer scale of the bridge reminds us just how fucked everyone is, how powerless they are. The relatively static nature of the camera here also echoes how the players spend much of their time standing and waiting for someone to sacrifice themselves so they can move forward. The way the camera lingers on players frozen in position while mini-dramas play out at the front makes you want to shake the TV screen in shared frustration11.
Squid Game. Here we return to the wide-open space of the first game, but with the opposite configuration. Instead of several hundred confused, excited people, we have two bitter, broken people who know exactly what’s happening. It’s filmed like a traditional fight scene in an action movie: There’s literally every cliche, from the lighting to the rain to the lingering shots of puddles. And yet the fight itself is blocked and choreographed to resemble a children’s fight—slapping and inexpert grappling as opposed to martial arts moves and expert knifeplay. The scene is meant to be cathartic, in a way, a release.
The incredible tension of these sequences also serves to make the interstitial scenes of the increasingly exhausted players in the dorm more interesting. After the white-knuckle fights of the games, the audience wants that relief, those moments of calm. What might have left us impatient suddenly becomes exactly what we want: A break. Which means the character development and world-building in these scenes is much more appreciated—and effective.
Now I’ve rambled on far too long about Squid Game, as one does. I’ll admit I’m not looking forward to Squid Game 2: Americans, although it would be fun to see them stage manhunt or I Declare War on the show. Because American kids’ games are hella violent already.
Next week: Master of None gets sad and middle-aged.
We’re under siege by spotted lanternflies ATM, and man those cats love to hunt those things and present them to me as prizes.
The key word here is “involuntary.”
Answer: One born with a Dad Bod and things just got worse from there.
Apparently many U.S. residents’ love for Squid Game amounts to a sudden euphoric discovery that other cultures exist, and some of them have fascinating differences from our own.
Since I am a natural born rule follower and toady, I would easily win this game. No one can obey a giant robot authority figure that looks like a Japanese children’s book character better than me, bub.
As a naturally unnaturally sweaty man, I would obviously dissolve the seams of my candy with my own desperate flop sweat within moments, so I’d win this one, too. Finally, a chance for an awkwardly sweaty man to shine!
I’m such a dandy that even with the threat of imminent death I’d be all pissy about the rope burn on my hands. As a result, I would lose this game. Most likely by being thrown over the edge by my own team once they’re sick of hearing me complain about not being issued gloves.
Finally! A sport for the Jeffs of the world.
As the marble games require both luck and hand-eye coordination, I would also lose this game. If I participated in Squid Game, I would have lost my glasses within moments of entering the dorm and spent the entirety of Red Light, Green Light on my hands and knees, wailing.
“Why didn’t they tie themselves to each other so they wouldn’t die and could thus test each pane of glass” is the “why didn’t Gandalf have the eagles fly the Ring to Mordor” of 2021.
I have the balance of a lopsided borogrove, so I would definitely lose this game, most likely taking my first step and somehow sailing over the side to the mild relief of everyone there.