Squid Game 2 | Review

by Chris Montanelli

I’ve endured Squid Game 2, and it’s an absolute disaster. Netflix, seriously—this wasn’t necessary. The idea alone would have been enough.

The second season of this sadistic playground is a trap of its own, not of death, but of tedium. Seven long hours later, we’ve emerged with all the ammunition you’ll need to survive any office chat about it—without wasting your time in front of the screen. This sequel, available since December 26, lands firmly on the list of unwanted holiday gifts, alongside fruitcakes and re-gifted Yankee candles.

Three endless years of “anticipation” have led us back to a story that nobody remembers in detail. Sure, there’s the giant killer doll, the manipulative old man, and a parade of South Korean cannon fodder. But director Hwang Dong-hyuk couldn’t care less. Instead of easing us back in, he flings us into the chaos as if we’ve memorized every frame of the original. A two-minute “Previously On” recap does the bare minimum, the narrative equivalent of a high school book report on Moby Dick that ends with, “Anyway, it’s about a whale.”

The first two episodes are a blur of noise and recycled faces, returning with the swagger of Marvel superheroes but none of the charm. As the audience, you’re left squinting at the screen asking, “Who are these people again? Why are they here? And do I care?” By the time we’ve hit the inevitable “Russian roulette” sequence (set, bizarrely, to a Andrea Bocelli track—because why not?), most of the cast has been wiped out. Honestly, skip to Episode 3, where the games actually start, and the aesthetic shifts into what can only be described as Instagram meets M.C. Escher, all glossy pastels and labyrinthine dread. The star, Seong Gi-hun, is the sole survivor of the first round. And wow, they really picked the wrong guy to bring back.

Seong Gi-hun is back, not as a character but as a human Hallmark card, convinced he can save the contestants through the power of good vibes. His sanctimonious speeches about humanity’s failings would fit better in a soapbox monologue at the Oscars than a high-stakes death match. You can almost hear him say, “World peace is my dream,” while his fellow contestants, understandably, roll their eyes and get back to not dying.

For someone who survived the first game, Gi-hun returns with a plan so idiotic it verges on performance art. He recruits a team of equally hopeless do-gooders—think The Breakfast Club, but if everyone were failing the class—and together, they embark on their mission to infiltrate the deadly game… in a rowboat. This is less Ocean’s Eleven and more Gilligan’s Island with extra body bags. Spoiler alert: it doesn’t go well.

If there’s any solace, it’s that the new contestants are so insufferable, watching them lose becomes the real game. Forget the desperate, sympathetic losers of Season 1—this time, it’s a parade of influencers, crypto scammers, and social-media grifters. One guy is essentially a walking NFT, all hype and no substance. Watching these clowns try to outwit the pink-suited guards is less about tension and more about rooting for natural selection.

The character lineup feels algorithmically generated: there’s the aspiring Instagram model, the TikTok star who dances his way into oblivion, and the “relatable” mother-son duo—though they’re less Gilmore Girls and more Everyone Loves Raymond if the jokes were replaced with screaming matches. The only memorable addition is a contestant whose motivation is to win the money for gender-affirming surgery, a genuinely poignant storyline that feels utterly out of place in this mess.

The show has the nerve to recycle plot twists from the first season. Remember that shocking betrayal that had everyone gasping in 2021? They bring it back, beat for beat, like a cover band playing Hotel California for the thousandth time. And, of course, Gi-hun, in his infinite wisdom, doesn’t see it coming—too busy proselytizing to notice the knife aimed squarely at his back.

The worst offense is how proudly Squid Game 2 announces itself as a “bridge” to a third season. It doesn’t bother with a satisfying conclusion, instead leaving viewers dangling on a limp cliffhanger. And the final twist? It centers on a character so inconsequential you’ll wonder if the writers lost a bet. This isn’t storytelling; it’s corporate strategy—Netflix keeping its brand alive at the expense of everyone’s patience.

If the first Squid Game was a biting critique of capitalism, this season is the late-stage capitalist version of itself: bloated, empty, and dripping with irony. It wants to say something profound about human greed, but by the third episode, it’s clear the only thing it has to offer is more empty spectacle. Netflix has packaged this as prestige TV, but it’s really just The Hunger Games with loftier ambitions and none of the bite.

* * *

Squid Game 2 is less a sequel and more a cash grab. It strips the original of its intrigue, replacing it with a bloated runtime and characters we actively root against. It’s the cinematic equivalent of that ugly holiday sweater you pull out of obligation, only to regret it immediately. Some things are better left unworn, unwatched, and unmade.