Some major but inevitable spoilers for the first half of the season.

As the games reach their climax will the players descend into bloody civil war, or can Gi-hun inspire a revolution?

We left Gi-hun and his comrades at the end of episode 4 embarking on a terrifying six-legged pentathlon of otherwise completely innocent children’s games, where failure to spin a simple top results in the death of the whole team by impromptu firing squad. This makes for an eye-boggling, nail biting opening act to episode 5, and the viewer is left wondering why on earth the contestants would vote for another round. Adding this continual element of choice between each round is not only riveting drama but gets to the heart of the fundamental flaw in democracy that liberal minded political commentators are so unwilling to address. Can we ever trust each other not to vote purely for the promise of selfish advantage?

Looking around the world at the start of 2025 – increasingly dominated by democratically elected populists – it’s probably the most pertinent question being asked in any TV drama on any platform anywhere. Although, I think there was a guy 425 years ago who suggested in one of his plays that ‘The fault […] is not in our stars but in ourselves’, so it’s clearly taking a while for humanity to get the message.

What makes this such a strong series is that by putting less emphasis on the games themselves, Hwang Dong-hyuk is allowing us to invest in the characters far more, and surely we are all falling in love with Cho Hyun-ju (Park Sung-hoon), a transgender former soldier who entered the games to pay for the last stages of her surgery. Then there’s Jang Geum-ja, an elderly survivor of the Korean war, who is hoping to pay off the debts accrued by her loser son. It’s a lovely performance by Kang Ae-shim, suggestive of a Korean Frances McDormand, and far less shouty than a lot of the older actors tend to offer up on many of the K-Dramas I watch. There are many more, and, by giving them space, we care more than in Season 1, and are increasingly shocked by the brutality of the violence, rather than becoming inured to it.

But, of course, what’s really driving this second outing is the question of if, when and how Gi-hun will discover Player 001’s true identity. The relationship between the two men becomes the utterly compelling backbone to almost every scene, and the bloody climax when it comes (not a spoiler!) is not a disappointment.

The less said about how the season ends the better, but if you’re expecting a ‘with one bound the hero was free’ conclusion then you really are watching the wrong show. In fact, if you want cheering up and to feel good about your fellow citizens, I suggest dipping into the complete works of Machiavelli and Frederick Nietzsche, or watching Threads on repeat for a bit of light relief.

Having said that, with Season 3 already in the digital can, Season 2’s nihilistic finale is really just an Empire Strikes Back mid-point, and I’m sure some cuddly Ewoks will be along to sort things out later in the year.

Or maybe not.

Verdict: It would have been so easy simply to repeat the formula that made the first season of Squid Game such a phenomenon. Hwang Dong-hyuk earns my undying respect for being brave enough to test the limits of his format and put storytelling and character ahead of the temptation to flog his lucrative franchise to death. He’d rather shoot it – and most of his characters – in the head. 10/10

Martin Jameson

www.ninjamarmoset.com