What they’re watching, from their luxurious viewing rooms, is a reset in the aftermath of the hell that was “The Starry Night.” Squid Game zooms back out for this rebuilding effort by necessity, checking in with all the various plotlines it eschewed last episode in favor of that horrifying focus: Choi’s investigation into Captain Park back on the mainland, Jun-ho’s ongoing search on the boat, and No-eul’s efforts to smuggle (the still-gutshot) Player 246 off the island. None of it has the sheer vitality of the material actually taking place inside the player rooms, which has always been the issue with these wider looks at Squid Game‘s world. That being said, the knowledge that the show only has three episodes left to go after this does tighten up each of these plotlines in turn, so they feel terse and quick-moving for once, instead of like simple filler. By episode’s end, we’ve seen No-eul being set up for a possible trap, Choi getting arrested after finding irrefutable evidence that Park is a former Pink Guard, and Jun-ho discovering the spot where his brother shot him at the climax of the previous game. All of these plotlines are moving toward a climax; the only question now is how much impact they’ll end up having on the action proper, which remains, as always, with the players.
And it’s with that main event that Squid Game takes time to give full (and final) focus to the best supporting character to have emerged over the course of its second and third seasons: Jang Geum-ja. We watch her at her best here, the older woman attending to new mother Jun-hee, throwing herself into (unsuccessful) pleas for humanity from the O voters, and trying to inspire Gi-hun to pick his head back up and find something worth giving a shit about instead of just laying down to die. Kang Ae-shim gives a beautiful performance throughout, never letting the despair eating away at Geum-ja over the death of her son leave her eyes—but also embodying incredible warmth. (Her last monologue to Gi-hun, about the basic unfairness of life, is especially affecting.) This character could have gone too broad at about 100 different points in Squid Game‘s second and third seasons, but Kang has found her humanity throughout. It’s what makes the heartbreak of her suicide hit all the harder.
Credit to writer-director Hwang Dong-hyuk: He absolutely fucking got me with this one. I didn’t know why the Pink Guards were walking in with a coffin after another miserable night in the player room, matching Gi-hun’s just-waking confusion—until his eyes alight on Geum-ja’s body, which is hanging with a sheet around her neck from a distant bunk. Hwang shoots the reveal in a far shot, letting the reality of what you’re seeing sink in; the sudden dump of a few meager stacks of won into the piggy bank a few seconds later underscores the near-casual horror of the moment. It’s easy to see, in hindsight; half of what Geum-ja says in this episode is a plea for mothers to live for their kids that alludes to her own feelings of failure toward Yong-sik. But the reveal is still a shock—both for viewers and Gi-hun. The last thing Geum-ja did on this Earth was ask him to give enough of a shit to keep Jun-hee and her baby safe; her final act knocks him straight out of his self-pitying funk, just in time for the next game.
Which is, as a moaning VIP who drunkenly bet on her notes, one that feels especially unfair to a brand-new mother carting around both a baby and a shattered ankle. Riffing on the first season’s glass bridge, we’ve once again got a trap-filled span for 24 remaining contestants to cross. But instead of a sacrifice-encouraging guessing game, the gimmick this time is simpler, if also more brutal: a “jump rope”—in actuality, a metal bar, moved with deadly speed by the Red Rover robot and her new friend from last season’s stinger—that sweeps a narrow bridge about once every four seconds. Cross to the other side (and over a major gap in the middle) in 20 minutes, and you live. Hesitate for the whole time limit, you get shot. Get tagged by the bar…well, hey, Nam-gyu, what happens if you get tagged by the bar, bud?
After the “one game, one episode” focus of “The Starry Night,” “It’s Not Your Fault” returns to the “see the start of the game to set the stakes, then get the conclusion in the next episode” approach most of the show’s games have taken, with Nam-gyu as our “oh fuck, that would suck” sacrificial dickhead du jour. Suffering pretty nasty withdrawal after losing Thanos’ cross o’ pills last episode, he’s manipulated by a vindictive Nam-su into going first on the jump-rope bridge. And he almost makes it halfway, retrieving the thrown cross—only to freeze up when he finds out the guy he bullied so mercilessly has tricked him, swapping out the final pill for bupkus. One sweep later, and he’s gone, into the pit: one more named character down.
Which leaves Gi-hun to restore himself to his position as the show’s hero, racing across the bridge with Jun-hee’s newborn in hand to get the babe to safety. (In a moment that feels implausibly cruel even by this show’s extremely brutal standards, the baby has been declared a player at the whims of the VIPs, idiotically hoping to turn Jun-hee into “Wonder Woman” to keep her kid alive.) Turning back to try to help the young mother across, though, Gi-hun is blocked by more players crossing. That’s all well and good…until the first guy who makes it turns around to “congratulate” the guy behind him by wrestling him straight into the pit. And for all my talk of masks up top, maybe I’m ultimately off-base: It would be hard to describe the true face of evil better than the look of this guy, a pure expression of the O Voter philosophy, turning to Gi-hun with shameless glee in his eyes, and declaring—right before we cut to black—”I’m playing the game!”
It’s a bleak end to an episode that counts as “breathing room” only thanks to the extreme contrast of the previous hour. (That is, we only lose two named characters here, instead of four, and there are at least some moments that aren’t drenched in existential horror.) Squid Game has always been a dark show, and it’s only gotten darker since the voting plotline was introduced last season, transforming players from victims into active participants in their own destruction. The series is trying desperately to reforge some hope here, mostly with the emphasis on the baby, a true innocent amidst the madness. But it really feels in danger of burning the whole thing down with misery and pessimism, especially now that we have the VIPs pouring the fuel of their awfulness onto the fire. This is a strong episode, anchored by a visually interesting game, and a great (farewell) performance from one of the show’s best actors. But it remains to be seen if this series can land its ending without straining our credulity or souls past their breaking points.
Stray observations
- • I haven’t re-watched the show’s first season since it aired, so I’ll admit to being very confused by the weird English speakers suddenly taking their masks off during the cold open. I was genuinely trying to figure out if they were contest winners.
- • Also, I understand why it’s thematically important for the five of them to speak English, but that dubbing is really distracting.
- • Myung-gi spends the whole episode basically paralyzed—too ashamed, or afraid of being rejected, to ever actually approach Jun-hee or the baby.
- • The prize share, after Geum-ja’s death, is up to 1.800 billion won—roughly $1.31 million per person. Which doesn’t stop any of the O diehards from even considering changing their votes.
- • In-ho accurately pegs how the vote will go, despite the mild worries of the VIPs.
- • The addled Nam-gyu is one of the only Os to switch to an X—which is immediately canceled out when Nam-su also switches, presumably so he can get his enemy killed.
- • Poking around in Park’s house—and right before getting savaged by his (strangely cute!) guard dog—Choi finds a picture of the captain having a fun day out with The Recruiter.
- • I’ll be honest: I’m not sure why it matters to anybody that No-eul is trying to escape with a player instead of a fellow guard.
- • We also get a reminder that Gi-hun is, himself, a dad (albeit a shitty one).
- • Shout-out to the makeup team: Every close-up of Jun-hee’s ankle got a genuine wince from me.
