Squid Games Season 3 Review: Lee Jung-jae's Show Is A Punch To The Gut With Velvet Glove -Bruising, Bitter & Occasionally Brilliant

Title: Squid Games Season 3

Director: Hwang Dong-hyuk

Cast: Lee Jung-jae, Lee Byung-hun, Wi Ha-joon, Im Si-wan, Kang Ha-neul,

Where to watch: Streaming on Netflix

Rating: ****

If Squid Game Season 1 was a sharp blade masked in childhood nostalgia, and Season 2 the brooding echo of its aftermath, then Season 3 is the cruel, calculated twist of that knife — right between the ribs. Hwang Dong-hyuk’s swan song doesn’t just revisit the dystopia we binge-gawked at in 2021; it retools it, repaints it with darker hues, and throws in a few surprise players — including, bizarrely, a baby. Yes, we’ve come a long way from 'red light green light' (For the unversed, the first episode of Season 1).

Lee Jung-jae returns as Seong Gi-hun, no longer the naive gambler but a haunted shadow, stalking the blood-stained corridors of trauma and regret. His near-mute, hollow-eyed performance in the early episodes is gripping in the way watching a building collapse in slow motion might be: tragic, inevitable, and somehow beautiful. The moral high ground he once clung to is now a slippery slope, and the season is smart enough to let him stumble down it.

The character dynamics are where this season flexes most — a tense chessboard of betrayals, confessions, and doomed alliances. Kang Ha-neul's Dae-ho transforms from a lovable sidekick to a morally murky scapegoat, while Park Sung-hoon’s Hyun-Ju adds a punch of physical prowess and emotional gravity. The emotional core, however, is cradled in the plotline of Jun-hee and her newborn — a bold narrative risk that lands with a disturbing impact. The baby-as-contestant arc sounds like a parody, but in context, it's a chilling metaphor for generational trauma. Diaper-changing has never felt this existential.

Not all risks pay off. The VIPs return — inexplicably — dragging their tacky dialogue and discount villainy back onto a stage that deserved better. Their Marvel references and cartoonish sneering feel like leftovers from a rejected Succession spoof. They sap the momentum just when the stakes should be at their most gut-wrenching. For a show so good at dissecting power, this portrayal of the elite borders on lazy satire — all bark, no bite, and tragically miscast.

The games themselves range from heart-palpitating to horrifying. The twisted version of Hide and Seek is a claustrophobic masterpiece, combining psychological dread with physical carnage. The final challenge — dialogue-heavy, action-light — is a daring move that lays bare the show’s deeper philosophical nerve: it’s not the game that kills you, it’s who you become to survive it.

Visually, it remains a fever dream. Production designer Chae Kyoung-sun turns jungle gyms into chambers of doom, while composer Jung Jae-il’s score flutters between lullaby and death march. It’s all hauntingly precise — a child’s playhouse with a death rattle.

Ultimately, Season 3 doesn’t aim to entertain — it dares to disturb. It asks uncomfortable questions about agency, complicity, and spectacle, even as it nudges you to press “Next Episode.” It might not be the flawless finale fans hoped for, but it’s a punch to the gut with a velvet glove: bruising, bitter, and, occasionally, brilliant. What began as satire now ends as an elegy — for innocence, for empathy, and perhaps for any illusion that we’re not playing games ourselves.