Squid Game Season 2 begins with the hope of something greater—a story that could delve deeper into the psychological torment, the societal critique, and the human desperation that characterized the first season. However, what we get instead is a watered-down, redundant iteration that offers little new and fails to advance the narrative in any meaningful way. It is a season mired in lazy writing, uninspired character arcs, and overblown moralizing that feels more like a bad re-run of its predecessor than an exciting continuation.
Where Season 1 shocked audiences with its brutal premise and a thinly veiled critique of capitalist greed, Season 2 attempts to recycle those same elements to diminishing returns. Rather than building on its foundation, the show indulges in repetition—retelling the same story but with less nuance and depth. The overuse of clichés, the lack of character development, and the blatant moralizing make it feel like the show’s creators are simply going through the motions, hoping that enough blood and gore will keep viewers distracted from the paper-thin narrative beneath.

A Tedious Rehashing of an Overplayed Formula
Season 2 of Squid Game opens with a scene that picks up right where the last season left off—Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), the eventual winner of the first round of the Games, is about to board a plane to visit his daughter in the United States. But predictably, the pull of the mysterious organization that runs the Games proves too strong, and Gi-hun is sucked back into the hellish cycle once more. This decision is not only frustratingly contrived but also undermines the entire arc of Gi-hun’s character from the first season. What could have been a poignant ending for Gi-hun as a man finally freed from the Games’ clutches is discarded for the sake of a shallow continuation that fails to justify its existence.
From the very first episode, it becomes apparent that the writers have little to offer beyond repeating what worked in the first season, hoping that lightning will strike twice. The structure of the Games remains largely the same, and so does the tired formula of violent deaths, shocking betrayals, and a predictable descent into chaos. The novelty that kept viewers glued to their screens during Season 1 is nowhere to be found. Instead, the show plods along with a sense of déjà vu—characters we barely know (and barely care about) are thrust into life-or-death situations that feel increasingly perfunctory.
Even the Games themselves, which were once the heart-pounding centerpiece of the show, have lost their allure. Season 1 managed to maintain a semblance of suspense, despite its flaws, by introducing twisted, deadly versions of children’s games that resonated with viewers. Season 2, however, struggles to maintain that same energy. The Games feel uninspired, as if they’re simply going through the motions, and the twists are telegraphed well in advance. By the time a new Game is introduced, any sense of excitement is replaced with a dull sense of inevitability. The thrill of the unexpected—one of the key elements that made Season 1 work—is almost entirely absent.
Worse still, the stakes feel lower. We know the rules now. We know the inevitable betrayals and alliances that will form. We know that Gi-hun, as the lead character, will likely survive whatever horrors are thrown his way, and that makes it hard to get invested in the outcome. The element of surprise that defined Season 1 has been dulled to the point of irrelevance. Instead, we’re left with a paint-by-numbers approach to plotting that drags the series into mediocrity.

Characters Reduced to Two-Dimensional Archetypes
The issue of repetitive plotting would be somewhat forgivable if the characters were engaging enough to carry the show on their own. Unfortunately, Squid Game Season 2 utterly fails in this regard, reducing its characters to hollow archetypes that lack any real depth or nuance. Where the first season at least gave us a few standout characters—such as Gi-hun, Cho Sang-woo (Park Hae-soo), and Kang Sae-byeok (Jung Ho-yeon)—Season 2 offers little more than paper-thin caricatures that exist solely to move the plot forward.
Take, for example, the introduction of a new villainous participant named Thanos (Choi Seung-hyun, better known by his stage name T.O.P.). Thanos, a once-successful rapper who lost all his money in a crypto scam, is one of the most egregious examples of the show’s failure to create compelling characters. Rather than exploring his backstory or providing any depth to his motivations, the show turns him into a walking cliché—a loud, erratic bully who spouts nonsensical rhymes at inappropriate moments and pops pills to enhance his chaotic behavior. Thanos’ character feels like a desperate attempt to inject energy into the show, but instead, he comes off as a cartoonish parody, completely devoid of any real menace or complexity.
Similarly, the other new characters in Season 2 feel like lazy rehashes of the archetypes from Season 1. There’s the obligatory morally gray antihero, the selfless victim, the cold but secretly compassionate female character, and, of course, the sadistic villain who revels in the suffering of others. The show’s insistence on adhering to these tropes without adding anything new makes the characters feel like mere placeholders, filling in the gaps left by the deceased participants of Season 1.
Even Gi-hun, who was one of the more interesting characters in the first season, feels flattened in Season 2. His transformation from a bumbling, down-on-his-luck gambler to a determined, morally righteous avenger feels unearned and forced. The show wants us to believe that Gi-hun has become a hardened man, consumed by his desire to take down the organization behind the Games, but it never gives us a compelling reason for this change. Instead, it feels like a contrivance designed to move the plot forward, robbing Gi-hun of the complexity that made him relatable in Season 1.
The problem with these one-dimensional characters is that they make it impossible to get emotionally invested in their fates. When characters are reduced to simplistic archetypes, their deaths or betrayals carry no emotional weight. The show tries to manipulate the audience into caring through overly dramatic music, slow-motion shots, and tearful goodbyes, but it all feels hollow. Without well-developed characters to root for (or against), the emotional core of the show is completely lost.

Clumsy, Overbearing Social Commentary
One of the most grating aspects of Squid Game Season 2 is its ham-fisted approach to social commentary. Season 1 was by no means subtle in its critique of capitalism and wealth disparity, but it at least had moments where the message was integrated into the story in a way that felt organic. Season 2, on the other hand, beats the viewer over the head with its moralizing at every possible turn.
The show’s central thesis—that money corrupts and that people will do anything to survive in a rigged system—is not a particularly original or insightful one. Yet, Squid Game insists on repeating this point over and over again, as if the audience is incapable of grasping the message. Every episode features some heavy-handed reminder of the horrors of capitalism, whether it’s through the cruel, money-hungry elites who run the Games or the desperate participants who are forced to turn on one another for a chance at survival. The show seems to believe that it is delivering a profound commentary on the human condition, but in reality, it’s offering little more than surface-level observations that have been done to death in countless other dystopian narratives.
What makes this even more frustrating is the show’s lack of nuance in exploring its themes. In Season 2, the lines between good and evil are drawn so starkly that there’s no room for moral ambiguity or complexity. The rich are portrayed as sadistic monsters who delight in watching the poor suffer, while the participants are reduced to helpless victims of circumstance. There’s no exploration of the grey areas that make human behavior so fascinating—just a simplistic, black-and-white view of morality that feels juvenile in its execution.
Moreover, the show’s attempts at moralizing often come across as condescending. Season 2 goes out of its way to spell out its messages in the most obvious and heavy-handed manner possible, as if the creators don’t trust the audience to understand what’s going on. For example, during one of the Games, where the participants are forced to play a relay race with their legs tied together, the show takes painstaking steps to explain every minor detail, from the difficulty of walking in unison to the tactical advantage of walking backward. Not only does this drain any sense of tension from the scene, but it also feels like the show is talking down to its viewers, assuming they need every twist and turn spoon-fed to them.


A Missed Opportunity for Character-Driven Drama
One of the most glaring missed opportunities in Squid Game Season 2 is its failure to capitalize on the complex relationships and dynamics set up in the first season. The show introduces new characters and new plotlines, but it never takes the time to develop them in any meaningful way. Instead, the focus remains squarely on the Games themselves, with little regard for the emotional or psychological toll they take on the characters.
This is especially true of the dynamic between Gi-hun, Hwang Jun-ho (Wi Ha-joon), and the Front Man, Hwang In-ho (Lee Byung-hun). Jun-ho’s quest to find his missing brother and uncover the truth about the Games was one of the most compelling subplots in Season 1, but Season 2 does almost nothing with this storyline. Jun-ho’s eventual discovery that his brother is the Front Man should have been a moment of great emotional resonance, but it’s handled with such a lack of care that it feels like an afterthought. Rather than exploring the psychological complexities of this revelation, the show brushes it aside in favor of more violent spectacle.
Similarly, the relationship between Gi-hun and the new characters introduced in Season 2 is never given the space to grow or evolve. The show throws together a diverse group of participants, but instead of allowing them to form meaningful bonds or rivalries, it simply uses them as cannon fodder for the Games. There’s no investment in these relationships because the show never gives us a reason to care about them in the first place.


A Hollow Shell of Its Former Self
In the end, Squid Game Season 2 is a disappointing, lackluster follow-up that squanders the potential set up by its predecessor. Rather than building on the original’s strengths or pushing its narrative in new and exciting directions, it chooses to rest on its laurels, recycling the same tired tropes and plot points to diminishing returns. The show’s over-reliance on violent spectacle, combined with its shallow characters and heavy-handed social commentary, makes it a tedious watch that lacks the emotional depth or thematic complexity necessary to keep viewers engaged.
While Season 1 of Squid Game was by no means perfect, it had enough originality and tension to make it a cultural phenomenon. Season 2, however, feels like a hollow shell of what came before—a lifeless repetition of old ideas that have already run their course. For a show that once promised to be a sharp critique of the human condition, Squid Game has become little more than a parody of itself, a victim of its own success.