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The unhealthy and somewhat sadistic pleasure of seeing ourselves as hamsters on a wheel, running to survive and emancipate from an unhappy, failing life. The pleasure of channeling the social portrait into a gruesome game, which is a (simplified) image of today's rampant capitalism. The sweet and shocking taste of seeing blood dripping on the amusements of our childhood. A profanation of innocence.
Squid Game is a brilliant series because it keeps us in its pocket, we don't quite know why we feel this urgency to see what happens, how that terrifying game (of massacre) unfolds. And so we obey, we too enter those arenas so colorful and so alien, inhuman. Then, perhaps, over time, we understand why this absurd competition entices us so much: because in the end, it is a reassuring (intellectually speaking) simplification of the social and economic system that is instilled in us from a young age. It gives us a secret joy to see men, women, the elderly, immigrants, and criminals fighting to snatch the coveted prize, clawing their way through the corpses or being forced to betray those who were friends until recently.
But the necessary simplification presents some much more subtle and psychological nuances. The contestants are free to leave if the majority desires. But outside that cruel competition, there is nothing consolatory: their lives are desperate, drowned in debt, threatened by the mistakes they made, which reverberate into the future. Money is the only salvation, and to obtain it, they have to play. There is no alternative, and so death is less frightening, certainly less humiliating than a prostrated life.
The almost philosophical ambition is juxtaposed with extreme structural simplicity, an almost non-existent budget. Because in all this, the series essentially thrives on acting (in the original language, wonderful), close-ups, and human relationships. The ease of creating masks and two-dimensional figures that react somewhat mechanically should not be misleading: over time, personal dynamics become complicated (thanks to brilliant plot developments) and ultimately reveal the ruthlessness behind the apparent solidarity: the prevailing maxim is mors tua vita mea. There's no escaping. In this, the courage to probe the chasms in the hearts of everyone, especially the most unfortunate, the wretched, is closely related to what was brilliantly exposed by Parasite, by the fellow countryman Bong.
Finally, a push towards success may have come from the author's iconic cunning: the colorful uniforms, the simple games, the red uniforms with geometric symbols on the black masks of the guards, all contribute to constructing that social simplification that entices us so much, because while stylizing the feelings (but amplifying them and making them collide will be taken care of by the unfolding events), it dares to show the ruthless mechanisms that drive the great game of our life. A despair that somehow consoles.
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