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Reflection:

Squid Games was a great show to choose for me. Based on my interests and what I enjoy, it covered my topic genre. I love things that are competitive, a survival, and gore as well. I would definitely choose this topic again, but really executing it to the full extent

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Source 3: A Review of the Show

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"Do you still have trust in people?"

Hwang Dong-hyuk 's Squid Game delves into all aspects of human nature, focusing on new bonds of friendship and the tenacity of trust. The 9 episode Netflix original, starring HoYeon Jung and Lee Jung-jae rose quickly to popularity after its release on September 17, 2021.

The plot centered around a very attractive cast (I live for the edits) and the way they grow, bond and falter through a series of life or death games. Perhaps the reason why the show attracted so many fans was due to its character's questionable actions. The acting and the games themselves definitely put this series on the must-watch list.

In case you haven't watched it (I would say go watch it and finish this review afterwards) this is your spoiler alert.

Even critics of the movie (of which there are surprisingly many) must admit it is a great pass time. The plot starts with the main characters stuck in places of high poverty, debt and terrible conditions. From there, the show often shifts pace, slowing down and focusing on the characters and then speeding up to a gory fast-paced game. During the first game I have to admit I was shocked by the change in dynamic. Unfortunately if you were expecting a constantly engaging type of show, I have to admit Squid Game falls a little short. At times, the action drew out to the point where I skipped through the scene. But mostly, my eyes were glued to the screen the whole time, except for the moments I spent sobbing (this happened more often than I would like to admit).

Let's start with my personal favorite part- the acting. Not once did I question the validity of the actors or actresses (meaning they didn't give me TikTok vibes). They expressed the emotions expected and kept me longing for more. Even the worst characters with the most complicated personalities were portrayed in ways that made me pity them. Cho Sang-Woo, who killed not one but two of my favorite characters, had me empathizing with the way he was feeling and crying for his mother after his death. My only wish was that these characters had more time developing the relations between them and their own individual personalities. The hardest deaths for me were from the characters that weren't featured as heavily and whose relationships were basically neglected.

However, there were definitely areas where I was not as enamored with the show as I would have liked to have been. The final game, for one, dragged on for far too long with far too predictable an outcome (but who am I to judge?). In all fairness Netflix has started to put out some incredible short series and this is definitely one of them.

The series definitely had me questioning all aspects of trust, faith and love, especially as I bawled my eyes out over characters I barely knew or flinched at the almost obscene images. The show certainly picked a good time to air, with a lot of talent and a little luck making it one of the most popular shows to date. But this isn't really a surprise, as audiences of Squid Game know that " Good rain knows the best time to fall."

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SPOILER ALERT AHEAD "Do you still have trust in people?" Hwang Dong-hyuk's Squid Game delves into all aspects of human nature, focusing on new bonds of friendship and the tenacity of trust. The 9 episode Netflix original, starring HoYeon Jung and Lee Jung-jae rose quickly to popularity after its release on September 17, 2021.

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Source 2: History and Context About the Show

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on Netflix has become a global phenomenon, breaking viewership records to become the streaming service's most popular release ever. As someone who regularly grew up with the question, "Are you Chinese or Japanese?" I am still somewhat baffled that South Korea has become an international pop culture powerhouse, and random non-Asian people I know spout the virtues of once-insular stars like Gong Yoo. Even the fact that everyone is saying the quirky, ultra-Korean title Squid Game (even quirkier in the original Korean, with the onomatopoeic word for squid, ojingeo, reminiscent to me of the sound of chewing on savory dried strips of it as a kid) gives me an internal chuckle. The show's success raises the question: why is South Korea so good at nailing capitalist critiques in its art lately? What's in the water-or rather soju- there?

The fictional thriller series consists of nine episodes set in modern-day Seoul, where protagonist Seong Gi-Hun is a ne'er-do-well gambler who owes debts to various loan sharks, straining his relationship with his mother and young daughter. A charming, mysterious recruiter at a subway station lures Gi-Hun into a game of ddakji, setting odd but simple rules: if Gi-Hun wins a round, he gets a cash prize; if he loses, he doesn't owe the recruiter money-he just gets slapped. After playing, the recruiter then offers Gi-Hun a phone number to join "the real game," which promises far bigger prizes. Financially desperate, Gi-Hun calls the number and ends up kidnapped, unconscious, and brought to a secret location along with 455 other equally desperate contestants, all wearing green tracksuits, identical but for their individual numbers. They are told they will be competing for a grand prize worth roughly $40 million...whose winner, they realize after a shocking first round, will be the last person standing, as once harmless children's games like "Red Light, Green Light" and tug-o'-war are redefined as unforgiving rungs to hell.

The game's Gothic underbelly certainly contributes to its success; the show itself is unquestionably brutal, even traumatizing at points-take episode six, in which players are asked to choose partners (whom they presumably trust or feel a connection with) for the upcoming game and are told only afterward that they are partnered to fight each other for elimination ... by playing marbles. Heartbreaking betrayals ensue. It is hard not to see parallels to our own lives during the pandemic, when unforgiving life or death decisions have become all too familiar.

Squid Game captures a dangerous juxtaposition of entertainment and subconscious anger, of glossy consumption and the darkest id and zeitgeist of the times. It isn't even particularly original: as many have noted, it mashes up Hunger Games with the Academy Awards' 2019 Best Picture, Parasite, and other similar works of the genre. Yet it somehow manages to amplify, supersede even, those already popular works, instead of becoming a clichéd retread. Hwang Dong-Hyuk, the pensive director, intensifies some crucial factors, particularly the human characters and cost, and adds some ingenious twists: the dash of sinister pseudo-innocence in harkening back to childhood games, the vivid hyperreality of a colorful neo-video game landscape, the underground embedding in our present-day world, and, perhaps most harshly of all, the illusory specter of personal choice. When they are introduced to the game, the players are told they can leave via majority vote anytime. They even win one early vote, go back to their miserable, indigent lives, and then voluntarily call to return. In other words, the players in the game choose to stay, albeit under external duress of a corrupt society's making.

As many have noted, stories like Squid Game and Parasite riff off of our growing societal discomfort with modern-day capitalism and the ever-widening gulf between the rich and the poor. South Korea has become particularly good at encapsulating these issues, perhaps, because of its own seemingly successful yet worrisome postwar story. After a devastating 20th century-in which the first half involved colonial occupation by Imperial Japan, punctuated cruelly in the middle by the Korean War, and then drifting through the second half during the Cold War as a divided nation featuring dictatorships on both sides, the North sponsored by the Soviet Union and the South by the United States-a glimmer of hope emerged when Seoul hosted the 1988 Summer Olympics. The event, combined with the advent of the computer age and other factors, sparked an economic awakening, and then a social one: South Korea became one of the countries with the highest number of Internet users per capita. In addition to the Internet, there was also ideological cross-pollination from a youth class newly educated overseas, mainly in the United States and Europe (sent by elite-education-obsessed parents). South Korea marched like a tiger into the 21st century, with its new business conglomerates (called Chaebols) and a more globally savvy populace, then turned its hungry eye to targeted pop culture diplomacy via K-pop and K-dramas. It rose from an impoverished country in ashes to a global economic and entertainment powerhouse in little more than 30 years.

Yet South Korea is also an ancient, 5,000-year-old culture with deeply embedded social roots based on Confucian (and patriarchal) hierarchy. The country was isolated from the Western world for many centuries and accordingly nicknamed the Hermit Kingdom. The sudden superimposition of contemporary influences on the old underbelly of Korean culture has led to the confusion and angst highlighted in many of their recent works of film and literature. Although South Korea's economic success has led to some waves of incoming immigration (represented in part by the touching Squid Game character Ali), the nation largely remains one provincially monocultural family crowded within half a peninsula and living mainly in high-rise buildings. With the advent of a stunning megarich class and, in equal measure, an exploited and indebted working class, all living on top of one another, both human ambition and embittered resentment cannot help but build. South Korea does not have the geographical size of the United States, where the rich have the space to hide in cloistered luxury, and the masses can be more easily fooled or distracted with a steady diet of propaganda.

Squid Game cleverly highlights through its characters some of these conflicts: members of the cruelly subjugated migrant class, like Ali; the tragic confusion of North Korean refugees who leave one (still worse) version of hell for a different one, represented by the compelling character Sae-Byeok (which means Dawn); the financial shark social climbers like Sang-Woo, and more. There is also understandable modern ambivalence toward the Confucian deference to the elder class, the members of which can both anchor and destroy the social order, depending on their own underlying values; this conflict is captured in the complex character of Il-Nam, and to some extent in Sang-Woo and Gi-Hun's kindly, self-sacrificing elderly mothers, who embody perhaps the unsung heroes of Korean society.

Squid Game has emerged alongside the savagely perspicacious vision of artists who have grown up during the chaotic change of the past half-century. Many are members of Generation X, as I am, and I sometimes muse at how I might have lived if my parents had not decided to emigrate to the United States in 1971. This whole generation has witnessed firsthand the almost cartoonish capitalist rise and felt both a sense of awe and cynical skepticism about it. The Oscar-winning film director Bong Joon-Ho is a recent breakout superstar auteur; in Parasite, he married his darkly fantastical sensibilities, reminiscent of Hans Christian Andersen-like fairy tales, with postmodern ultraviolence and Spielbergian cinematic verve, all laced with the bold Korean idiosyncrasy of his earlier movies like Snowpiercer and Okja.

Squid Game obviously owes a lot to Parasite. There is a similar sense of class claustrophobia and a liberal use of allegory to represent the different classes and their clashes. Both works rely heavily on a horror-based, bitterly dark satire, underscored by violence, yet somehow leavened by a saccharine overlay of dissociated innocence. The discordant mishmash of childish humor and horrific darkness in these works feels so Korean, and it has somehow become a globally beloved national stylistic hallmark. If it's partly an artistic interpretation of Korea's coping mechanism for what it went through in the 20th century, maybe it's also simply the nation's character after centuries of unsuccessful attempts by its neighbors to overrun it. Koreans are sometimes stereotyped as the Irish of the East, because of a tendency toward a more down-to-earth, clannish social order and corresponding readiness to poke fun at oppressive, pretentious elitism. That humor has a scatological streak, while underscored by a beloved devotion to the uninhibited joy of children.

But there is also a great sadness, captured by the cultural mnemonic han, which vaguely translates to a deep-seated internal angst and perpetual sense of doom. Culture-bound psychosomatic syndromes have been tied to han, such as hwabyeong, a condition characterized by stomach pain and anxiety due to a sense of internalized, unaddressed anger. Elevated rates of suicide, domestic violence, and child abuse are also side effects of this untreated PTSD after many Koreans witnessed the annihilation or perpetual exile of family members during the war, and much more.

North Korea remains another tragic backdrop to all of the above. Family members during the Korean War were maliciously separated, never to see or hear from each other again. The ruthless external economic sanctions that continue to punish North Korea only lead to more desperation and entrenched cult worship in its often starving and terrorized citizens. North Korea remains a glaring live grenade, an unhealed and festering wound in the eye of South Korea and the world. A perpetual reminder of the failure of humanity to reunite this needlessly broken family, it's the ghost-like prisoner in the basement of Parasite, the survivalist dysphoria of Sae-Byeok in Squid Game. North Korea will always haunt everything about South Korea, and everyone in the latter knows it.

The push to succeed at all costs in South Korea has been another post-traumatic coping mechanism. Competitiveness and status-building have reached pathological levels, ranging from clothing brand names to college entrance exams. Some people view South Korea's capitalist transformation as miraculous, but others see it as obsessive, overwork-based, emotionally neglectful, even manipulative and artificial. The truth is that it may be all of that, but the underlying problems, like the national debt and the wealth gap, are growing. The han is still there, lurking ... and in Parasite, it is in your own home, or in Squid Game, it's in your own neighborhood. Now the whole world sees it. The close-knit elements of human rage at capitalism are readily visible to the auteurs of South Korea, and given that much of global society is also largely beholden now to end-stage capitalism, everyone else sees the universal in the specific. Great art, South Korea proves, can resonate through the prism of one society to shine its toxically bright technicolor onto the world.

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What Squid Game Is Really About - The American Scholar

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on Netflix has become a global phenomenon, breaking viewership records to become the streaming service's most popular release ever. As someone who regularly grew up with the question, "Are you Chinese or Japanese?" I am still somewhat baffled that South Korea has become an international pop culture powerhouse, and random non-Asian people I know spout the virtues of once-insular stars like Gong Yoo.

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Source 1: The description of the realism of how our world is, as far as capitalism

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A black and white, slow-motion video of kids running on the dirt floor fills the screen as the voice of Seung Gi-Hun (Lee Jung-Jae) explains how they played the squid game as children. Behind the violence of Netflix's "Squid Game", there is a story about human nature and capitalism. Rather than taking a didactic stance in the development of this series, the creators highlighted empathetic and approachable characters.

In short, 456 people are given the chance to earn 45.6 billion Korean won (39 million US dollars) if they win six Korean childhood games, but unbeknownst to the participants, losing comes with deadly consequences. The straightforward nature of these games, such as tug of war or a Korean version of Red Light, Green Light, allows viewers to focus on the characters and storyline instead.

"People are attracted by the irony that hopeless grownups risk their lives to win a kids' game," Squid Game director Hwang Dong-hyuk said in an interview with the Yonhap News Agency .

The games along with the pastel-colored sets juxtaposed the sound of the gunshots and the bursts of blood that smeared the green jumpsuits. The layer of nostalgia added by sets resembling playgrounds, theaters and Korean neighborhoods was not only thought provoking but seamlessly incorporated the larger meaning behind the series. Viewers have tried to find hidden symbols, and several interviews were conducted with Art Director Chae Kyoung-sun who designed the sets.

"The sets in general, were created to cause confusion and chaos among the players-between reality and fiction," Chae said in an interview with the Korea JoongAng Daily. "For example, in 'Red Light, Green Light,' I deliberately put a tree without any leaves behind the Young-hee robot to imply that this place was 'lifeless.'"

Besides the cheerful set, the greatest differences when comparing the show to popular dystopian series such as "Hunger Games" or "Maze Runner" are the realistic characters and their willingness to join the game.

All the characters had unresolvable situations that forced them to play the game. Whether it be Gi-Hun, the desperate father who gambles money, or Abdul Ali (Anupam Tripathi), an immigrant from Pakistan who faces racial discrimination in the workforce, the characters have stories that resonate with viewers. While I questioned why most of these characters returned to the game when given the chance to live their normal lives, I could not help but empathize with their decision.

The performances by the actors considerably heightened the tension and emotions. Though the cast included veteran actors such as Lee Jung-Jae and Park Hae Soo, the unfamiliar actors successfully made characters, such as Sae-byeok or Ali, more relatable. Despite the commendable acting on the players' side, the non-Korean cast members who played VIPs who spectate the games came under heavy criticism. According to The Guardian , some of these actors recently responded, explaining they were not given a lot of context before filming and struggled with the awkwardness of reciting lines with a mask on, but their excuses were not enough to justify exaggerated acting.

In the fourth game, characters Kang Sae-byeok (Jung Ho-yeon) and Ji-yeong (Lee Yoo-mi) spend time getting to know each other before Ji-yeong sacrifices her life, telling Sae-byeok that she has no reason to live while Sae-byeok does. While these moments of friendship are hopeful, the selfishness of characters like Cho Sang-Woo (Park Hae Soo) are more realistic and hint at the inevitability of immoral actions in capitalist societies, which are heavily critiqued throughout the show.

The game represents how far people are willing to go for money and all the problems the characters could not solve because of a lack of money. However, "Squid Game" also comments on how even if the gap between society's richest and poorest person widens, both can be unhappy and lose the agency to live. The players in the game are miserable and the creator of the game, a rich, old man with a brain tumor, chooses to entertain himself by watching people kill others because he has nothing better to do.

Similar to gaining wealth in a capitalist society, while some games such as the tug of war can be won through logic and strategy, others, such as choosing the dalgona shape, are only determined by pure luck. No matter how hard they try, players cannot easily win all six games, which parallels the situation in Korean society where it is nearly impossible to climb the social ladder. While many people in the United States believe in the "American dream" or social mobility, after the financial crisis in Korea in the late 1990s, people rarely succeed financially while the wealthy grow richer.

The injustices of capitalism are further emphasized when those who won the Squid Game in previous years choose to continue recruiting members, showing how these flaws are unlikely to change.

While I was disappointed by inaccurate English dubs and subtitles, which sometimes changed the meaning of nuanced scenes, the series as a whole presents a coherent message about capitalism and its people whose lives are determined by the luck of a game. "Squid Game" was worth the chills as it challenges viewers to address society's flaws.

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Analyzing Squid Game: A down-to-earth reflection of human nature and capitalism

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A black and white, slow-motion video of kids running on the dirt floor fills the screen as the voice of Seung Gi-Hun (Lee Jung-Jae) explains how they played the squid game as children. Behind the violence of Netflix's "Squid Game", there is a story about human nature and capitalism.

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Thoughts for reviews would come from me because of all the essays I've been doing over the years, so I would recognize a wrong, or right cause.

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If I was to revise between the first draft and final draft, I would fix grammatic errors, as well as, using stronger words instead of weaker ones. I also would fix punctuations, and having a clearer thought if needed.

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If I could start over the essay, I would actually do it, and plan my time out instead of trying to complete a big assignment last minute.

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In my opinion, it was hard composing the essay for me. I didn't plan for it correctly, which resulted in me not doing. I had assignments on top of assignments, so I had to choose which to do and which not to do.

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Squid Games was personally appealing since I enjoy game shows, and the strategic part in winning it all. It was a lot of changes, and not knowing how to plan for any of the games. It was also a game of survival because if you didn't complete the game, or lost, you would die. So it was a risk of death for money, but people were willing to do so, since most of them were in debt.

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The thesis came naturally since I already knew what the show was about. If I didn't watch it, then no, the thesis wouldn't have came easily.

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This topic was chosen based on my love for the show. The different games and challenges made it interesting for me, as well as, how quick people would change on you just for money.

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The media chosen