The original Squid Game was that rare thing: a non-English language drama that became an international sensation. Following a group of desperately poor people invited to take part in a series of challenges inspired by children’s games – the catch being that anyone eliminated was immediately killed – this 2021 South Korean series was inventive, compelling, and with its red-suited villains and technicolour game rooms, a treat to look at. It was fantastic television and it’s no surprise that two years on it is Netflix’s most-watched series of all time.
The real triumph, though, was its central morality tale about the corruption of capitalism and a warning of the depravity humans are capable of when the chasm between rich and poor grows irreparably wide. How bleak, then, that its new spin-off is so horrific.
Squid Game: The Challenge is nothing more than a cynical attempt to regenerate the viewing figures Squid Game earned, shamelessly piggybacking its success and in the process reducing the original to a cheap gimmick.
A reality game show based on the one in the original (though this version is filmed in a cavernous UK studio rather than on a tropical island), this derivative series sees 456 players from around the world take on the exact same challenges as in the original series. As they move through the games, players are knocked out and the eventual prize money – suspended in a giant transparent piggy bank as in the show – climbs to an eye-watering, life-changing $4.56 million (£3.64 million).
There’s Red Light, Green Light game, which has become emblematic of Squid Game and involves contestants racing towards a gigantic creepy rotating robot doll who will eliminate them if she catches them moving; the Dalgona challenge, in which players must cut out a shape from a piece of honeycomb using a needle; there are marbles. The contestants all live in an enormous dormitory identical to the one in the drama.
Unlike the baddies in Squid Game, Netflix does not kill off its contestants and harvest their organs. Instead, packs of black ink strapped to their chests explode to indicate they’re out of the game. Each of the players gamely pretends to cark it on the spot – I laughed every single time. That’s one of the main problems with this series: it desperately wants to be taken seriously, but it is so astronomically silly that it’s simply impossible to watch with any sense of earnestness.
On a practical, functional level, it works. But of course it does: it’s a carbon copy of the original series, right down to the slo-mo sequences soundtracked by Strauss’s “The Blue Danube Waltz”.
The players have clearly studied the drama for tips and tricks – they all instinctively begin to lick the Dalgona, while it took the fictional characters a while to figure out the best way to extract their shape. It begs the question: why not just watch Squid Game?
There are some differences. Squid Game: The Challenge introduces psychological “tests” in which players can eliminate each other (I suppose the nighttime murder sprees featured in the drama are hard to replicate) and there are a few new games, including a novel take on Battleship.
These tests are designed to inject a bit of tension into proceedings and, for the most part, it works. The players become paranoid, form alliances and target one another for elimination. Still, it’s hardly an unconventional tactic – from The Traitors to Big Brother, psychological manipulation has been reality TV’s bread and butter for years. After a series of these “tests” play out in a row, you start to wonder when the show is going to get back to the real games.
The players approach the game with grave sincerity. I would too if there were millions on offer. But with 456 of them – all dressed in the iconic green tracksuits, their assigned numbers emblazoned across their chests – it’s impossible not only to keep up with who’s who, but also to care who wins. There are some standout characters (a mother and son duo, a meathead athlete who gets his comeuppance, an underestimated older man), but not one player got particularly under my skin or made me root for them.
But the real problem with Squid Game: The Challenge is its blinkered, flagrant refusal to acknowledge the message of its source material – that exploiting cash-strapped people for entertainment is perhaps not a Good Thing. In creating this series, Netflix has made us the villains akin to the evil masked millionaires who aid and abet the murderous games in the original.
The central themes of Squid Game – the futility of social mobility, how we assess life in terms of monetary value – are completely lost among the bitching, backstabbing and gameplans. Perhaps I’m being a miser, maybe I should just give in to the fun of it all. But Squid Game: The Challenge left me feeling empty and grubby. I’m happy to take the moral high road this time.
