'Squid Game' Season 3 Is a Mirror to Our Times: Actors Lee Byung-hun and Lee Jung-jae Explain Why

When Squid Game first exploded onto screens in 2021, it felt like some sort of a cultural detonation. The world, locked indoors and emotionally frayed from a relentless pandemic, found itself mesmerised by a dystopian series about people driven to compete — violently — for survival and money. What appeared at first to be a surreal game show premise spiralled into a bloody parable about inequality, capitalism, and conscience. The now-iconic “Red Light, Green Light” sequence wasn’t just horror — it was a wake-up call.

Director Hwang Dong-hyuk, who had written the script over a decade prior, called it the moment that made the show “something never seen before.” It was also his personal favourite. "It had been a scene that I had only imagined in my head for over 10 years, something that I had written but wasn't able to get made. Also, the one that I was the most nervous about when we were filming it.”

Three years and six Emmy wins later, Squid Game is no longer just a show — it’s a global phenomenon. And with Season 3, the series returns more haunting and timely than ever. Where Season 2 probed democratic processes through elections, the new chapter enters the void of human nature itself — exploring desensitisation and moral collapse, above all else.

Humanity in the Maze

If Season 3 feels darker, that’s by design. Hwang explains that he didn’t rely on overt filmmaking tricks, but rather, on what he explains as the emotional architecture. The visual language mirrors internal torment. “The version of Gi-hun you will see in the third season is the darkest version of him that you've ever seen,” he says. “He has no words or dialogue, and all of his emotions are conveyed through his eyes or facial expressions. He seems to be stuck — locked up in a dark abyss.”

In fact, in the second episode of season three (spoiler alert), one particular game takes place in a maze-like alley, drenched in shadows. “You almost feel like you’re trapped in it. And in that maze, you have to find one another and kill.”

Gi-hun’s transformation is deeply unsettling—he, who once stood as a moral compass in earlier seasons, now becomes complicit. “Making him commit that sin was the biggest risk,” Hwang admits. “Because he was the only character that had never done that before.”

The moral fall is deliberate. As wars erupt across the globe and images of conflict fill our timelines, Squid Game dares to ask: how close are we to losing our humanity, simply because we can watch suffering unfold from a distance?

Hwang explains that he wasn't inspired by a particular, real-life event, but, “everything I see and hear in the news, news of war, conflict, religious conflict, racial conflict, and also social issues that arise with the immigrants especially in European countries.” He adds, “All of these things come together to become the source of inspiration.”

Conscience as a Weapon

For Lee Jung-jae, who plays Gi-hun, the journey into darkness demanded extraordinary discipline — both emotionally and physically. “I tried to maintain Gi-hun’s emotional state as closely and as much as possible,” he explains. “I did constant image training in order to stay in Gi-hun’s mind so that even by me sitting there, you can feel like you get the actual Gi-hun.”

If Season 2 was about democratic illusions, Season 3 is about the burden of survival. The truth of the matter is, as Jung Jae puts it, if one looks back at the evolution of humanity, it was built on sacrifices and others' efforts. 

He gives the example of one's parents, saying, "Based on their sacrifice and their love, I live my life today as myself.” Within the Squid Game world, it is because of those who had to die that Gi-hun made it out alive. "That's why he feels this immense guilt and weight on him. And he cannot use the cash prize money because he feels that that was blood money of those that had to die.” And what drives that guilt is conscience.

This tension is evident in the quietest moments of Season 3. The guilt behind the character’s eyes. Lee points to two deaths — Sang-woo’s and Jung-bae’s — as scenes that continue to haunt him.

On the other hand, Lee Byung-hun’s character, Front Man (aka In-ho), returns in Season 3 with more prominence, and more complexity. Initially a mysterious figure pulling the strings, In-ho is now revealed as a man forged in pain and contradiction. “He seems evil at first glance,” says Lee, “But when you know his backstory, you see trauma and unfairness. You begin to understand him.”

This moral ambiguity fuels one of the show’s most powerful questions: are people villains by choice, or by circumstance?

For Byung-hun, embodying this ambiguity meant obsessively interrogating the character. “Because I had so many questions, the director and I had to talk about his intentions,” he says. Why does he speak this way? What are his motives? He had to be persuasive to the viewers. “And I myself, as the actor playing this character, had to be persuaded by this person as well. That's how I tried to tackle this very mysterious and enigmatic character.”

The actor, who has acted in Korean as well as Hollywood films (G.I. Joe franchise, Red 2, Terminator Genisys (T-1000), and The Magnificent Seven) recalls a pivotal moment in a Season 3 game — where viewers, like the characters, are unsure whether they’re witnessing In-ho or someone else entirely. “During the game of Mingle, I go into this room together with Jeongbae and I find another man there and I kill that guy,” he says. “We wanted the audience to ask: which identity is this? Front Man or In-ho?”

If Jung Jae related to one quality of his character the most, it was Gi-hun's goodness of heart; the way he holds his morality as his driving compass."I portrayed a lot of villain characters in my career," he recalls. "When I do, I try to focus on the motivation, drive and also the human desire that's underlying those villainous characters. And I would approach the certain characters wanting to portray that side of humanity in a more charming way or in hopes to help the audience understand the motives behind the character."

A Reflection

What makes Squid Game feel more relevant than ever is how it plays like a grotesque funhouse mirror — amplifying the cruelty, ambition, and numbness already embedded in modern life. A life where everyone walks the line between victim and perpetrator. From terrifying elections that mirror real-world democracies to games where one must kill to survive, the show asks not what if, but what now?

The characters don’t offer easy redemption arcs. They reflect a world where good people are forced into bad decisions — and where survival itself is a moral hazard.

And for Hwang Dong-hyuk, who filmed both season 2 and 3 simultaneously, this is exactly the story he wants to tell. “The pressure doesn’t come from popularity,” he says. “It comes from having to ask myself: what did I set out to say in the first place? Where do I want to end? What should viewers feel when this is over?” Not to mention, the process of filming it all together was a "painful" one in the first place.

As we inch toward real-world dystopias — be it through climate collapse, political unrest, or information warfare — Squid Game holds a disquieting relevance. It doesn't just entertain. It accuses, it dissects, and ultimately, it dares one to ask: how much of ourselves would we give up to survive?