Squid Game 3: Blood, Betrayal, and a Big Plastic Boyfriend (trailer).
The final chapter of Squid Game is nearly upon us, and if you thought the first two seasons had wrung the last drop of horror, pathos, and moral degradation from its tracksuit-clad cast of desperate contestants, think again. This is South Korean writer-director Hwang Dong-hyuk’s curtain call, and by the look of the season three trailer, he’s saved his darkest nightmares—and some truly weird new toys—for the endgame.
Dropping on Netflix on June 27th 2025, Squid Game 3 plunges us back into the blood-slicked labyrinth of games with returning protagonist Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), now deeply entangled in a world he once barely survived. This time, he’s not just playing—he’s hunting. The hunter, of course, being his stylishly masked frenemy Hwang In-ho (Lee Byung-hun), a.k.a. the Front Man, who’s still welcoming ghoulish VIPs to spectate the human meat raffle while nursing a tragic backstory that we’ll finally see fully unmasked.
Meanwhile, In-ho’s long-lost brother Jun-ho (Wi Ha-joon) is poking around the island again, blissfully unaware that there’s a traitor in his midst. One suspects this won’t end in a cheerful reunion with board games and bibimbap. As ever, betrayal is baked into the rules.
The cast has ballooned like a dying contestant’s hopes, with new players including Im Si-wan, Kang Ha-neul, Park Gyu-young, and Jo Yu-ri—all of whom look entirely too healthy and popular to survive past episode three. And if the cast list isn’t terrifying enough, brace yourself for the introduction of Cheol-su, the creepily grinning boyfriend to Young-hee, the robotic schoolgirl doll who gave us all PTSD with her “Red Light, Green Light” debut back in season one. That’s right: the murderbots are coupling up now. How romantic.
Behind the stylish sadism lies Hwang’s final meditation on what it means to stay human in a world designed to strip you of it. “I wanted games that reveal the bottom of human nature,” he’s said, as if the previous 18 episodes didn’t already give us a tour of the psychological basement. But this time, the show’s going deeper—probing not only individual desperation, but generational trauma, familial guilt, and what happens when capitalism gets bored and starts inventing new ways to eat itself.
At SFcrowsnest, we’ve long suspected the real villain was late-stage neoliberalism wearing a gilded animal mask. But Squid Game 3 promises to make that metaphor literal—again—only with higher stakes, lower morals, and a finale that might leave us all wondering whether the real game was us watching it.
One last ride. One last scream. One last child-sized killer automaton. Netflix, you twisted geniuses—you’ve got our attention.
