'Squid Game' season 2 is a torture chamber for its protagonist — but not for audiences

• The first season of "Squid Game" was extraordinarily good TV, and season two is no exception.
• In the three years since season one aired, "Squid Game" has also become a cultural sensation.
• "Squid Game" season two follows similar patterns as the first — but it works to great effect.

Before "Squid Game" was a cultural phenomenon, it was an astoundingly great television show — and luckily, season two of the Korean-language drama reminds us exactly why.

The South Korean series about a death game for the economically downtrodden exploded after hitting Netflix in September 2021. Not only was it the most significant non-English hit in Netflix history, it quickly became one of Netflix's biggest shows ever.

That popularity spilled from the small screen to myriad even smaller screens, becoming an internet phenomenon whose biggest symbols — the pink-clad guards, green jumpsuits, and even star Lee Jung-jae's beaming face — became inescapable memes eventually divorced from their original meaning.

That's part of why the return to creator Hwang Dong-hyuk's blistering fever dream is so gripping. "Squid Game" season two brings the cultural phenomenon back to Earth and executes the nigh-impossible, continuing what could have been a complete story in a way that's just as cutting as its predecessor.

Back to the game

In its first season, "Squid Game" struck viewers with sheer novelty: its sharp class satire, grounded in childlike aesthetics, was dissonant in a way that was both disturbing and wildly compelling. While there's no way to recreate that shock factor in season two, the series doesn't need to reinvent the wheel to be excellent. In fact, its iterative nature is a thematic strength.

Season two is functionally a torture cycle for Seong Gi-hun (Lee Jung-jae), the victor of the games. Burdened with a 45.6 million fortune won through the deaths of his companions, Gi-hun puts it to use attempting to shut the games down. This time, he's the one with power, funding a citywide manhunt for the games' ddakji-playing recruiter (a once-again show-stealing Gong Yoo) and incentivizing his employees with a substantial reward. Unfortunately, Gi-hun's crusade puts him back where he started in the games, with his life on the line.

This time, however, he knows exactly who his enemy is: the Front Man, also known as Hwang Jun-ho's (Wi Ha-jun) elder brother, In-ho. This season, the gamesmaster has a much more involved role — one that actor Lee Byung-hun, finally unmasked, handles with grim, enthralling aplomb. He is equal parts Gi-hun's foil and torture master, slowly working to dismantle his still-idealistic worldview by repeatedly exposing him to the horror of human nature.

That makes season two's repetition of familiar games, like "Red Light, Green Light," or character beats, like Gi-hun encountering an old friend in the games, incredibly effective. Even though he's been dealt the same cards — frankly, better ones, given that he's no longer bound by his debts — Gi-hun must struggle against human hubris and avarice.

There are, of course, new challenges. Season two introduces several new games that are just as superlatively designed as their predecessors. This cycle's new mechanic, a chest badge to indicate which players vote to leave or stay in the games, establishes a rote but still compelling division between the players.

New players make an impression

Wisely, Gi-hun takes a backseat for much of season two to make room for the show's captivating cast of new characters.

Choi Seung-hyun (a rapper known by the stage name T.O.P) is an easy standout and sure-to-be fan-favorite as Thanos, a braggadocious rapper burned by a failed crypto investment. Kang Ae-sim is easy to emotionally invest in as Geum-ja, a woman who joined the games to pay off her son's debts, only to discover he agreed to play as well. Former soldier Hyun-ju (Park Sung-hoon) is the most compelling of the bunch: a transgender woman, she faced discrimination after transitioning, leaving her in debt after she was fired from her job while pursuing gender-affirming surgeries.

Lee shows up once again to work this season, deftly handling the nuances of Gi-hun's plight and changed character. Most striking are the moments where he falls back into Gi-hun's childlike innocence from season one, most frequently due to the actions of his former gambling buddy Jung-bae, played by a painfully endearing Lee Seo-hwan. Still, Lee pulls off the determined, beleaguered savior well.

For the most part, Hwang (who still mostly wrote season two himself, this time with a few assistants) juggles the series' myriad character arcs and plot lines well, though some threads don't hold up as well as others. The weakest of the bunch is Jun-ho's quest outside the games to locate the island where they're held and also, presumably, Gi-hun and his brother. While his arc posing as a guard in season one provided valuable insight into the process of the games, this time, his search is mostly a distraction with little payoff in the confines of the season.

Ultimately, though, "Squid Game" manages to live up not only to its preceding season but the myth of the franchise itself. Success can bring crushing pressure, and with it, an impulse to iterate. In this case, though, the iteration works in service of the show's point: there is no escape: not for the game's players, and certainly not for Gi-hun.

"Squid Game" seasons one and two are now streaming on Netflix.