Lose your marbles deck
There is no satirical bent to Squid Game, and no obliviousness on behalf of either the game’s players (who choose to compete against each other for the extremely slim possibility of a multibillion-won jackpot) or its organizers (who consider the game a distraction from the mundanity of their extremely comfortable lives). There’s no rules in hell.” And the characters: embodiments of Hwang’s central argument that individual betrayal, on a person-to-person level, is the most soul-crushing byproduct of a domestic portrait of high real-estate prices, high inflation rates, and astronomically high household debt. The misery: unstoppably endless, with observational dialogue like “We’re in hell here. The production design: like a kid’s playhouse/haunted house hybrid, with pastel paints, twin bunk beds, multicolored light bulbs, a guillotine, and sniper rifles poking through the walls. (A useful reminder that a breadth of approaches and styles exist in the incredibly active Korean entertainment industry.) The violence: great bursts of blood so red, so viscous, and so spattered that you can almost smell the metallic tinge in the air. Those broad similarities, though, and a shared exploration of capitalism’s corruption of conscience, shouldn’t obscure what Squid Game does so well, which is to revel in the refusal of subtlety. If Squid Game and Parasite were the shaking-hands meme, their uniting factor would be “Eat the rich.”
#LOSE YOUR MARBLES DECK SERIES#
Comparisons are easy to make between the nine-episode series from South Korean writer and director Hwang Dong-hyuk and fellow countryman Bong Joon Ho’s 2019 Oscar magnet Parasite, a film also marked by characters drowning in bills, basements and tunnel systems hiding an array of secrets, and - most importantly - a shared disgust with the social and economic status quo. Released with little fanfare on Netflix on September 17, Squid Game has dominated the streaming service’s top ten since. And probably some of those people count among the viewers who have helped make Squid Game the most in-demand show in the world. “Wealth inequality” is a politely quaint way to say that approximately 2,000 billionaires hold more money than 4.6 billion people, according to Oxfam, and people all around the world can relate to the injustice of that.
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It helps that the statement is true, of course, and that the drastically entrenched gap between the haves and have-nots feels increasingly irreversible thanks to swollen corporations, climate change, and inexhaustible greed.
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Is there a theme more unifying in global pop culture than “capitalism is bad?” Spin the pop-culture globe and plop your finger down anywhere, and there awaits a version of this story: Maya Da-Rin’s The Fever, Rubaiyat Hossain’s Made in Bangladesh, Ken Loach’s Sorry We Missed You (and, well, all of Loach’s other films), Neill Blomkamp’s Elysium, Adam McKay’s The Other Guys. Spoilers ahead for “Gganbu” and the rest of Squid Game. Photo: YOUNGKYU PARK/Youngkyu Park/YouTube This game ultimately changes players on a fundamental level, transforming them from people who stand with each other to people who stand against each other.