season 2, episode 3, “001”

But the compulsively manageable nature of the games is both Play octopus‘s critique of human nature and of its own admission of the satisfaction it provides. “001” is already a more energetic episode of TV than the two that have come before it, even before Seong Gi-hun finds herself face down with the cursed “Red Light, Green Light” doll again. But once the game starts in earnest, Play octopus wastes very little time in reminding you why its combination of brutally high stakes, clearly outlined rules and an undercurrent of human foibles made it one of the most-watched TV shows on the planet back in 2021. More importantly, the episode avoids repetition by changing the setting of the story, making it clear to viewers that there is only one the game really runs, at least for now: What is held between player #456 and player #001.

Which isn’t to say we aren’t introduced to plenty of new characters in this episode, the show does its usual effective job of sketching out personality types quickly and distinctly. There’s Jung-bae (#390), who previously appeared in the series’ very first episode as Gi-hun’s horse-betting friend. There’s Myung-gi (#333), who we saw getting the crap slapped out of him by the recruiter back in “Bread and the Lottery,” and who’s revealed to be a former YouTube crypto star who was trolling his followers. (There are more reminders as we meet our new crop of victims that series creator Hwang Dong-hyuk has been paying close attention to the real world’s own versions of the Games in the three years the show has been gone.) Rapper Thanos (# 230) is so thoroughly Joker-coded that he’s hard to take seriously, while Im Jeong-dae (#100) is an old-money belligerent convinced that he’ll eventually come back on top. The only things we learn about Cho Hyun-ju (#120) are that she’s a trans woman and heroic as hell—which doesn’t stop Jang Geum-ja (#149), an older woman who joined in trying to save her son Park Yong-sik (#007) from his gambling debts, from screwing up her nose. And Kang Mi-na (#196)… Well, we shouldn’t worry too much about Kang Mi-na, shall we?

The show introduces us to most of these people with its typically deft use of shame as a social ace, the game hosts showing videos of each of them taking their smack for cash while a voice rattles off how deeply in debt they all are. Gi-hun hangs back, detached, watching as a crowd that seems younger, more fragile, but still easily cowed by the Games’ money-backed authority, queues to give their unwitting consent to be shot in the head. Convinced that his stupid plan* will save everyone, he’s only shaken out of his iron-masked focus when he sees Jung-bae, who seems to remind him that real people are about to be in the firing line . It rolls in at the first moment of Old The gi-gun we’ve had all season (and the first really big, dark laugh of the episode) when he realizes the game organizers found his tracking chip, pulled it out, and no rescue comes: The camera zooms in, his face falls, and a decidedly un-stoic “I’m fucked” echoes in his head.

(*Stupid Plan update: Woo-seok and Jun-ho spend a lot of time floating around in a boat with the Stupid Private Army, after the tracker, which has been dropped in a container of literal bait. I keep piss me off about this plot line because a) it’s inherently boring, just guys on a boat holding guns and trying to look cool, and b) it’s obviously doomed because we not have a TV show if Gi-hun’s private army swoops in and saves everyone before the games begin. It adds no tension, satirical value or interest to the episode, it’s just more table setting, and three episodes in I think we can consider the table well and truly set.)

Anyway, back to the good show: We get our real stakes for the season as Gi-hun breaks her detachment in a desperate attempt to save this new crew of idiots from herself, barking instructions for survival and serving as a shot -calls for the game “Red light, green light”. And that almost works until a stray bee sets off a chain reaction of panic that sees around a fifth of the swarm gunned down in minutes. Meanwhile, the show’s decision to broaden its focus for Season 2 pays big dividends as we not only get to see Front Man In-ho see the case, but also that one of the snipers putting bullets into people’s brains is the last episode’s No-eul . In its first season, Play octopus made a virtue of treating the guards mostly as a faceless, emotionless force, but seeing No-eul adopt an attitude of calm superiority as he shoots down the “garbage” (at least until she notices that Player #246 is the sick daddy little girl she befriended back in “Halloween Party”) is really chill. We can talk about the games, the organizers, the frontman, all these funny, faceless proper names. But under the masks, Play octopus reminds us that it’s still just people pulling the trigger.

The game itself, meanwhile, is typically thrilling, as Gi-hun manages to organize the surviving players into something resembling a real team, helping them hide small tremors from the all-seeing eye. (It also goes on to highlight the arbitrary nature of the supposedly “fair” games, as many people are gunned down due to the actions of others—especially the group of people that a tweaking Thanos deliberately pushes into the line of fire before jumping across the sand.) There’s even a life-or-death moment for our otherwise over-competent hero when Gi-hun goes back (with an assist from Hyun-ju) to save a man who’d taken another bullet leg, and just barely got them all over the finish line. With only 91 dead – as opposed to the hundreds who didn’t survive “Red Light” last time – it’s a qualified but clear victory for Team Keep Everybody Alive… all the better to create a much more crushing defeat in the last third of the section.

Because while Play octopus loves and needs the games, it loves the crap that comes after even more: the massive argument and fictionalization that erupts when Gi-hun tries to exploit the shock of the survivors to call a vote to close the games. Clause 3 has always been the cruelest trick in the organisers’ arsenal, the one that hammers away at the illusion of choice that the Games thrive on. (Because, after all, you voted to be here, right?) By tweaking the rules a bit (first, by announcing that participants will now keep their existing prize money if they vote to shut down, and by asking each player to publicly identify their vote with patches on their jumpsuits), the show widens its satirical net to take in concepts of tribalism and politics. Even Gi-hun – as we know literally knows better – is starting to feel like just another voice shouting in a room trying to boost its side and shut down the Other, in light of this new, nastier spin on democracy in action. It is almost gilding the lily when player no. 001 shows up to break up the final battle… and we see that In-ho has decided to follow in his old mentor Oh Il-nam’s footsteps and enter the games as a player. After all, the thumb was already on the scale, even before he threw the jumpsuit, which Play octopus finally gets to The Good Shit after two episodes of screwing around: God knows where it goes from here.

Stray Observations

• • It’s a bummer that Hyun-ju is played by male actor Park Sung-hoon, rather than an actual trans performer. Hwang addressed the decision in recent interviewsand basically says that transgender people are still so discriminated against in South Korean society that he couldn’t find anyone to play the role.
• • The most ominous character in the episode is the mysterious #044, a fortune teller who seems fixated on Gi-hun.
• • The show’s set design is still top-notch: the Escher-esque, bright pastel staircases still sell the surreal nature of the world so well, and the puppet itself is still a stunning piece of design.
• • The addition of the “Everyone keeps the money they’ve already won” rule is an interesting tweak: It gives players even more of an illusion of choice, telling themselves they can opt out before things get really bad.
• • We’ll probably get into this more in future episodes, but it feels telling that unlike Oh Il-nam—who, despite his evilness, still played in the first several games—In-ho doesn’t infiltrate the players until after “Red Light, Green Light” is complete.
• • The reveal that Hyun-ju has also gone back to help save #444 is really exciting – and yet only makes the misery of No-eul shooting him all the more depressing.
• • FYI, 24 million won — the share the “Red Light, Green Light” survivors would each take home if they voted to quit — is about $16,500. The full prize that Gi-hun received is about $31.5 million.
• • One of the uglier features of the vote: the organizers accuse Gi-hun of election meddling and shut down his arguments at gunpoint.
• • Thanos, Jeong-dae, Myung-gi, Hyun-ju and the mysterious #044 are all in the “Keep Going” camp. Gi-hun, Geum-ja, Jung-bae, and a reluctant Yong-sik all vote to quit.
• • It’s fascinating how quickly the votes become a signifier of identity, right down to both sides adopting hand symbols to try to influence #001’s vote.
• • “We always prioritize your voluntary participation.”