Usan-eul sseun namja

The big decision is made, to re-enter the games. New alliances are formed.

I was a little unsure after the first two episodes, I now find myself, like many others, totally booked. I spent my time wondering what the next game was going to be, and was not disappointed. You wonder what's next, this was fiendishly clever.

I like that groups are starting to form now. Great visuals once again.

Getting hooked, 8/10.

I feel like this episode is kind of underrated. People seem to get upset with the slow scenes that exist in this show, but where I don't understand that argument is each of these slow scenes aren't without reason. Every scene in this episode for example is not without expositional purpose. The scenes showing each of the characters that we've gotten to know forming a bond with others, the scenes that are further fletching out the personality of each of the characters and how they choose to go about the game; each scene, fast or slow, is calculated and with reason, something I cannot get enough of from this show. If you've now reached this third episode, don't you dare think about stopping now.

Another thing I would like to address without spoiler is how much I am loving the different narratives we follow in this show. Many shows will simply make you follow along with one individual, especially in a show which there is a sort of competition. Although the show has since narrowed down on different individuals, it is still allowing you to view this chaotic game their playing from many different directions, continuously offering a surprise around every corner and not focusing on the development of one person, but of many.

The plot of this episode is well-written. You really get to know the participant dynamics and get some idea of the structure and hierarchy within the masked gang. This episode is where you get a glimpse of hope for the desperate participants but also realise that you will watch many more brutal scenes before getting to the resolution.

I have a small problem with some of the script-writing and/or non-verbal acting though. Sometimes the actors act with an expression that I find a little unrelatable, for instance, when the survivors of the game hear gun-shots after leaving the game room, instead of looking sad and hopeless, they look shocked only... but surely they know the losers of the game are going to die right? Also, one of the key characters is an ahole (which is fine as a character), but I don't understand why another key character who is rather level-headed and normal would want to help this person instead of anyone else in the game to win the game. I try to withhold judgement at this point, but I really hope the story doesn't go down a path where aholes can get away with any behaviour just by sticking with the nice people.

All in all, it's a good episode and interests me to keep watching.

The third episode of "Squid Game," titled "Usan-eul sseun namja" ("The Man with the Umbrella"), marks a pivotal midpoint in the series by deepening the tension and expanding the show's social and psychological dimensions. Director Hwang Dong-hyuk crafts an installment that not only amplifies the physical dangers of the competition but also exposes the evolving moral compromises faced by the participants. The episode begins almost immediately after the dramatic return of the players, as they resign themselves to the inevitability of the games. The process of their readmittance is depicted with chilling precision-participants are stripped, sanitized, and re-clad in their green jumpsuits, reinforcing the erasure of individuality and the stripping away of personal agency that lies at the heart of the series.

From the outset, the cinematography sets a tone of sterile dread, with sterile whites, harsh lighting, and calculated surveillance underpinning each frame. Jun-ho, the undercover police officer, continues his dangerous infiltration, donning a guard's mask and haphazardly adapting to the internal rules of the game's staff-a suspenseful subplot that further thickens the episode's atmosphere. These sequences are tightly edited to maintain both narrative clarity and palpable tension, drawing the viewer into a cat-and-mouse game marked by hidden glances and uncertain loyalties.

The episode quickly zeroes in on the infamous Dalgona (honeycomb) challenge, which introduces a deceptively simple yet lethal children's game. The rules appear innocuous: each contestant must extract a shape-circle, triangle, star, or umbrella-from a brittle sugar candy without breaking it. The scene's suspense is masterfully generated by the episode's pacing and visual detail, with extreme close-ups on trembling hands, beads of sweat, and the unsettling calm of masked guards. The game's tension is mirrored by an exquisitely designed soundscape: the nervous scraping of needles on candy and the muffled sobs of desperation, all underscored by a chilling silence punctuated by sudden gunshots whenever a player fails.

Central to the episode is Gi-hun's frantic struggle to carve an umbrella-looking shape-arguably the hardest of all. Lee Jung-jae's nuanced performance radiates panic and ingenuity, especially in the moment of revelation when Gi-hun, driven by desperation and intuition, begins licking the candy from behind, softening the brittle sugar and ensuring his survival. This innovative solution not only serves to escalate dramatic suspense but also functions as a sharp metaphor for resourcefulness in the face of absurd systems.

This challenge becomes an inflection point for the contestants, revealing their strategies, alliances, and moral limits. Sang-woo's silent realization about the difficulty of the umbrellas-and his fateful decision to withhold this information from Gi-hun and others-casts a long shadow, planting the seeds for future betrayals within the group. Sae-byeok, ever resourceful and quiet, manages her task with gritty focus, while Ali's existential gratitude and protectiveness invoke sympathy, leaving viewers perpetually anxious for his fate. The writing shines here, expertly weaving moments of camaraderie, selfishness, and unsparing violence into a tapestry that both distances and implicates the viewer.

The set design remains one of the episode's undeniable strengths. The candy-colored, almost cartoonish dorms and challenge rooms continue to serve as a visual metaphor for the twisted transformation of childhood innocence into instruments of trauma. The grotesque juxtaposition of playtime aesthetics and deadly consequence highlights the narrative's underlying critique of how society commodifies both innocence and suffering. Hwang employs meticulously framed wide shots to emphasize the overwhelming scale of the operation and the expendability of its human subjects.

Meanwhile, Jun-ho's arc-where he navigates behind enemy lines, disposing of bodies and eavesdropping on cryptic conversations among the guards-infuses the episode with a noirish energy. The subplot enriches both the suspense and the thematic palette, as the inner workings of the organization are slowly peeled back and viewers are granted glimpses of the hierarchy, anonymity, and dehumanization that sustain the games. The juxtaposition of Jun-ho's clandestine journey with the contestants' overt desperation for survival mirrors the series' fascination with duality: on the surface, the games are the spectacle, but beneath, they are a bureaucratic, meticulously managed engine for profit and sadism.

The introduction of the VIPs-wealthy international spectators-brings a new layer to the episode's critique of power and complicity. Though their performances have been divisive among critics, often described as awkward or cartoonish, their presence is essential in laying bare the show's condemnation of voyeuristic consumption. The VIPs, speaking stilted English with bizarre detachment, serve as a deliberate contrast to the raw humanity of the contestants, underscoring the global appetite for spectacle and the moral rot that underlies the commodification of suffering.

Stylistically, the episode's direction is precise and unsentimental. Unflinching in its depiction of loss and cruelty, it simultaneously allows space for fleeting moments of hope and ingenuity. The editing is crisp, never lingering too long on violence but never flinching away either. Flashbacks and parallel storylines are used judiciously, maintaining momentum while fleshing out the stakes for both individuals and the collective. The soundtrack, notably restrained, lets the diegetic sounds-breaths, heartbeats, and the crack of gunfire-dominate the episode's emotional register.

Despite its strengths, the episode is not immune to criticism. Some reviewers have highlighted the predictability of certain plot beats, such as the survival of key characters or the inevitability of group betrayals, as slightly diminishing the show's overall unpredictability. Others have lamented the under-written or clichéd portrayal of the VIPs, feeling their presence, while thematically apt, disrupts the otherwise taut realism established by the Korean cast. However, most agree that these weaknesses are outweighed by the episode's visceral tension and relentless narrative drive.

The cultural and artistic references abound. The Dalgona challenge, a beloved Korean childhood memory, echoes the series' ongoing engagement with national history and cultural specificity, while inviting international audiences to consider the universality of innocence perverted by oppressive systems. The episode's narrative structure and social critique align it with works spanning from "Battle Royale" to Brechtian spectacle, while visual nods to Kubrickian symmetry and dystopian cinema embed it firmly within the modern televisual canon. The ethical dilemmas, the anonymous bureaucracy, and the insistent gaze on the faces of the dying recall many works of existential literature and protest theater.

Ultimately, "Usan-eul sseun namja" functions not merely as a high-water mark of suspense but as a deeply considered meditation on agency, desperation, and complicity. Every technical aspect-cinematography, acting, set design, and pacing-serves to reinforce the show's central anxieties: that in a world stripped of empathy and governed by spectacle, survival becomes both a personal victory and a collective indictment. The episode's most enduring achievement is its refusal to offer easy resolution-it dares the viewer to marvel at ingenuity while questioning the price of survival, forcing reflection on one's own relationship to power, entertainment, and cruelty.

The third episode of "Squid Game" is a haunting escalation, both viscerally and intellectually. Through a meticulously crafted blend of suspense, character study, and social commentary, the show maintains its status as a watershed in contemporary television, compelling audiences to confront the ambiguities of both human cruelty and resilience. The installment's combination of relentless tension, rich cultural subtext, and unsparing moral interrogation cements its place as one of the series' most memorable chapters, ensuring that its resonance will linger well beyond the confines of fictional violence.

After the transitional episode 2, this one kicks gear again. Even if the humour takes over a little too much in my case, this is another great outing that continues to be addictive and heart pounding.