Squid Game's Genius Manipulation of Tension

Why tension pervades in death games should be quite intuitive. Unlike the tension of a heated argument, there are no do-overs. You can't talk your way out of it, or is there a second chance. One life is all you get. Similarly unlike the tension of a heated battle, the threat to life is much more spontaneous and visceral; In a fight scene someone can land a punch but you expect the other to retaliate. But in death games, a snap of a finger may be all that it takes. Even on the thematic lens, death games are palpable. Not everyone can relate to having your life threaten or to be a threat to other lives, but everyone can understand the significance of those moral dilemmas. After all, the weight of human life is engraved into our bones, biologically and societally. 

Once you add up the permanence, spontaneity and palpability of death games, what you get is a seemingly perfect story. One whereby your audience can be expected to be at the edge of their seats every second. However, us audience aren't fools. Having watched many other equally thrilling and morally-reflective Netflix Originals, we don't chase after every carrot dangling on a stick. We have standards, or are simply desensitized. Death in film is more like a cheap trick by this point, just like how violence in cartoons is but an abstract concept compared to its real-life counterpart. Recall the first game of 'Squid Game', 'Red light, Green light'. We aren't surprised by the fact that people are getting shot because that's what we came into the show expecting. In fact, you might even be more surprised that someone wasn't already dead by the first ten minutes. (Looking at you, Kami-sama no Iutoori ni)

The more we consume media, the more tension becomes stale. Simply dangling the threat to life in front of us no longer interests us anymore. We want better five-course meals. However even with all that said, why then does Squid Game still remain so mind-bogglingly tense?

The Undying Cast

First, let's discuss what tension is. Tension is the idea of playing with expectations. If a character walk into a bar and we see a knife positioned ominously on top of the bar counter, we almost certainly would expect the knife to come into play. Similarly, tension only works if our expectations are dire. It is because it is a weapon capable of killing someone do we feel a sense of foreboding dread. If it was a gummy bear for example, then the scene would drastically change. To put simply, tension is a technique of playing around with the audience's expectations of the tragic.

With this is mind, let us consider the 5th game in the series, the bridge crossing. In this game, a group of sixteen participants all start out by choosing a sequence order by the means of their number tag. After which, each participant would take turns in said sequence to cross a bridge of two paths. One path lays a solid foothold, while the other underlays your demise. This to me was a genius idea that plays directly into the idea of permanence, spontaneity and palpability. This was a game of 50/50 to which the cost was either a one-way trip to paradise, or a no-return from hell; Mainly having our characters perform moral atrocities like pushing the others. Despite this perfect formula however, this game was the weakest out of all six of them. I was not sitting at the edge of my seat like in the tug-o-war or in the mano-a-mano between Gi Hoon and Sang Woo. Instead, I was more impressed with the straight face at which our foreign friends told '69' jokes with. 

The reason why is simple and yet remains one of the biggest story-telling problems writers have to deal with while writing tension, namely the cast of "undying characters". Gi Hoon will never die; For the sole reason that he is the main character and that he still needs to guide us to story's end. Sang Woo will similarly never die; Because he has been built up for the past few episodes to be Gi Hoon's moral antagonist. Even Sae Byeok won't die; Because she still has yet to fulfill a satisfactory role in the story given the amount of her screen time. And thus these three characters of prime importance took a backseat in this game. They were the last three participants to cross the bridge. They were all able to stand by safely as others carved out their easy path to survival. And lastly, we won't even expect them to die even if they were the first ones who cross the bridge.

This intuition is known as having fluency in story-telling. While not all of us have studied literature or film, all of us have at least watched our fair share of them to understand some universal principles. Don't kill your main character too early. Resolve character conflicts before killing them off. Prioritize natural character development over shock-value. Good shows are well-written because they follow the basics. In extension, because we have standards, we would carry on to expect all other shows that we watch to recite those basics to us. In the example of a main character death, it may not even stem from a meta-understanding of story-telling but a meta-understanding of our own lives. Because we are all the protagonists of our narratives, we would similarly want our MCs to carry that same significance. If a main character should die, then they should at least go out in a blaze of glory because that is who we aspire to be. The cast of "undying characters" are undying because it would otherwise disrespect our wishes.

We transfer those haughty wishes of ours to the idea of tension -- One of playing with our expectations of the tragic -- And we ask ourselves: 'Do we actually expect anything tragic to happen to our main cast while they cross that bridge?"

This is not to say that the fifth game delivered no forms of tension. The poetic justice performed by our resident psychos was the resolution to a major conflict and Sang Woo pushing that man off the bridge sparked the final war. However, this does not negate the fact that for the first twenty minutes of the game, we did not enjoy the same nail-biting emotions that other games gave us.

"But wait right there? Shouldn't this problem persist for every single game of the show then? Why is it that tension still remains for our undying characters?" Well, I'm glad you ask. Because this is where Squid Game truly shines.

Surpassing insurmountable odds & The perfect harmony

Why is the game of tug-o-war so much tenser than the bridge crossing? Having the same undying cast and the same stakes would mean that they should be equal. Was it because of the music, the slow-mo or the incredibly potent monologue given by Ii Nam? Well, maybe. To me what sets it apart is the idea of insurmountable odds. 

I have a simple thought experiment I love to perform for shows and that is the idea of 'shuffling'. You shuffle details and characters around and then you think about how expectations are affected. For example, what if on the bridge crossing, Gi Hoon was the first one to cross the bridge. The level of insurmountable odds are astronomical with that scenario. Our main character who we know should never die must defy all expectations with a one-in-a-million chance of surviving. Tension now doesn't come from the threat of our protagonist dying, tension comes from "how in the fuck will our MC dig himself out of this hole?" 

This was at full blast with the tug-o-war. It should be impossible for our team of rag-tag motley to stand a chance against muscly men but that is why we are at the edge of our seats. With such high insurmountable odds, we might even feel insulted, as if the writers are calling us stupid for not knowing the obvious solutions. And now we are just dying to know -- Tension from having our expectations shattered.

Of course, I can't move on without crediting the genius way of manipulating tension as well. While it is by the story and the premise that pave the way for tension to occur, often times the execution is what brings it home. Music, acting, framing; They all no doubt play a pivotal role to make the scene work. One interesting idea I want to bring across then is how the scene uses a monologue. 

From the get-go, the monologue is the "main character" of that scene. Because we have been presented with a task of insurmountable odds, we are dying to know the way-out. That monologue is the only light that we see at the end of the tunnel, and thus by the time Ii Nam starts speaking, we are already at the edge of the seat clinging to every word he says. The actor, Oh Young Soo, no doubt contributed with the emotions behind his delivery as well. However, I think the genius behind its execution are even more technical than it first seems. Notice exactly how each and every sentence of the monologue correlates with what we see on screen. When Ii Nam narrates for the team to take a step, they do. When Ii Nam askes for the team to put in all their strength, we see our characters take a deep breath. This synchronization of monologue and screen bolsters each other. Similar to how music adds to a scene, now we have three elements all working together to heighten emotion. 

Having such synchronization allows for an extremely intimate experience as well. In weaker shows regarding tactics, it is not rare for a scene to be slowed for a little so that characters can take the time to discuss their actions (And in extension, explaining their actions to us). In fact, there is the exact scene in the same game of tug-o-war with Sang Woo needing to convince Mi Nyeo to take three steps forward. While explaining the context allows us to understand the gravity of the decision, that understanding is disconnected from the feelings of the scene. 

When watching a show, understanding is separate from feeling. We listen to tense music for example and we feel anxious. We don't understand the theory behind why we feel the way we do, but we do know that it is powerful nonetheless. Similarly when we watch arthouse films, we may be able to understand that what we are witnessing is a philosophical masterpiece that will bring humanity to the next level of consciousness, but in the end if we are bored by what we see, we will probably go back to watching anime. In Sang Woo explaining the scene to us, we understand and yet, we can't immediately feel the emotions. It will still take a bunch of seconds before we actually see them act on it, and by that point, some tension has already diffused by the break in the scene.

If for example, we take away that explanation. At their most dire moments, we have Ii Nam once again come back with his monologue and say "in the case where we do fail, we have to perform the most illogical move", and then we proceed to see our team start running forward towards their death. No dialogue is needed, the scene is significantly shorten from dozens of seconds to a mere ten second. And yet, it is by how suddenly and gravely that our expectations are shattered, coupled with the convergence of both understanding and feeling, do we get synchronization. 

That is what I mean by intimacy; When we don't understand and then feel, but we do both together -- An epiphany of emotions. In fact, there can even be the opposite, what happens when the scene doesn't explain itself? When the show trusts us too much to feel, without providing understanding. In this case, we can just imagine a scenario where the scene doesn't have Ii Nam's monologue and we just see the characters grunting. When the characters lean back, we can form conclusions but we first have to ask ourselves, "wait, why they doing that?" And it is precisely in that split second of confusion that tension is already diffused. Ii Nam's monologue covers that gap.

What we get in that scene is a perfect balance. Ii Nam is indispensable for us to understand the significance of their tactics. But he never overexplains himself. Every explanation is curt and synchs together with what the characters are doing. No information overstays its welcome and only served to further heighten the emotions we see on screen and the music we hear -- Harmonization of three distinct story elements. 

That, to me, is masterful story-telling.

Disharmony and why you should take breaks

So we have talked about how synchronization enhances tension, but what about desynchronization? When a show takes you out of the experience by introducing incongruent elements on screen. Will that make it so that there can be no tension? Well, if 'Squid Game' was satisfied with that answer, then it wouldn't be a genius at what it does.

I'm talking about our beloved first game; The game of 'Red light, Green light' that enshrined itself permanently in Tik Tok culture. Since we have gotten the basic theory out of the way, let us jump straight into the heart of the matter. What is up with that music? 'Fly me to the Moon' in a mountain of corpses and an intense sequence? What gives?

We can form some understanding behind it. The song reflects the game organizer's twisted morals, to be able to take solace and peace by watching people die under a barrage of gun-fire. Or, the music is meant to disgust us, yada-yada. That's fine and all, but as I have mentioned, audience can understand your show for being "deep" but if they are ultimately disconnected from the show, then that is more sacrifice than its worth. Thus, I wanted to understand what are some technical benefits of disharmony. And I think I found an answer that makes a little sense.

Tension is a powerful emotion. We can feel dread and fear, even finding ourselves breathless by the end of it. However, it is in that power is it equally exhausting. When we watch horror movies for example, its permanent dark environment, incessant jump scares and deafening violin swells often make them tiring to watch. This is because they try to make everything so suffocating that often times, audience who can't handle it or are not impressed by it, easily find themselves zoning out. This is the reason why more unique horror movies like 'Midsommar' or 'A Quiet Place' are much better at maintaining tension. Midsommar's bright palette and off-putting themes allow us to not just feel tense all the time but to feel other varying emotions of uncanniness and disgust. 'A Quiet Place' sacrifices a lot blaring music, giving us anxiety that is less overloading and yet equally tense all the same. To put simply, you can't cash all your chips into one constant emotion. Certainly not one as exhausting as tension.

Another death game series on Netflix, 'Alice in Borderland', suffers from this problem in its final arc. Its final arc was two whole episodes of corpses upon corpses of death, some mystery plot, characters running, characters shouting, characters fighting, that half-way through I actually find myself thinking: "Alright I get it, but can you please get to the point already?" The seriousness and constant intensity that the show wanted to make me feel, overextended itself. In comparison, one can note just how much shorter the death games in 'Squid Game' can be.

Shortness, not overextending yourself, not cashing all the chips in one singular emotion -- That is what I think was successfully achieved in playing 'Fly me to the Moon'. After an entire scene of a hundred people dying, after intense sequences of characters showing fear and desperation, the show-writers probably thought that the point of "this is a scary game" has been sufficiently conveyed. And thus, instead of dragging on, they flipped our expectations. They played incongruent music to allow us to feel other emotions like uncomfortableness or disgust. 

Keep in mind that my point still stands that disharmony if done badly, would ultimately disengage the audience. Is it a case of a lose-lose, 'sacrifice one to gain another' situation? I would have said that if it wasn't for how the game flipped our expectation for the second time.

In lulling us into a false void of tension, the show gave itself an opportunity of one last surprise. As Gi Hoon falls, it abruptly cuts the music, starkly hitting us with a sudden spike in tension. In that state of silence, we probably held our breaths, eyes popping. Before the music suddenly starts again and we are allowed to heave a sigh of relief. Unlike the succinct and cumulative build up of tension in the tug-o-war, this tension was akin to a sudden rush of adrenaline. And perhaps unsurprisingly, it can only be achieved because the show misled us with the incongruent music first; A tension that could only come from disharmony.

On the topic of disharmony, the 2nd game of 'Dalgona candy', may be an even more prime example for that. While the premise was initially dire for Gi Hoon and the ticking clock certainly didn't help, that hard-earned tension was completely diffused by one of the funniest sequences of people licking candy in the straightest face known to man. Unlike the use of incongruent music that still made a little sense, this was the complete eradication of tension by the use of humor. And without stating the obvious, it's quite impossible to rebuild tension after you make someone laugh.

However once again this break of tension makes sense because it served as a proper resolution. This was the solution to the game after all, and not just some random half-time sequence that breaks the scene. Gi Hoon wins the game because of this seemingly stupid tactic. Even if it's a goofy solution, we are satisfied because we were ultimately surprised by its ingenuity and its hilarity. It's an extremely creative way to diffuse tension. If you notice as well, that is the entire logic behind comedic reliefs in shows. In Marvel movies for example, characters are caught in a life or death fight that threatens humanity but somehow, they would still find the opportunity to throw in a quirky one-liner. It is the way for shows to tell you, "I understand that you are watching people die, but let's remember to enjoy yourselves." Of course, we all have also experienced our fair share of comedic reliefs ruining a scene, so caution is still adviced.

Our comedic relief for this show is of course, our beloved Mi Nyeo. In many scenarios where things are dire, she would still find a way to throw in some jab or two to amuse us. Take for example after the tug-o-war where all the characters are too exhausted to even emote. It wouldn't make sense for them to be up-and-giddy, but for Mi Nyeo who is an overly-energetic, overly-psychotic woman, she played the perfect role of both asserting her personality and lightening the left-over tension. This was the show literally allowing itself to 'take a break'; To not overextend its tension and to remind your audience to breathe.

That is how you keep your audience from being exhausted and keep them more tense in the long-run. By paradoxically, having less tension.

Conclusion

I love this show, man. I have enjoyed my fair share of death games but this show literally came out of nowhere and RKO-ed itself into my top spot. And to be honestly, there is still so much more I haven't touch on. Namely, episode 6. I swear with my own pride as an analyst that I have to talk about episode 6 in one of my essays. Other than that, it is super rare for a show to allow myself to dive into so many types and ideas of tension. There was even some I didn't touch on like the visceral tension of having your sight stolen. But well, this is already longer than it needs to be. I'll be back for more, 'Squid Game'. I'll be back for more.