Apropos of nothing, but evil people REALLY love to keep records. Like, there's an obsessive need on the part of narcissistic, sociopathic, morally scrupulous individuals, corporations, and nations that drives them to maintain records of their activities. In the fictional worlds of television, movies, books, etc., we find hope in the fact that those records will lead to the downfall of said evil. The paper trail of their nefarious deeds is all the evidence required to bring them to justice.
In the real world, however, it's more complicated. I wish it wasn't, but it is.
Unfortunately, Squid Game sticks with a more realistic approach when it comes to the repercussions of discovering the evil entity's secret archives, but we'll get to that.
Released in 2021 on Netflix, the first season of Squid Game - created, written, and directed by Hwang Dong-hyuk - follows a group of "contestants" competing for the ultimate cash prize in a high stakes series of games where elimination is diabolically literal. Our primary protagonist is Seong Gi-hun, Player 456, played by the amazing Lee Jung-jae, a man with a gambling addiction, debt up to his eyeballs, and a strained relationship with his daughter, at best. Gi-hun isn't the worst person, he shows many displays of kindness and empathy over the series, but when we meet him at his low point it's easy to see why the people behind the Squid Game would choose him as a player.
The grim reality of Squid Game is the illusion of choice on the part of the players. At every stage of the games, the people behind the scenes make sure to reinforce the idea that the players chose to participate. It starts before the real game begins, when the Recruiter, played by Gong Yoo, finds a devastated and recently injured Gi-hun in the subway and offers to play a game of ddakji. For every time Gi-hun wins, the Recruiter will pay him a hundred thousand won (roughly $70), but Gi-hun must also do the same if the Recruiter wins. When Gi-hun loses immediately, and obviously lacks the money to pay, the Recruiter offers an alternate form of payment: every time Gi-hun loses, the Recruiter slaps him. And so begins a montage of loud, violent slaps as we watch a man continue to take punishment because he might win some money. As simple as it sounds, the entirety of Squid Game, and its less than subtle critique of late-stage capitalism, is built on this one scene.
Parallel to Gi-hun's story, we're also introduced to Officer Hwang Jun-ho, played by Wi Ha-joon, as he searches for his missing brother, In-ho. After crossing paths with Gi-hun, and confirming a connection between his brother and the Squid Game, Jun-ho infiltrates the game, hiding in plain sight amongst the masked pink jumpsuits who serve as grunts, assistants, and executioners.
It's in episode 5 of season 1, "A Fair Game," that we're first shown the archives. After uncovering an organ harvesting side hustle, Jun-ho corners one of the lackeys who points him in the direction of the place where they keep all of the information on the players. We then watch Jun-ho descend a ladder to the Front Man's suite before finding a door and descending, again, into a brick-lined hall leading to a dark room filled with your standard archives basics: metal shelving, binders, clamshell boxes, various forms of media, etc. Whatever Jun-ho's looking for, he's going to find it in this room.
I personally got a kick out of the labels for the more recent games. I wasn't exactly expecting "Squid Archives" to be slapped on a three-ring binder, but it made me laugh because of the sheer audacity. At the very least, I can appreciate the organization of it. There's definitely a system in place, which you don't find in a lot of archives when they're used as settings or background dressing.
The inclusion of the archives tells the audience a few things. One, the Squid Games have been going on for a long time. Searching the stacks, we get a glimpse of records dating back to the late-1980s. Two, the people behind the scenes are able to get a lot of private information about people, including financial and medical records. This means they're either in high enough positions of power to access that information or they have the means of persuading the right people. Three, the fact that the archives has been maintained for nearly forty years, at minimum, tells us that they're not afraid of getting caught. That this event has been able to continue operating means no one can, or wants to, stop it.
Of course, the last part is predicated on knowledge of the games existing. Once you know about it, you're either killed or become part of the machine. The only person who presumably gets the undisclosed third option is the winner of the game, but even then it's a matter of how a person psychologically deals with the guilt of receiving a cash reward soaked in the blood of the other 455 players.
The archives are briefly shown again in episodes 6 and 7, but it's really in "A Fair Game" that we get the most information out of its presence. Jun-ho gets some of the answers he needs and the audience gets some additional worldbuilding. Squid Game is not new to this world and it shows no signs of stopping.
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