root Why do sequels so often disappoint? Whether it’s movies, TV shows, or even books, continuations of beloved stories rarely seem to capture the magic of the original. Fans eagerly return, hoping for the same excitement, but instead, they often leave frustrated.
Take Squid Game Season 2. Some fans were excited to see the story continue, while others are already criticizing its jarring cliffhanger and expanded world. But this isn’t a new problem — franchises like the Marvel movies, Game of Thrones, and the last three Star Wars films (Boooo!) have all struggled to live up to their own legacies.
Kinda me actually.
Why do so many sequels fail to recreate the success of the original? Let’s break it down!
- Loss of novelty in expanding a world
One of the biggest strengths of an original work is its ability to surprise audiences. When Squid Game first premiered, it captivated us with its high-stakes games, social commentary and raw emotional depth. But once an audience becomes familiar with a concept, the shock value diminishes.
Squid Game 2 suffered so much from this.
The art of expansion can be a tricky beast. Indeed, adding new lore, characters, and conflicts is necessary to making a sequel. But introduce too little, and it feels like a cheap money grab. Introduce too much, and it dilutes the essence of the original.
And while, among other things, I thought the addition of Kang No-Eul (The North-Korean soldier) and her story was riveting, it can’t be said for everything.
Why are the North-Korean characters always the most interesting?
Some characters were found to be (intentionally) cringeworthy. And knowing more about the structure of the games, rather than adding, actually took away intrigue – the very special sauce Season 1 had us hooked on.
The frequent cuts from? the search party’s point of view made for a dizzying experience that gave us insights while removing the mysterious allure this version of Korea had.
- “Suffering” from success
Beyond the loss of novelty, another major hurdle is the crushing weight of expectations.
When we were first introduced to Squid Game, we had no specific expectations except “It better be good!” and it delivered, becoming the global phenomenon it is now.
After Squid Game became a global phenomenon, audiences not only had sky-high expectations for Season 2, but fans, each with newfound preconceived notions, also had their own unique facet of the show they were looking forward to: some wanted more emotional storytelling, while others wanted more shocking violence and deeper social commentary.
Season 2 strived to achieve a middle ground, giving us a glimpse of how it is like to be a soldier in the games, as well as adding unique characters with stranger circumstances. In attempting both, it failed to really break ground with either.
A select few would even argue that the very existence of Season 2 itself was not necessary. That the story was complete as is. (I wouldve said hi bye to the recruiter and boarded my plane FRFR)
Creator Hwang Dong-Hyuk himself admitted: “I had no intention of doing a second season, because the overall process of writing, producing and directing the series was so challenging. I didn’t think to do another one.”
He only took on a second season (which evolved into a second and third) because the “immense success” of the first season “gave [him] the courage and motivation” to do so.
In taking on this challenge, he shoulders the impossible task of guessing what the audience wants, and bearing the criticism of those he failed to please.
- There are good sequels too!
That’s not to say all sequels are bad. A spin-off that knows where, when, and what it should be not just complements, but also elevates the source material. Take Star Wars: Rogue One — a story that knew where it fit within the confines of its franchise. It respected the source material but took great liberties in focusing on “normal” people with no magic powers, and shooting like a war documentary, instead of the usual space opera.
The end result? A self-contained story masterfully setting up its direct chronological sequel.
I cried even though I already knew this was going to happen…
Other sequels, like Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse and Dune: Part Two, succeeded because they kept the charm of the originals while introducing new innovations. Across the Spider-Verse birthed a whole new style of animation, While Dune brought to life with modern cinematography the vision Frank Herbert had when he wrote the books.
The key difference? These sequels weren’t just trying to replicate success. They had something new to show. The best sequels don’t simply continue a story; they justify their own existence.
- Conclusion
People make art for a variety of deeply human reasons. Be it the vivid colours in the “Starry Night”, the soothing sound of four meows, or that one movie scene forever etched into your memory, art is an expression.
Reflecting on Hwang Dong-Hyuk’s hesitation in continuing Squid Game, does anyone owe the world a sequel? Does needing to be convinced make it less a genuine expression and more an obligation? Or perhaps, is hesitation simply the acknowledgement that one’s next move must be as impactful as the first?
I’ve wrestled with that same tension between authenticity and obligation. Before coming to NTU, I had a career in the Navy. I sailed in a little metal coffin (called a warship) and maintained the machines onboard. Some days felt like an episode of Brooklyn Nine-Nine, some days felt like hell and high water. But be it in harbour, or 171 metres underwater, it was a special place to me. My colleagues weren’t just friends, but people I would confide my worries to. When the offer to study part-time at NTU came up, they helped me dare to pursue it.
Alas, I couldn’t handle the combined workload and something had to give: Career or studies?
The pressure to make a decision that made sense to others often clashed with my own sense of what felt right. Till this day, there are moments when I feel like I made the wrong choice. I don’t think this feeling will ever go away. Yet, I can’t fault myself, for in spite of all the choices, obligations and considerations, this was what my authentic self wanted.
Between the open sea and a blank canvas—every choice leaves something behind.
I hope, at least, that’s what Hwang Dong-Hyuk wanted too.