For Lee Jung-jae, returning to the world of “Squid Game” wasn’t part of the original plan. “I went into it understanding it would be a limited series,” the actor shares. “I remember asking Director Hwang [Dong-hyuk]… ‘Are you really not going to do a second season?’ And I remember him saying, ‘Absolutely not.’”
Of course, that was before the South Korean thriller became a global phenomenon. It crushed Netflix records, swept award seasons, and sparked conversations about class, survival, and the unsettling thrill of spectacle. Lee’s performance as Gi-hun, the reluctant everyman turned winner of the show’s bloody games, earned him an Emmy for Best Actor—the first for a Korean performer. But acclaim wasn’t what convinced him to return. “So many people around the world loved Gi-hun, and I wanted to repay that and show my gratitude to the fans.”
Season Two of “Squid Game,” which concludes later this summer with its third and final installment, picks up in the uneasy aftermath of Gi-hun’s victory. He’s thinner, colder, and far from healed. Haunted by the lives lost and the system that enabled it, Gi-hun finds a new purpose: to infiltrate the organization behind the games and destroy it from within. But as fate would have it, his quest for justice leads him back into the same nightmare—once again, as Player 456.
The shift is immediate and jarring. Gi-hun is no longer the desperate, debt-ridden man clinging to survival. He’s a man transformed by trauma, more dangerous, more calculating, and less afraid of death. “He’s driven by obsession,” Lee explains. “To track down those who created the game and to put an end to it.” That arc, from passive participant to moral insurgent, mirrors the show’s broader evolution. It leans deeper into political subtext and moral ambiguity, while still delivering the genre thrills that made it a sensation.
At its core, “Squid Game” remains a parable for the broken systems we live in—something Lee says transcends geography. “These days, it doesn’t feel like a typical recession or crisis where you wait two or three years for recovery,” he says. “It feels like something is structurally broken. It makes you wonder if the system was designed this way, to only benefit the very few.”
That systemic rot, whether set in Seoul or Washington, feels eerily familiar. As partisan divisions deepen and wealth gaps widen, “Squid Game” doesn’t just entertain; it reflects our own feelings about society back at us. Its characters may be fictional, but their desperation is not.
In our conversation, Lee discusses the physical and emotional preparation for returning to Gi-hun, the lingering impact of a particularly explosive scene with Gong Yoo, and why the show continues to resonate so deeply with Western audiences.
Translation provided by interpreter Haley Jung.
Awards Focus: It’s such an honor to meet you, so thank you so much for spending time with me today. “Squid Game” has obviously been such an enormous, global success. You won an Emmy for it! Was it always the plan for you to return for a second and third season, or did the story need to be strong enough for you to come back? Did fan pressure influence your decision?
Lee Jung-jae: In the beginning, it wasn’t supposed to be a multi-season show. I went into it understanding it would be a limited series. I remember asking Director Hwang on the last day of filming—and again when season one was first released on Netflix—”Are you really not going to do a second season?” And I remember him saying, “Absolutely not.”
However, as we all know, the show was so widely loved globally, and with all the passion and support from fans, Director Hwang—and all of us—felt that we couldn’t not do a second season. I believe it was only after that point that he started writing the next seasons.
As for me, usually I would wait and read the script before deciding to return. But this time, it was an instant yes, even before reading anything. So many people around the world loved Gi-hun, and I wanted to repay that and show my gratitude to the fans.
AF: Gi-hun in Season One is much more grounded—almost passive, and sometimes even frustrating. In season two, he’s very different: he’s active, vengeful, and even shows leadership qualities. How did you prepare differently for that evolution, both mentally and physically?
Lee: Mentally, because Gi-hun survives the deadly and brutal game in season one, I felt a dramatic change in his character was inevitable. He’s driven by obsession—to track down those who created the game and to put an end to it.
I also liked the idea that even though he won this huge cash prize, he couldn’t enjoy it. He doesn’t spend the money because, as he says in the show, it’s blood money. So he only uses it in his efforts to bring down the people behind the games. He’s in a devastated emotional state, and I wanted that to come across just by looking at him.
Physically, I went on a strict diet and worked out consistently. I reshaped my body and appearance so that without saying much or doing too much, the audience could see how much Gi-hun has changed just by looking at his face.
AF: There’s one scene—maybe in episode two—that’s incredibly intense. It’s the Russian roulette scene with Gong Yoo, who plays the recruiter. It’s terrifying. How did you both mentally prepare for a moment like that?
Lee: Because it was Gong Yoo’s special appearance in the show, we didn’t want to take too much of his time. But I remember hearing that he and Director Hwang had many conversations about that scene.
When I first read it in the script, I knew it was going to be intense and explosive. And Gong Yoo really brought that intensity with his performance. From Gi-hun’s perspective, he thinks this is a mind game—that if he fails to win over the recruiter, he won’t be able to reach the higher-ups. But then he realizes they’re going to play Russian roulette, which isn’t a mind game at all. It’s life and death.
I liked that twist. It shakes Gi-hun, but the tension builds gradually through the conversation. I think the way the scene was staged and performed was incredible. When we wrapped filming that day, Gong Yoo, Director Hwang, and everyone on set felt really satisfied with what we had created.
AF: It’s an amazing scene—easily my favorite of the season. One of the fascinating things about “Squid Game” is how deeply it resonated with Western audiences. In some ways, it feels like it could be about the current American politico-economic situation. Was that surprising to you? Or do the themes of inequality and desperation feel just as relevant in South Korea?
Lee: I think we’re all going through something similar around the world. Economies are struggling everywhere. And even in the worst situations, the rich—the people who already have—aren’t as affected. But those without resources suffer more.
These days, it doesn’t feel like a typical recession or crisis where you wait two or three years for recovery. It feels like something is structurally broken. It makes you wonder if the system was designed this way, to only benefit the very few.
That kind of systemic imbalance leads to so many individual, painful, and personal struggles. That’s universal. And I think that’s what allowed the show to resonate so widely.
One of the themes “Squid Game” explores is that regardless of wealth, we’re all human. We’re not animals to be watched, bet on, or discarded. We must help one another, and we must find a way forward. That’s the emotional truth that really connected with global audiences.
AF: Thank you so much and best of luck with this upcoming awards season!