'Squid Game': Linguistic realities

Courtesy of Storebukkebruse

By David A. Tizzard

For good reason, "Squid Game" is dominating headlines and streaming charts. It's an exquisitely made, claustrophobic thriller which brings to light the underlying economic struggles of Korean life in the 21st century, with echoes of "Battle Royale," "The Hunger Games," "Saw" and more. Lee Jung-jae rekindles the fabulous star power he demonstrated in 2019's "Chief of Staff," and is supported by Gong Yoo in the first episode and then others as the story progresses. As expected with Korean dramas, however, Kim Joo-ryung and Anupam Tripathi struggle to present any nuance; their caricatures bring the occasional grimace for anyone seeking critical realism or a hint of Stanislavskian performance.

Rather than give any spoilers or repeat what others have said about the socialist and capitalist implications of the themes presented, I thought I'd try and explain a couple of things for those watching the drama with English subtitles. Because we are a subtitle generation; young people often use them when watching things in their own language. Perhaps it's a way of distracting ourselves from the bad acting or providing solace in the fact that we will never miss anything in the script.

Much of what is said below will be obvious to Korean speakers or those living here, but it is simply to draw attention to the differences that arise when language and subtitles emerge. Director Bong Joon-ho famously remarked that those in the western world must overcome the 1-inch-tall barrier of subtitles. And he was right. I might be making that barrier more complicated, but these points will also apply to any other Korean dramas or entertainment programs people are watching.

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First, the names. Park Hae-soo plays Cho Sang-woo in Squid Game, an investment banker in mountains of debt and younger than Lee Jung-jae's character, Seong Gi-hun. Whenever they are speaking and plotting how they will survive the next game, English subtitles come up showing Sang-woo calling his friend "Gi-hun." What is being said in the original Korean dialogue though is simply "hyeong" ("older brother" in Korean). Sang-woo would never call the man older than him by his name, even in a life-or-death situation like the one they face. They might be comrades, they might be living out fantasies of the military, but they are never truly equal in the language they use or how they address each other. The importance of this convention is demonstrated when the gangster underling of Deok-su reveals his treachery and backstabbing nature by calling his boss by his name to his face. The audacity of such behavior is quickly reinforced by having the upstart suffer a brutal and graphic death on a bridge.

This naming convention might not mean much to every viewer, but for those simply reading the subtitles, it is worth remembering that Korean audiences will immediately be seeing and picking up on these things. There is implicit order, rank and hierarchy. There are expected actions and behaviors. You can call this Confucianism or something else as your mood determines, but these are not people talking to each other on equal terms and using their first names.

Second is the use of pronouns. My international students often feature their preferred pronouns in their emails to me; Korean students do not. But the difference is deeper: cultural, linguistic. Many Korean conversations exist without pronouns ever being uttered. A conversation might unfold something like this:
- Eaten?
- Yeah, eaten. Went to Starbucks?
- Ate what?
- Just a bagel.

Perfectly normal conversation and I'm sure you can work out how it might be translated into English but it's worth being aware that people when speaking Korean are never really saying, "me", "you", "I", "she" and so on. The language is high-context and much of what is being said must be understood through inference and nuance. This aspect is sometimes called "nunchi," and sometimes just taken for granted. Yet one of the biggest challenges for someone learning to speak and think in Korean, or likewise, for a Korean to speak and think in English, is the repeated use or omission of individual pronouns.

Do any of these linguistic aspects have effects on the culture? Does language affect the way we think and speak? Has the relative lack of pronouns in Korean culture contributed to a slower arrival of individualism in Korea? These are all conversations for another day and lengthier pieces.

But what we can learn is that people are now able to enjoy and experience "Squid Game" as soon as it is released. The skill and nuance in creating those subtitles to make Korean culture, language, and its childhood playground games accessible to people all over the world is something that should be applauded. It never used to be this good, and in the past, many decent works of art, books, movies and dramas, suffered from inadequate linguistic representations.

"Squid Game" reminds us that Korea produces amazing cultural texts. And moreover, the popularity of these cultural texts around the world is no longer exaggerated for domestic, feel-good factors. Korean movies, music and dramas don't need to try to appeal to western viewers; they don't need Ed Sheeran to write their music; they don't need to hide their culture or their kids' games. Just let the artists and auteurs do their thing and let Korea shine.

Dr. David A. Tizzard (datizzard@swu.ac.kr) has a Ph.D. in Korean Studies. He is a social/cultural commentator and musician who has lived in Korea for nearly two decades. He is also the host of the Korea Deconstructed podcast which can be found online. The views expressed in the article are the author's own and do not reflect the editorial direction of The Korea Times.