Although the Hallyu Wave, or the increase in global popularity of South Korean culture, and all its flashy accoutrements has been around for a while, it’s no surprise that the two most recent South Korean media works to propel themselves to the top of the U.S. national consciousness have been “Parasite” and “Squid Game.” After all, what is more universal than capitalism?
“Foreign” media typically have trouble breaking into the U.S. market, but “Parasite” and “Squid Game” prevailed because of their relatability; the anticapitalist frameworks they both rely on appeal to public sentiment in a way that should make people in power nervous.
In response to this, American thought leaders seem to be doing their best to reassure the public that the issues presented in these works are unique to the failures of the country of origin, even though existential concerns like overwhelming amounts of debt and the class divide mar the societal fabric on this side of the ocean as well. It seems as if every think piece writer ever has had a turn to add their take on how the conditions in “Parasite” and “Squid Game” reflect a reality that somehow does not already exist in the U. S., which is very Margaret Atwood of them to do.
How ignorant do you have to be to lament the degree to which panoramas of capitalist disillusionment and folly resonated with viewers, but not see that as indicative of a larger problem at hand? “Parasite” was a little more subtle with its critique, and I shudder to think of how many more people didn’t catch it because of that.
On top of how racist and imperialist it is to imply that Asian countries suck at running themselves, there is also a disturbing amount of Orientalism baked into evaluating what Asian countries do well under a capitalist system. People will criticize what they perceive as Western decadence and then turn around and fawn over the glittery cityscapes of Tokyo and Singapore. Considering a product superior because it’s “cute” or “aesthetically pleasing” is based on superficial reasoning; it’s regular old consumerism in a pretty package.
This is why the enthusiastic response to the bright, intentionally childlike visuals in “Squid Game” concerns me. Keeping the backgrounds simple and easy to understand allows the viewers to focus on the characters and not on the setting, but all the TikTok challenges and Halloween costume photoshoots are missing the point.
The U.S. has long been fascinated with Asian media in a way that overshadows whatever attention is paid to the diasporic perspectives they have right at home; the perpetual foreigner receives no legacy to draw from. Movies and TV shows like “Parasite” and “Squid Game,” while rooted in South Korean cultural nuance, are unburdened by the complicated label of “Asian American.” Aside from the fetishization, the two do well in part because the creators don’t have to deal with the long history of state interference in their identity work.
Overall, I’m glad that the U.S. is expanding its definition of what counts as quality content, but I’m not happy about the way that the media is conceptualizing the newfound hype. Letting people enjoy things is cool up to a point: Ignoring the undertones and implications behind the attention is unacceptable.
