For a long time, TV series were perceived as simple entertainment. We watched them to pass the time, relax after a day’s work, or escape from the everyday. Today, this view is increasingly outdated. Some series no longer simply seek to entertain: they disturb, question, and sometimes leave the viewer with a profound sense of unease.

Contemporary series portray our world more than imaginary ones. They stage our fears, tensions, and contradictions. They show us what we experience collectively, but also what we feel internally, often without managing to articulate it. As such, they become genuine tools for social and psychological reflection.

Squid Game is a striking example of this. The end of the first season, when the game organizer turns out to be the old man and invites the main character to his deathbed to reveal the truth, goes far beyond a simple plot twist. The viewer understands that this extreme violence was merely entertainment for a few bored, wealthy figures, and that the old man created it because he had lost all hope in humanity, seeing people as devoid of morality. The main character, on the other hand, retains his faith in humanity, believing we should help each other instead of constantly destroying ourselves.

Similarly, The Bear, although much more realistic and intimate, provokes deep reflection. It doesn’t shock with violence, but with the constant tension and exhaustion it portrays. These two series, very different in form, nonetheless show the same thing: series are no longer just stories to watch from a distance; they have become experiences that affect us personally and collectively.

Today, series occupy a central place in our daily lives. They are part of our routines, our discussions, and our way of consuming culture. They are no longer just watched in a family setting or occasionally: they are « binge-watched, » analyzed, commented on social media, and sometimes even used as generational benchmarks. Certain lines, scenes, or characters become common references, shared far beyond the screen.

This success is also explained by the fact that series now take the time to develop over the long term. Unlike cinema, they can explore complex human trajectories, show the psychological evolution of characters, and dwell on the consequences of their choices. This extended temporality allows for deeper immersion and reinforces the emotional impact on the viewer. In this sense, series do not just tell a story; they accompany the viewer. They create a particular, almost intimate bond, which explains why certain works leave a lasting mark. When a series deals with anxiety, loneliness, or failure, it doesn’t do so abstractly : it shows it through concrete, recognizable situations close to our own experience.

The Fiction Closer to Reality

With the rise of streaming platforms, series have gained freedom. They can address darker, more complex subjects without necessarily trying to please everyone. They move away from simple and reassuring narratives to offer stories more rooted in reality. Television fiction has become a space where we talk about work, precariousness, loneliness, social pressure, and mental health. These themes, once secondary, are now central. Series no longer serve to escape reality but to observe and present it from another angle.

Another important point concerns the characters. Perfect heroes have almost disappeared. In their place, we find tired, lost individuals, often in conflict with themselves—heroes with flaws because they resemble us; they are profoundly human, which allows the viewer to project themselves and identify more easily.

In The Bear, Carmy is not a hero in the classic sense. He is brilliant but unstable, demanding, and sometimes unbearable. In Squid Game, the characters often make morally questionable choices, dictated by fear or despair. These imperfect figures make the narrative more realistic and more unsettling.

Two Forms of Anxiety, But a Single Humanity

Squid Game stages extreme, almost absurd violence. Yet, this violence is not gratuitous. It serves to represent a world where individuals are trapped in a system of permanent competition. The game participants are not monsters : they are indebted, marginalized, or socially excluded people.

The anxiety running through the series is collective. It does not stem from a personal problem but from an economic system that pushes individuals to confront each other and abandon their moral ideals to survive at all costs. Each ordeal recalls a well-known logic: winning at the expense of others, accepting unjust rules, and considering the human being as a replaceable resource. The final scene of Season 1 reinforces this idea. It shows that all this suffering was only intended to entertain a privileged minority, and that, according to the game’s creator, this suffering is merely a metaphor, a staging of what humankind is today. This revelation echoes a feeling widely shared today : that of being caught in a system that benefits a few at the expense of the many, and that the participants in this system accept it.

Conversely, The Bear does not rely on a spectacular concept. Everything takes place in a restaurant kitchen. Yet, the tension is constant. The noise, the speed, the arguments, and the stress create an almost oppressive atmosphere.

The anxiety here is intimate. It is linked to grief, the relationship with work, the quest for perfection, and the inability to let go. Carmy carries a deep malaise within him, fueled by his past and constant pressure to succeed. The series shows how work can become a place of suffering, even when it is a passion. Each character impacts their job based on the psychological state they inhabit, imposing a chaotic process that only resolves when each of them manages to coexist in the best way, and after significant personal work on both sides.

Different Scales, One Human Anguish

What particularly distinguishes Squid Game and The Bear is the scale at which anxiety is represented. Squid Game chooses exaggeration, shock, and violence to highlight very real mechanisms. The game functions as a metaphor for a brutal economic system where competition crushes all forms of solidarity. The rules are clear but deeply unfair, and the characters have virtually no room to maneuver. The anxiety is visible, spectacular, and collective.

Conversely, The Bear shows a much quieter anxiety. Nothing extraordinary happens on screen, but everything seems constantly on the verge of collapse. The series reveals what it means to live under pressure daily, in a demanding professional setting, without recognition and without real space to express emotions. Here, suffering is not externally imposed; it is integrated into the rhythm of the characters’ lives.

Despite these differences, the two series converge on an essential point : they show individuals trapped in structures that overwhelm them. In Squid Game, the system is violent and explicit. In The Bear, it is more diffused, embedded in the norms of work, success, and performance. In both cases, these series question the place of the human in models that prioritize results, efficiency, or profit over well-being. Whether visible or silent, these anxieties concern us all. They reflect experiences that many people live, at different levels, in current society.

An Anxiety-Provoking Context

If these fictions resonate so much, it is also because they are part of a particular context. Economic crises, professional uncertainties, pressure to succeed, mental fatigue: the feeling of insecurity is widely shared.

In this context, series become spaces where these tensions can be expressed. They give form, a story, and faces to anxieties that are often diffuse. Through their characters and narratives, they highlight the fragility of a balance that has become difficult to maintain. They show individuals confronted with high expectations, the fear of failure, or the loss of meaning, in a world where stability seems increasingly fragile. In this sense, series act as indicators of the collective psychological state of our time.

Fiction That Creates Connection

Faced with this type of fiction, the viewer is not indifferent. They are no longer simply in front of a story that they passively consume. Series like Squid Game and The Bear emotionally and morally involve the person watching them. They provoke a feeling of discomfort, sometimes guilt, but also identification.

In Squid Game, the viewer is confronted with a disturbing question : how far would they be willing to go to survive or succeed in an unfair system ? In The Bear, the question is more intimate: how much work pressure are we supposed to accept as normal ? This shift from fiction to personal experience reinforces the power of the narrative.

By staging these anxieties, series also offer a form of recognition. They tell the viewer : what you feel is not isolated. This identification creates a strong bond between the work and its audience. Series then become spaces for shared reflection, where everyone can project their own doubts and tensions. As with any cultural object or art form, we see a reassuring or heavy projection of who we are in them.

Today, TV series play a much more important role than it seems. They no longer merely entertain : they observe, criticize, and question the world in which we live.

Squid Game and The Bear show two different faces of contemporary anxiety but ultimately tell the same story : that of human beings confronted with systems, expectations, and pressures that overwhelm them. By bringing these realities to the screen, fiction invites us to step back and reflect on our own place in society. These series do not give us ready-made answers, but they ask essential questions. Ultimately, it is perhaps this involvement of the viewer that explains why series occupy such an important place in contemporary culture today. They do not just represent the world; they confront us with it. And that is perhaps their most valuable role.

Author: Paul SAOUD