Witnessing the trajectory of Life Is Strange has been nothing short of remarkable. From its humble beginnings in 2015 to the rich tapestry of sequels, spinoffs, and spiritual successors, DontNod Entertainment carved out a distinctive niche in the realm of character-driven games. Each installment — whether crafted by DontNod or Deck Nine — brings a fresh dose of Twin Peaks-inspired supernatural intrigue, heartfelt narratives that balance between endearing sincerity and occasional cringe, and a celebration of connections among queer and ethnic folks on the margins of society.
Still, the games have grappled with an identity crisis, with its latest effort from Deck Nine veering away from the indie film charm of its predecessors into a Marvel-esque spectacle that feels disconnected from what initially endeared it to fans. Fortunately, Lost Records: Bloom & Rage not only recaptures the essence of the original Life Is Strange but also carves out its own genuine, compelling path, standing proudly as a spiritual successor that elevates the genre’s poignant theming and character writing to greater heights and establishes a universe uniquely its own.
Lost Records: Bloom & Rage, developed by DontNod Montréal — a new branch made up of Life is Strange alumni — channels the nostalgic vibe of Starz’s Yellowjackets, but trades cannibalism for an extra dose of lesbian witches. The narrative oscillates between two timelines: the summer of 1995, when four teenage girls form a punk rock band called Bloom & Rage, and their reunion 27 years later. Players step into the shoes of Swann, a reserved loner who dreams of being a filmmaker, capturing her small-town life in Velvet Cove, Michigan, with her camcorder. After clashing with a bigoted teenage boy, Swann bonds with fellow outcasts Nora, the rebellious punk; Autumn, the nurturing friend with a “mom” role in the clique; and Kat, the intense, introverted leader. Now in their 40s, the women gather in their hometown bar to uncover long-forgotten supernatural events that led them to drift apart — and the vow they made never to reunite.
What stood out to me was the exceptional character writing and the fresh, innovative approach to relationship dynamics. Lost Records is less about scrubbing for collectables or check boxes — like which of your companions you might want to smooch while erratically switching up your personality like a fake-ass friend — and more about letting you document the little moments you think are worth remembering.
Image: Don’t Nod Montréal via Polygon
Lost Records’ writing sidesteps the pitfalls of binary good-versus-bad choices by enriching its dialogue with the nuance that comes from learning to shut up, listen, and mull over thoughtful responses instead of feverishly clicking the first reactions that are available in intimate and casual chats. In any other game, if you held out on selecting a knee-jerk dialogue response and cutting off one of Swann’s friends, that other character would simply trail off like waiting room music as you deliberated over which binary options to respond to them with. In Lost Records, new dialogue prompts will appear the more Swann’s friends reveal tidbits of safeguarded feelings about their predicaments, be it in 1995 or the present, giving you the option to press further with more piercing responses or letting them hang to spare their feelings. More often than not, I waited out and didn’t automatically choose the new prompts as they appeared because they didn’t gel with the relationships I’d engendered with Swann’s friends. I was basically embodying the “We listen, we don’t judge” meme, and yet, the sense that I was truly hearing them, rather than steamrolling over their shyly shared insecurities, felt tangible in every interaction.
Lost Records tracks who you spend the most time with, dynamically shaping Swann’s closest relationships — whether with a best friend or a potential romantic partner. Having played numerous games of Life is Strange’s ilk, I initially found myself slipping into the old, Pavlovian mindset of wanting to “solve” the game, treating dialogue choices and environmental puzzles like formulaic tasks to arrive at the “correct answers.” However, Lost Records shatters the mold of predictable gameplay. Its dialogue system moves away from the “pick the right option to succeed” formula, instead fostering relationships that feel raw and genuine, capturing the unfiltered essence of teenagers, whether they’re just shooting the shit or getting real. Lost Records champions responses that feel authentic rather than calculated, focusing on spontaneity and sincerity over mechanical decision-making.
Before long, I found myself shedding my pushing-30 “mature” sensibilities and embracing the kind of magical theater that makes grown men passionately cheer or boo pro wrestlers, fully immersing in Swann’s angsty teen years. This approach drew me deeper into the experience, allowing Swann’s relationships to evolve naturally, with all the grounded chaos of real teenage connections.
Speaking of teenage connections, I found Lost Record’s characters to be wonderfully flawed and delightfully likable as they all sorted out the lengths they were willing to go to buck the norm of conforming to being the kind of adults who would be patted on the head for being seen and not heard. Nora, for instance, embodies a free spirit whose rebellious streak, left unchecked, could make her a flight risk within the friend group. She eagerly co-signs every destructive scheme pitched to fight against out-of-touch adult expectations.
Autumn, on the other hand, is the empathetic “mom friend” and the only Black girl in the ensemble. Her role carries emotional weight, as her feelings and opinions are often disregarded when tensions rise, forcing her to play the spoilsport to the others’ impulsive outbursts.
Then there’s Kat, the self-destructive mastermind whose charm lies in her intensity and unpredictability. While she often finds herself in over her head, her edge and a hint of danger make her an unforgettable presence in the group dynamic. Swann, as the protagonist, ties all these relationships together, navigating the messy, heartfelt connections that define the story.
Image: Don’t Nod Montréal via Polygon
Image: Don’t Nod Montréal via Polygon
Image: Don’t Nod Montréal via Polygon
Image: Don’t Nod Montréal via Polygon
And for me, every one of them felt like friends I’ve encountered in high school. I found myself gravitating toward Nora romantically because I’m not immune to goth girls who can make me worse. I developed an arm’s length bond with Kat, akin to sending a friend memes in DMs to keep up with each other; after all, we just vibed. And an unspoken allyship with Autumn developed as I came to sympathize with her role as the unpopular voice of reason. My choices melted into a pastiche of the kind of character I felt my Swann was becoming in her coming of age story, going from a meek people-pleaser who would readily apologize for speaking up for herself, to a girl who was honest with her feelings — even if they hurt her friend’s pride.
However, like many choice-driven games that came before it, Lost Records had its fair share of moments where I selected an option that unintentionally came off more curt or dismissive than I intended. Thankfully, the game includes a handy “replay scenes” feature in its pause menu. This allowed for a quick redo whenever I wanted to choose dialogue options that better fit my meaning for the moment, or I could explore alternate outcomes without the hassle of starting up a segment from scratch. It was also really useful for revisiting parts of the game to find hidden collectables or small details that, at the least, gave me more time to explore its picturesque setting, and at most, added more texture to its story.
One standout feature of Lost Records is its thoughtfully designed content warning system, which enhances the genre’s formula by prioritizing player comfort and safety. The settings menu allows players to toggle warnings with detailed descriptions for potentially sensitive topics, such as casual homophobia, drug and alcohol use, sexual content, and body shaming, while ensuring these warnings don’t spoil upcoming scenes. To go a step further, the game includes a scannable QR code for players who want a more in-depth overview of what will transpire in a scene so that players can brace themselves.
While the system didn’t see much use in my playthrough of Tape 1, it became indispensable in Tape 2, especially with the inclusion of photosensitivity warnings for flashing lights and visual effects — a crucial update that DontNod Montreal implemented after ButWhyTho brought it to the studio’s attention. This thoughtful addition underscores the developers’ ability to do a commendable job building on the work of past games, as well as delivering impactful stories while demonstrating a commitment to not triggering or blindsiding players with content that may be upsetting.
One aspect of Lost Records that didn’t immediately resonate with me but eventually became my favorite feature was the way it implemented Swann’s camcorder. In contrast, Life Is Strange’s Max Caulfield uses photography as a tactile means to access her time-rewind powers — a clever mechanic, but one that leaned more toward an on-the-rails style. It often boiled down to passively bringing Polaroids into focus whenever the game directed you to do so. In Lost Records, however, Swann’s camcorder adds a far more dynamic and engaging layer to the experience.
Playing as Swann felt like playing as an indie film director, thanks to the footage I captured on her camcorder, which ranged from serene nature documentaries and indie-style vignettes to Blair Witch-style found footage. Lost Records also inspired me to brush up on classic film techniques, such as dolly zooms, golden ratios, and the art of backlighting subjects intentionally. One moment I’m particularly proud of myself for was in Bloom & Rage’s music video, where I framed Kat by zooming out through Noah’s Arm on her hip — a subtle but natural bit of candid camera work that, while not super highfalutin, gave the music video a sense of professionalism.
Lost Records goes above and beyond with its photo mode and editing tools, giving players the ability to curate Swann’s home videos into polished, cinematic creations. Once I stopped recording aimlessly, as if I were sweatily playing Outlast, I began to hone my director’s eye, capturing candid moments between Swann and her bandmates. The game then elevates this mechanic further, allowing you to craft these clips into documentary-style projects, guerrilla photography sequences, or nature-focused montages, adding a deeply personal touch to the experience. Ultimately, Lost Records made life feel like a film, seamlessly blending Swann’s camcorder into the gameplay in ways that haven’t been seen — or matched — since Max’s portrait photography in Life Is Strange.
What left me perplexed about Lost Records was its primary antagonist, Corey Litchfield, who felt almost exaggeratedly evil. While Tape 1 hinted at some potential depth, as if challenging me to empathize with a flat, cocky teenage jerk who is also the abusive boyfriend of Kat’s sister, Tape 2 quickly dropped any pretense — he was just an irredeemable jerk, plain and simple. That fit the story Lost Records wanted to tell, though it was intriguing that the game briefly flirted with showing a sliver of humanity in a character doomed to be unlikable from the start.
Another element that felt underexplored was Lost Records’ supernatural aspects. While I initially felt frustrated at the credits, particularly with the stinger teasing future games, I’ve grown to appreciate the game’s understated approach. Lost Records’ depiction of the supernatural reflects the ambiguity and unanswered questions that often define teenage experiences — a force that both empowers and disrupts, mysterious and ambivalent. In many ways, it felt like an enigmatic extension of the girls themselves, serving as their collective id.
Lost Records: Bloom & Rage feels like a genuine return to form for Life is Strange spiritual successors, offering a concise yet profoundly moving story enriched with heartfelt themes, tightly-woven character dynamics, and subtly captivating supernatural elements. Although I suspect I landed the “bad” ending among its possible outcomes, this only heightened the emotional depth of the experience. Bonding with Swann and her friends felt like reconnecting with reflections of relationships I’ve nurtured in my own life, cherishing them in the present before they inevitably fade into memories. That sense of fleeting connection is nothing short of magical.
Lost Records: Bloom & Rage was released on Feb. 18 (Tape 1) and April 15 (Tape 2) for PlayStation 5, Windows PC, and Xbox Series X. The game was reviewed on PlayStation 5 using a prerelease download code provided by Don’t Nod. Vox Media has affiliate partnerships. These do not influence editorial content, though Vox Media may earn commissions for products purchased via affiliate links. You can find additional information about Polygon’s ethics policy here.