Lost Records: Bloom & Rage

They say the camera never lies; the implied corollary being, presumably, that memory does.

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It’s a notion essential to both the plot and themes of Lost Records: Bloom & Rage, though this doesn’t really become apparent until a good way through the second of its two ‘Tapes’. Initially, all you know is that it’s 2022 and you're making your first trip since the pandemic. You're returning to your Michigan hometown, specifically a bar, to meet a group of friends you haven’t seen since your teens, that one summer back in the mid~’90s. Naturally, old memories bubble up.

At first, these are confined to unexplained flashes of the past. A shot of two hands being clutched together — a teen romance, or something else? Four girls stood in a line, all holding hands, bathed in unearthly purple light. Now running, scared, through the dark woods. A suggestion, in the torchlight, of a wolf-headed figure at their heels. A building on fire.

As you explore your environs (in firstperson, a notable contrast to the Life Is Strange games that were Don’t Nod’s breakthrough), little UI markers offer a chance to ‘Reminisce’. These trigger short bursts of dialogue taken from later flashbacks, presented without context. These memories are reliable, then, at least in the most literal sense. But how misleading might they be about the kind of story being told here?

These mysteries sustain Bloom & Rage, just about, through an incredibly slow-burn first Tape. In the bar you alternate between small talk with strangers and working your way towards the big topics with the first of those old friends. Every so often, with a tape-fuzz rewinding effect, you jump back to 1995 for the playable flashbacks that actually make up the bulk of the game.