When Lost Records: Bloom & Rage was first announced, I instantly knew it would be for me. A coming-of-age narrative adventure from the studio behind Life is Strange? Set in the ‘90s? With a camcorder mechanic and a queer cast of misfits? Sign me up. Now that both parts of the game are out, I can say this: it’s one of the most emotionally resonant games I’ve played in years—but it’s also messy, uneven, and in desperate need of a third act.
A Spiritual Successor with Its Own Identity
Developed by DON’T NOD Montreal, Lost Records: Bloom & Rage follows Swann, a quiet, awkward teen in 1995 who documents her world through a camcorder. Over one summer in Velvet Cove, Michigan, she forms an intense bond with three other girls—Nora, Autumn, and Kat. Jumping between the past and their adult lives in 2022, the story unspools a long-buried mystery, exploring themes of memory, grief, and the complexities of girlhood. It’s nostalgic but not idealized. Romanticized, yes—but only in the way real memory is.
Like Life is Strange, this game leans heavily on atmosphere and character. But it also digs into the surreal nature of memory itself. The present-day framing device adds a unique layer: you’re not just reliving the past—you’re actively reconstructing it through tapes, diary entries, and the shaky voices of 40-somethings trying to make peace with who they were.
The Best Parts Hurt
There are moments in Lost Records: Bloom & Rage that genuinely floored me. Swann’s quiet vulnerability, expressed in lingering glances and the way she clutches her camcorder like a lifeline. Autumn’s rage at being left behind, simmering under her cool demeanor and spilling out in raw, emotional outbursts. Nora’s fear beneath her punk rock armor, revealed through her anxious fidgeting and need for control. And Kat—goodness, Kat. Her chaos, her brilliance, her pain. She’s the kind of magnetic, untouchable girl who draws people in even as she self-destructs. These girls didn’t feel like characters; they felt like people I knew. People I was. People I still carry with me.
One of the most powerful mechanics in the game is how you document everything through Swann’s camcorder. You choose what to film, and later, you stitch together those moments into memoir-style tapes. This isn’t just a gameplay gimmick—it becomes the emotional core of the story. Watching the grainy, lo-fi footage I captured earlier play out in haunting montages, complete with swelling music and analog static, hit me harder than I expected. It wasn’t about “winning” or solving a mystery. It was about remembering and bearing witness. About saying: we were here.
The Gaps Between
And yet… I wanted more. More clarity. More resolution. The supernatural element (the Abyss) felt half-developed. Important questions went unanswered, and the pacing—especially in Tape 1—dragged. While Tape 2 improved things emotionally, even its best moments felt like they were scrambling to tie loose ends that never fully came together.
The ending? Beautifully ambiguous. But also frustrating. A final note, a ghostly glimpse, and a call to follow. It leaves the door open—but it also leaves too many questions behind.
Final Verdict
Lost Records: Bloom & Rage is not a perfect game. But it is a powerful one. If you grew up without seeing yourself in media, if you made zines in your bedroom, if you ever found your identity through friendships that were too intense, too brief, too everything—this game might wreck you a little. It did me. And I’ll be thinking about it for a long time.
⭐ Final Score: 8.5/10
🔑 Best for fans of Life is Strange, Oxenfree, Gone Home, and emotional narrative games
🎧 Listen with headphones. Trust me.
