When I talked to Don’t Nod last year about why it was breaking its new paranormal adventure game, Lost Records: Bloom & Rage, into two parts, the team said it wanted to recapture the mystery and speculation generated by episodic releases of the past like the original Life Is Strange and Telltale’s catalog. After two months of waiting, Lost Records’ second episode, “Rage,” mostly feels like it’s sprinting to the finish line. The second half of Don’t Nod’s new take on its signature supernatural teen melodrama format feels more like a coda to the first rather than its own substantial offering. But now that the wait is over, I guess that doesn’t really matter to anyone who didn’t spend those two months to see what happened next. (NOTE: This piece does discuss plot revelations that took place in the first part of the game.)
I was hooked on Lost Records after the first episode. The devastating twist that Kat, one of Swann’s childhood friends, wouldn’t be joining us in the present day recontextualized everything that came before. Much of the second episode is about bringing all your choices to the forefront to determine why. I was taken aback by how short the second episode was, with most of its ‘90s flashbacks focusing on Swann and her friends facing the consequences of their rebellious musical stunt at the end of episode one. But where episode two really shines is in how it finally brings together its dueling past and present narratives. Episode one spent a lot of time gesturing at some big fallout between the group’s members when they were teenagers, but now that I’d actually formed relationships with Swann’s friends in the flashbacks, those vague allusions started to take real shape in the present.
When I finished the game and saw the statistics for different choices and outcomes, I was surprised at how much variation there was for the moments that brought Swann, Autumn, and Nora back to that Velvet Cove bar where they choose to reunite 27 years later. Outcomes I thought were inevitable turned out not to be, and it made me reflect on all my choices. By the time we finally found out what was inside the mysterious package addressed to “Bloom & Rage,” our long-forgotten garage band that brought us together in the summer of ‘95, there were only two of us still sitting at the bar. Reminiscing had become too painful for Nora, and I felt like it was my fault for not being closer to her when we were kids.
Without getting into the specifics of what happens at the end of Lost Records, I will say I was a bit let down by the abruptness of the conclusion. This might have also been because of the decisions I made and the devastating consequences that followed, but while Swann’s personal relationships ended on lovely, thoughtful notes, the game’s supernatural storyline wraps up with what can be charitably described as a lackadaisical shrug. In part, the lack of closure may be intended to allow for a sequel, which wouldn’t be surprising given that Don’t Nod said it wanted its own supernatural drama separate from Square Enix’s clutches. Still, I got whiplash from how quickly Swann and her friends dropped all curiosity about the malevolent forces that spurred all of this on.
Though Don’t Nod might be saving some of this story’s answers for a hypothetical sequel, when it comes to the human connections at its heart, Lost Records delivers a pretty poignant conclusion. In the decades since Swann and her friends left this small town, they’ve forgotten a lot of the defining moments from the summer they all met. One of the most terrifying things about grieving something, whether it be a person or a moment in your life, is knowing that eventually people become memories, and with each passing day, memories fade. Everybody knows that one day, everyone who has ever known you will be gone. There will come a time when no one says your name or remembers your accomplishments. But eventually, we all face the sad reality that this day can come even when people you were close to still walk the earth.
Lost Records is full of ‘90s nostalgia, but rather than feeling like a cynical, overly referential tribute to a bygone era, it uses that element to show how reminiscing is comforting because it’s proof that something happened, or that we knew someone who’s no longer here. Old home videos, photos, and journal entries can be lost or damaged, but our memories persist as long as we keep them alive. Lost Records knows it’s hard to do so, and the mere act of talking about the past can be too painful for some of us. But Don’t Nod’s latest is at its best when it shows that even that pain is worthwhile.