Lost Records: Bloom & Rage (Tape 1 - Bloom) Review

It’s not often I come out of a game thinking “huh?”, while still interested in playing more. Such is the dichotomy of Lost Records: Bloom & Rage, Don’t Nod’s latest narrative deep-dive into nostalgia, which splits its story over two timelines, 27 years apart. It may have been a decade since Life Is Strange shook up the point-and-click genre, but the studio has lost none of its ability to tap into the past in an uncanny, sometimes indulgent way.

1995. In the quiet town of Velvet Cove, four unlikely girls form a friendship that burns bright, even if only for a summer. Swann, an awkward high schooler with a camcorder as her constant companion, is on the verge of leaving for Canada when fate throws her into the orbit of three very different girls. Autumn, the responsible and level-headed ice cream shop worker, finds herself caught between her small-town obligations and the urge to chase something bigger. Kat, a brooding writer with a head full of stories, is always looking for a way to escape. And Nora, a reckless punk with a carefree attitude, charges through life without hesitation.

They bond over a run-in with a local meathead, and from there, a friendship is forged that becomes even stronger when they discover a dilapidated cabin in the woods and claim it as their own—a sanctuary where they can dream without limits. With music as their battle cry, they form a punk band, pouring their frustrations, hopes, and rebellion into every note. The game takes time to establish these relationships, leaning into nostalgia without feeling overly sentimental.

2022. Swann agrees to meet up with her old friends after an “event” forced them apart. Decades may have passed, but the weight of their shared history lingers. The game flits between the two timelines seamlessly; how the past and present intertwine is revealed gradually, and while Bloom is mostly scene-setting, the unanswered questions ensure that Rage’s arrival in April feels essential.

The heart of Lost Records’ gameplay is Swann’s camcorder, which serves as both an investigative tool and a means of self-expression. It’s used to document evidence, conduct interviews, and uncover hidden details, with an intelligent system that recognizes who or what you’re filming. Progressing the story requires keen observation, as objects and clues often remain invisible until viewed through the lens. Beyond its detective-like function, the camera encourages creativity. Players can edit and reorder footage, reshoot clips, and compile collections, which Swann then narrates. It’s one of the best uses of a camera mechanic in years, reminiscent of Beyond Good & Evil but with even greater flexibility.

You take the role of Swann in the third-person in 1995 and in first-person in 2022. She is a refreshingly layered protagonist—dorky, awkward, and deeply introspective. Dialogue choices shape her confidence, allowing her to be reserved, adventurous, or somewhere in between. Older Swann hasn’t changed much either; she still seeks reassurance from her friends, her self-doubt making every conversation feel like a quiet plea for connection.

The story also gives the teenagers room to explore the complex emotions they’re all feeling. There is always a risk of an all-female cast falling into an eye-rolling sapphic narrative, but Bloom sidesteps this delicately, allowing Swann—and the player—to consider the possibility of queer connections in a way that feels true to the era. Conversations carry the right amount of adolescent awkwardness, making every interaction feel weighty yet authentic.

Even in adulthood, reconnecting with old friends carries weight. Dialogue options in the present-day storyline reflect this, each choice met with a heart icon—either whole or broken—representing the emotional impact on Swann’s friends. The stakes feel real, making every interaction a delicate negotiation of trust and belonging.

As is typical with Don’t Nod’s output, the voice acting is impeccable. The mundanity of day-to-day chatter is captured perfectly, not just between the quartet, but with external characters too. One scene, a casual exchange between a barkeep and a regular about the likelihood of snow, stands out in its quiet, lived-in charm. It’s beautiful to look at and brilliantly directed as well, with a montage towards the end of the game being a particular highlight. That said, there are minor technical quirks — pop-in is noticeable, and early on, Kat’s crouching animation makes her appear to glide across the floor — but they don’t detract from the experience.

The story itself may divide players. Unlike L Unlike Life Is Strange or its sequel — which I loved, but many did not — there’s no central supernatural twist driving the plot, at least, not yet. Instead, Bloom is a slow burn, focused more on relationships than big revelations. There are lots of quiet moments—truth or dare, forming a band, exploring the woods — scenes that could feel cliché if not for the game’s self-awareness. Even so, the dialogue-heavy pacing might not be for everyone. Think Oxenfree rather than As Dusk Falls and adjust expectations accordingly.

Hints of the supernatural linger, though. Just as Swann’s camcorder lets her shape the past, the game suggests that memories themselves may be unreliable. How much of 1995 is being retold as it happened, and how much is shaped by nostalgia or regret? Bloom plays with this idea, but its biggest reveal lands in the final act with a twist that blindsided me and made me wonder where the later timeline’s story is going. Whether Rage will provide clarity or double down on the ambiguity remains to be seen, but Bloom offers just enough intrigue to leave me eager for more..