Unraveling the Mystery: A Comprehensive Review of Bloom and Rage

“I’ll remember you, even after I pass away.”

This line, delivered somewhat nonchalantly during Misplaced Records: Rage and Bloom’s initial “tape,” perhaps captures the essence of Don’t Nod’s latest title best. Misplaced Records is a game that thrives on the melodrama and conflicting aspects of youth. It comprehends the longing we all once felt to be completely enigmatic and extraordinary while simultaneously desiring to be fully known, accepted, and adored. Over its roughly eight-hour duration, uncertainty and certainty intertwine as the presumed invincibility of youth is stretched to its limits. How can a single summer—how can life—feel so eternal yet utterly delicate? Such is the enchantment of our adolescent years.

Misplaced Records encapsulates this experience beautifully, yet it does not settle for being merely a game fueled by nostalgia or reminders of what it was like to be young in the ’90s. At its heart lies a haunting, supernatural mystery that spans nearly three decades and threatens to consume the four girls at its center—one that promises violence and the resurfacing of events better left in the past. This intense, slow-burning tale provides an excellent framework for an empathetic exploration of girlhood, friendship, sexuality, individuality, self-expression, and the transition from youth to adolescence. All of this combined with vibrant characters, cinematic aesthetics, beautifully crafted character designs, and an immersive atmosphere makes Misplaced Records one of Don’t Nod’s most remarkable games to date.

Set across two distinct time periods—one during the summer of ’95 and the other roughly two years into the COVID-19 pandemic—Misplaced Records follows the troubled, red-haired film enthusiast Swann Holloway as she reexamines a series of dark events from her past. This journey begins when one of her childhood friends, Autumn, reaches out to Swann with alarming news: Apparently, someone out there knows who they are, what they did, and has chosen to deliver them a mysterious package. Despite nearly three decades of silence—an event that remains deliberately obscure to the player—Autumn ultimately invites Swann and their two other friends, Nora and Kat, to meet her in their hometown of Velvet Cove to address the issue.

It didn’t take long for this setup to grab my attention; I was instantly intrigued. I wanted to understand these girls better, why they had lost contact, and what troubling experiences they may have witnessed or, even worse, perpetrated. Although the game’s slower pace might frustrate some players, the gradual unfolding captivated me, as I found its endearing, mundane moments perfectly complemented by hints and clues that ultimately led to more and more fascinating inquiries. I was also drawn into the story’s unsettling eeriness—of the cabin I stumbled upon, seemingly adorned with cult-like symbols, and the terrifying, paranormal occurrences that appeared to be intensifying in both occurrence and intensity.

For the majority of Tape One, however, you assume the role of a young Swann relishing her final summer in Michigan before her family relocates to Canada. From the very beginning, it is clear that Swann is somewhat of a loner who finds comfort in nature, films, her pet cat, and X-Files fanfiction instead of in socializing with others. However, this changes when she befriends bandmates Autumn and Nora, along with a scrappy, homeschooled girl named Kat. Despite the anxiety of her impending move looming overhead, Swann eagerly seizes the opportunity to form friendships and opens up to the girls, ultimately “joining” Autumn and Nora’s band, Bloom and Rage, as their music video director while Kat steps in as the songwriter. The four then spend nearly every last moment of summer together, embarking on misadventures that Swann cheerfully documents on her trusty vintage camcorder.

Outside of Don’t Nod’s signature choice-driven gameplay, in which your decisions ultimately dictate the events that unfold throughout the game and how various characters perceive your protagonist, most player interaction in Misplaced Records occurs through Swann’s camcorder. As someone who is usually quite critical of story-focused games that offer little interactivity beyond reading item descriptions, I was delighted by how much fun and creative freedom the device provides. Sure, there are still plenty of walking and object interaction required to flesh out the environment, explore girlhood, and serve as amusing little time capsules, but the camcorder and its optional objectives add goals, structure, and a personal touch that may otherwise be lacking. Although I wished we could explore more broadly—Misplaced Records’ world feels very enclosed and linear compared to earlier Don’t Nod titles—I enjoyed searching for items to capture, whether they were eerie graffiti or wide-eyed owls. Additionally, seeing my photos—meticulously edited and carefully curated due to my propensity to overshoot images and the game’s built-in editor—featured in cutscenes made me feel more personally connected to both Swann and the game as a whole.

That said, it wasn’t difficult to feel connected to Misplaced Records in numerous additional ways as well. Although Swann and her friends are around a decade older than I am, I recognized facets of myself and my own upbringing within each of them and the game’s intricately crafted settings. As I wandered through Swann’s room, I recalled my own Spacemaker pencil boxes and how passionate I was about The Dark Crystal. I saw my first head-over-heels crush in the boisterous, guitar-playing Nora, and reminders of my mother in the neatly written note Swann’s mom left on her bed, informing her that the snacks she had purchased contained “only 50 calories!”

Despite often finding her awkwardness and insecurities somewhat concerning, I must confess that I saw a great deal of myself in Swann—that her demeanor ultimately reflects how many of us truly are as adolescents, even if we might perceive it as annoying, overly serious, or melodramatic.