If episode two of Life is Strange showed what games stand to gain from the episodic format, the third deals with a familiar problem: the mid-season lull. With the plot established and time travel puzzling shorn of its novelty value, the greater part of episode three falls to character development. On prior form that would be a recipe for disaster, and yet extraordinarily, it all comes together. Whether the team are truly reacting to fan suggestions or simply finding their feet in this second project, Chaos Theory has got me hooked.
We begin right where the last part left off, on the night of Max’s heroic (and potentially unsuccessful) interjection. I mentioned in the last review how thrilling it was to see flavour text exposition count towards a major narrative choice, and the results here compound that, as every character’s dialogue is framed with congratulatory relish. As a sucker for classic hero narratives, receiving unanimous praise for actions I felt genuinely invested in was a hugely rewarding payoff. Having watched our own Squallmuzza play the other ‘failed’ route, this attention to detail becomes even more evident. Conversations are believably sombre and pitying, and small changes such as Max scolding Chloe for joking around lend to the feeling of a second, alternate timeline. There is genuine replay value here, even if the game’s ultimate destination remains the same.
The little touches continue to permeate through Life is Strange, and give it humanity in spite of its occasionally wrenching slang. While the lip synching continues to grate – never have subtitles been more welcome or more necessary – its characters are expressive and well animated. These are not RPG automatons engaged in a merciless staring contest; they feel, more or less, like real people. From the prospective boyfriend’s tactical head-scratch when he fails to go in for a hug, to the course of minor relationships swinging on whether you asked about someone’s sick mother two episodes ago, the world has a disarming way of drawing you into its broadly absurd drama. The wistful, European slice of Americana with the dodgy voice acting and hipster sensibilities actually began to grow on me.
That isn’t a review of this episode so much as the half-season as a whole. As a result of an unfortunate cloud save cock-up, I played all three episodes pretty much in sequence. In truth, it’s probably how these games should be enjoyed. Like waiting for that next episode of Game of Thrones or having to fast forward through adverts, the gaps between episodes draw you out of the world, leaving only the broad strokes. You’re less likely to appreciate how a scene’s been shot or a sly line of dialogue when you’ve forgotten why the character is there.
There is no doubt that episode three requires a certain amount of conviction. With all of the pieces in play and a plan slowly coming together, the cast are given room to breathe. For the most part, this reduces down to Max and Chloe. Both leads have teetered on the brink of cliquish parody, but Max is now firmly likeable and acceptably convincing. Again, The Longest Journey looms large as internal dialogues and diary writing flesh her out, but it’s the choices we make and the reasoning we project onto her which shapes our vision of the character. There are means to be bolder here, to affirm Chloe’s tantalising suggestions that rewinding is an opportunity to take risks, to experiment. Having role-played the shy nerd by not exploring anywhere in the first episode, episode three feels like a quantum leap in personal development.
Chloe was always a harder sell. The blue haired, hard-nosed rebel with underlying traumas is a well-worn trope, and the game admits as much. In your first meeting with her mother Joyce, she remarks that Chloe’s “hit all the stages – expulsion, running away, drugs, bad boys, tattoos, piercings, blue hair…” With only six episodes planned, other characters can afford to be stereotypes; there simply isn’t the time or narrative drive to develop snooty bully Victoria or creepy janitor Samuel. Chloe, however, is crucial. She’s the person we spend most of our time with, but more importantly, she represents our emotional connection to the story. The ultimate goal may be to save the town, but the quest is to find Rachel Amber: a girl everyone seems to have known, but about whom only one friend seemed to care. If you don't empathise with Chloe, it's hard to care about Rachel.
Episode three largely puts this to rights. With the entire episode spent sleuthing around town there’s plenty of time for idle patter, and the writing finally starts to shine. Arguments persist as to the veracity of the slang, but it’s majorly cut down here, and feels no less authentic for it. It’s to the game’s consistent credit that each conversation actually feels like two real people talking or arguing with each other, both of which are on display here. As Max becomes more confident and playful with her newfound powers, Chloe’s bravado shows signs of faltering.
There’s a palpable tension and discomfort as the two try to reconcile their old friendship in the most bizarre and testing circumstances. The more clues they collect, the more the mystery around her disappearance seems to deepen, and the more pressure Max feels to emulate the missing girl. The sojourn from reckless school break-in to the family home and café plays out at a languid pace, but there are moments of real chemistry and obstinate discomfort in here, owing as much to the lead writers as the two voice actors, Hannah Telle as Max and Ashly Burch (of Tiny Tina and HAWP fame) as Chloe. Voice acting across the board is subpar, but these two provide pathos where it counts.
Whether you find this engaging entirely depends on whether that relationship clicks for you. Without it, there may be plenty to find issue with. I buy Max’s newfound recklessness, but repeatedly using her powers after they clearly hurt her is a logical stumbling block. Going for a midnight swim after breaking into the school (and potentially stealing five grand) is a bloody great brick wall.
Most debatable are the swimming scene itself, and a later bet to kiss Chloe. For me the acting and staging (all awkward silences and gently probing questions) evoked a coy sexual tension, though the obvious interpretation is rank fan service. The time travel mechanics which first sold me on the game take a backseat until the end, and nothing of particular significance happens until the last five minutes of the two hour runtime, by which point some obtuse puzzles might have turned you off entirely. The ending itself is difficult to discuss, not least because we don’t yet know where it’s headed. As a cliffhanger, it has the potential to be as uncomfortable as the recent Sansa episode of Game of Thrones, a shock finish which creates suspense through abject tragedy. If you’ve been swept up in the central relationship as I was, it’s much harder to doubt the developer’s motives.
That the episode has proved divisive is perhaps the biggest compliment I can pay it. That may be easy to say when you liked it as much as I did, but nobody can claim the developers aren’t trying. Games lead us to believe that unless reality is heightened and the action is plentiful, there’s little to be gained from the fiction; real life is mundane enough without imposing boundaries on a limitless fantasy. Then Life is Strange devotes two hours of a science fiction game to two young women just…talking. And the result is enrapturing. Forget what it’s doing for adventure game conventions, or the all too uncommon idea of story and characters shaping a game’s design. Episode Three: Chaos Theory isn’t just recreating TV: it’s doing things even better.
Missed Alex's reviews of the first two episodes? You can find them on the Life is Strange page!
“Enthralling”