‘Life is Strange 2’ finds humanity in Trump’s America: Review

On very rare occasions, a video game comes along that harnesses the incredible yet too often untapped potential unique to the medium, and speaks to issues in a way no other medium can.

The shorthand used for this unique potential of interactive media is empathy, usually in reference to how players identify with a game’s protagonist. But it’s a word often overused and misused by an industry that does little to earn it. But Life is Strange 2 is that uncommon gift, where it doesn’t just deliver on the promise to inhabit the life of another person as if it were your own. 

It goes a step further by using its undeniable humanity to speak to an inhumane moment in our political landscape — all while avoiding the uncomfortable territory of soapboxing or exploiting the pain of the marginalized lives at brunt of those politics.

Dontnod’s follow-up to the well-received first season of its episodic series moves beyond the characters of Arcadia Bay, Max and Chloe. Outside of some light nods to your choices in the first game, we’re thrown into the entirely new story of young Mexican-American brothers Sean (16) and Daniel (9) Diaz, who are on the run from their home in Seattle after a fatal encounter with the cops.

Subtlety was possibly the last word one would use to describe Season 1 of Life is Strange. Despite the game’s solid foundation and admirable goals, an ever-present dissonance existed between its high ambitions and its inability to fully deliver on them without at least a few eye-rolling moments. Notoriously, it not only featured teens in 2014 using slang such as “hella tight,” but also fell woefully short on its clumsy attempts to speak to classism in middle America.

But Life is Strange 2 doubles down in every way imaginable — both in its unflinchingly political focus and in its exploration of immigration, xenophobia, and police brutality as experienced in everyday life.

Unlike other entertainment media tackling these topics, including TV and film, Life is Strange 2 puts you in the position of experiencing firsthand the onslaught of small (and big) traumas that come from living with the ever-present fear of racism in America. You are immersed in the daily toll of both microaggressions and not-so-micro assaults that characterize the lives of many people of color.

It goes a step further by using its undeniable humanity to speak to an inhumane moment in our political landscape

In an early scene, Sean reads a shamelessly racist letter from their neighbor, where the combative complaint appears to come down to said neighbor’s distress that Mexican-American kids play on their own lawn adjacent to his. Set in October 2016, it also delves into the anxieties over the presidential elections through texts between kids who actually had to worry about their physical safety depending on the outcome.

Sure, the circumstances of both Sean and Daniel’s situation is surrounded by the elements of magical realism that characterized the first season as well. There are major moments that lie far outside reality. But these are the weakest parts so far in an otherwise stellar feat of empathetic and grounded storytelling in games. 

Unlike Max’s rewind mechanic, which enhanced the moral quandaries of Life is Strange 1, the telekinetic powers feel like a distraction from what makes Sean and Daniel’s tale so poignant. 

While the studio’s plan to integrate the superpower conceit remains to be seen, it reads right now like a lack of confidence in the realism of its narrative. In a previous review, we mentioned the same flaw hindered Dontnod’s otherwise evocative one-off DLC that somehow plays into the new season, The Awesome Adventures of Captain Spirit.

The insistence on shoehorning these magical powers into one of the rare games that manages to be utterly captivating in capturing a raw reality only distracts from that incredible accomplishment. 

Life is Strange 2 demonstrates how levity and togetherness in the face of trauma is a necessity for survival

Because the real power on display in Life is Strange 2 lies in the impossible decisions one must face in real life as a constantly persecuted person, rather than as a person with special powers. 

Are you willing to swallow your pride and beg for much-needed food (or even dumpster dive), even though you know you will be seen as a stereotype for doing so by a judgmental white family? Do you let your anger get to you, even resorting to stealing for survival, from a racist piece of shit who dragged you through absolute hell?

The impossibility of these moral questions is the true magic Dontnod has created. And I can only hope they will continue to be the main focus of the story going forward, rather than the game’s surrealism.

And don’t get me wrong: It’s not all horror stories, trauma, and pain. What feels so authentic about Sean and Daniel’s harrowing journey is the many moments they find refuge in each other’s love. 

This is not just an unending parade of bleakness. Without shying away from anything, Life is Strange 2 demonstrates how levity and togetherness in the face of trauma is a necessity for survival. 

Dontnod isn’t tackling the dystopia of being a person of color in Trump’s America through the more passive experiences of watching a documentary on it, or reading an article about the abhorrent treatment of migrant children and families. They do not only rely on the player reading a racist letter, or witnessing on-the-nose dialogue exchanges (as last season might have).

Life is Strange 2 truly distinguishes itself from the countless other probes into these horrid experience by asking players to live it through its core choice mechanic.

What the branching narrative mechanic has made evident so far is that there is no “right” answer for how to behave as a persecuted minority in America. When the world decides your very person and existence is criminal, you are inevitably backed into a corner where the “choice” given is between a rock and a hard place.

Which is to say, it’s barely a choice at all. And that dehumanizing experience in itself speaks volumes.