I had heard things would get weird in Night School Studio's debut, but I wasn't expecting it to be so unsettling. I've played the Chzo Mythos and Lone Survivor, so it's not like experiencing fear in 2D is an unfamiliar feeling. It's just that Oxenfree's pastel character palette, zoomed-out camera, bouncing beginning synths, and rapid-fire teen banter lulled me into thinking it was going to be more supernatural Scooby Doo hijinks than Life is Strange Episode 5 level of bonkers.
In this 4-6 hour mystery adventure, you're invariably stumbling into a scene of interdimensional mischief. Time loops torture blue-haired protagonist Alex when the phantoms of Edwards Island aren't mocking her life choices via friend possession. Simply fiddling with the radio, your main means of interaction, teases you with broadcast bits of coded wartime correspondence and chilling confessions of the long since forgotten. Your only respite is the low echoing thrum of scntfc's score in the silence between conversations.
Of course, having one's fragile concepts of time and space toyed with would lead to some serious self-reflection. In the hyper-sensitive reality of teenagers coming to grips with growing up, Oxenfree explores each cast member's identity in relatable ways, whichever lens the player chooses to see them through. Eager, honest, compromising Alex is just as sympathetic as distant, sarcastic, and unforgiving Alex.
Oxenfree's ghost story framework stands on a couple of shaky cliches (and a bit of patchy voice work), but it balances its pervading discord with some playfulness into such an oddly mesmerizing and displacing state that it can surprise and still be authentic without falling all over itself.
In this 4-6 hour mystery adventure, you're invariably stumbling into a scene of interdimensional mischief. Time loops torture blue-haired protagonist Alex when the phantoms of Edwards Island aren't mocking her life choices via friend possession. Simply fiddling with the radio, your main means of interaction, teases you with broadcast bits of coded wartime correspondence and chilling confessions of the long since forgotten. Your only respite is the low echoing thrum of scntfc's score in the silence between conversations.
Of course, having one's fragile concepts of time and space toyed with would lead to some serious self-reflection. In the hyper-sensitive reality of teenagers coming to grips with growing up, Oxenfree explores each cast member's identity in relatable ways, whichever lens the player chooses to see them through. Eager, honest, compromising Alex is just as sympathetic as distant, sarcastic, and unforgiving Alex.
Oxenfree's ghost story framework stands on a couple of shaky cliches (and a bit of patchy voice work), but it balances its pervading discord with some playfulness into such an oddly mesmerizing and displacing state that it can surprise and still be authentic without falling all over itself.