This review contains major spoilers.Life is Strange: True Colors is a game that asks us to understand our surroundings beyond the surface level. Indeed, through the “psychic powers of empathy” of our main protagonist, Alex Chen, we get literal access to the thoughts and emotions of the people populating this virtual world. Amicable, well-meaning, yet flawed, the humans populating the game’s fictional setting of Haven Springs, Colorado, underscore True Color’s themes of trauma and recovery. Our protagonist is similarly tempered; exhibiting a resilient amiable attitude in spite of an incredibly tumultuous background. It is clear that the developers of True Colors sought to craft a narrative that places an importance on empathy, understanding, co-operation and selflessness—far removed from typical mainstream gaming fare.While empathy in gaming isn’t particularly new, with games like the Fallout series and The Outer Worlds, to name a few, having incorporated the concept in one way or the other into their narratives--what sets True Colors apart is in its distillation; a main concern and exploration of the human condition as we know it, one that attempts to rear closer to our actual realities, not merely just as a playground for hypothetical dystopian politics or space wars. (And for the record, I love my dystopian political space war shooters.) However, it is in this attempted facsimile that True Colors stumbles. While I commend the developers of True Colors for their attempts at tackling the seriousness of raw pathos, and the inclusivity and diversity of their characters, perhaps they unfortunately bit off a bit more than they can chew.To get to the point: True Colors is flawed; suffering from the incoherence of its attempted realism and conventionality. It is a game that simultaneously wants to tackle the seriousness of trauma and human emotion, while also needing to wrap these concepts up in a neat package for its painfully conventional plot. The casualty of this awkward juggling manifests widely through True Color's narrative, but becomes most apparent in our main character, Alex Chen, whose complex background experiences and gravity of her trauma become unintentionally reduced and sanitized due to the story's utilitarian treatment of these subjects.Through True Color’s copious materials of its fictional text messages, journal entries, flavor texts and occasional story beats, the game attempts to illustrate a life of prolonged dysfunction, social isolation, depression and anger of Alex Chen, our main character. And, it’s certainly easy to understand why: Alex has been an orphan for several years and borderline vagrant, whose mother died of cancer, and whose father abandoned her and her brother at an early age. More worryingly, Alex has lived through her share of violence and repeated abandonment by her peers. The story of True Colors begins as she finally departs the Happy Hands orphanage, one of many through out her life, to re-unite and live with her brother, Gabe Chen, who she has not seen in 8 years. At their reunion, and upon meeting and interacting with the town’s largely up-beat residents, and through out the story’s huge conflicts and main events, Alex displays a consistent high-spirit and affable attitude.Now, while I attributed the game’s incoherent writing to its conventionality, it can also certainly just be a case of the writers not understanding -how- to write and tackle serious subject matter like trauma and mental health issues. Either way, the game's first real conflict is truly illustrative in setting the tone for True Color's awkwardness: When the town’s hothead, Mac, confronts Gabe (Alex’s brother) with accusations of impropriety towards Mac’s girlfriend (a misunderstanding, of course), a violent attack soon kicks off as Mac begins beating Gabe. Mac's palpable anger, at this point physically radiating off of Mac, begins to have an unwarranted effect on Alex, who quickly succumbs to it, flying into a violent frenzy--tackling and then beating up Mac. As Gabe attempts to pull Alex off of Mac, in her mesmerized state, Alex punches Gabe in the jaw. At this point the scene comes to a close with Alex soon coming to, Mac storming off, and Gabe off to seek medical attention.This, and the scenes immediately following this significant violent conflict, encapsulate the flaws of True Color’s character writing. Because, what would you expect the fallout to be from such an event for Alex? A character, in which the story has explicitly told us, has experienced a life of isolation, anger and depression, in part, due to violence and violent confrontations? If you answered: mostly nothing, then wow, you’re either psychic or one of True Color’s writers. The issue here is that the consequences and events following the brawl are so worry-free and painless, and all effects, either short or long term, on Alex's mental health, are either absent or presented in sanitized form, that it creates a real tonal dissonance. A tonal dissonance and awkwardness that carries throughout the entire narrative; manifesting as a "double" reality where Alex is simultaneously an orphan with a violent history and profound depressive struggles, yet also an up-beat, selfless, go-getting rational thinker who is more concerned with the plight of others--seemingly removed from any actual pathos.Furthermore, once this story arc's utilitarian purposes are over, she never even wrangles with that violence or the implications of it again: How she hurt someone, her brother, and even placed herself in an incredibly problematic position, as well as illustrating the fact that she, and her powers, are a real liability--never really manifest in the story in any meaningful way (I hear you: in fairness, we do get a scene later on in the story that does paint her powers as being potentially problematic, but even that is its own can of narrative-awkward worms.)Now, the reason why this is scene, in particular, is presented so uncomplicated is because it was written to be so unambiguous: Mac is very obviously the “bad guy”, and Alex's actions as self-defense. Furthermore, the story beat itself was constructed to add a layer of mystery and drama once the game's actual story kicks in. And this overarching utilitarianism is how the game will continue to treat the remainder of its story and characters. While it is fine in terms of driving a game’s plot forward, it seems entirely inapt in regards to handling a game's themes about the seriousness of trauma, mental health and human emotion. Because, for the rest of the game's story and conflicts, Alex's trauma is treated equally shallow--reduced for plot purposes.The game consistently tells us (and even the last chapter of the game explicitly shows us) that, yes, Alex is a bed of anger, loneliness and depression. But outside of plot purposes, that never actually manifests within the character. We follow her through events such as losing her brother, being intimidated by a cop, and even being nearly shot to death by one of the town’s residences, all of which have no discernible effect on her disposition. And that highlights another issue with Alex's character arc, in that, she doesn't have one; she begins the game with a cheerful, helpful disposition and ends the game with a cheerful, helpful disposition. Sarcastic, sure. But sarcasm and irony aren't, strictly speaking, character flaws (despite what parents everywhere would say otherwise.) Of any emotionality and any effects of conflicts on Alex we do get, they're often just shallow, brief scenes where Alex cries in the mirror or becomes enraptured by a some thought. Then, as quickly as they came, these scenes are over and Alex is back to solving everyone else's problems.Oddly, it seems everyone BUT Alex seems to be exhibiting grief and trauma on more realistic terms.This is where the ambitiousness of True Color’s writers, and the verisimilitudeness they attempted to craft in regards to trauma and mental health, clashed. Because the developers -wanted- a strong-willed, smart female protagonist that picks herself up by her own bootstraps to lead their story about mental health, trauma and recovery, but the traits of which clashed with the very real reality and effects of prolonged instability, depression and violence. The developers -wanted- a story that speaks to mental struggles, but had to fit those complications into a basic plot that unintentionally ended up reducing the gravity of it. The end result is a bizarre mixture of components that don't mix well; an awkward narrative that constantly, explicitly tells us that Alex has issues, but never actually embodies any of fit. And I'm not suggesting Alex needs to be curled up in the fetal position after every single conflict, but perhaps something more than a single, simple cry in the mirror or contemplative thought for 10 seconds.Now, I don't want to take away anything from those who found the game empowering. My issues stem from a suspension of disbelief that was stretched too thin from a narrative that attempted to walk a fine line between stark realism and conventional entertainment about superpowers. While it is easy to just dismiss flaws--even huge ones, in a story that is fictional, challenging and constructively criticizing such stories can be a way to elevate the craft, promote media literacy, and potentially sort out any problematic aspects of such stories. No story exists in a bubble. This is just a reminder that these are, after all, just my opinions.Life is Strange: True Colors is an interesting game. It is wholly cheerful and optimistic. Its characters are likable, charming and endearing. You end up rooting for them, and through its crafted narrative, perhaps even end up feeling sorry for those you may not have otherwise. But the dangers of creating a world that serves as the antithesis of cynicism, unintentionally ends up sanitizing the very issues your world's characters embody. And that’s not a knock on optimism; rather, it is a warning that, despite your well-meaningness and best intentions, if serious subject matters are not handled appropriately, you end up venturing into a world where character trauma functions unintentionally on an on-off switch, reduced to cause-and-effect, with no complexity or passivity to speak of.