Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 Review - Art, Death, and Strategy Collide

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 is one of those rare RPGs that walks beside the genre’s greats. It’s the debut title from French studio Sandfall Interactive, and somehow, against all odds, it already feels like a classic. It’s part Final Fantasy, part Nier, a little Persona, and totally itself. For a game so deeply rooted in the traditions of Japanese RPGs, it’s surprising how new and personal it feels.

The game occurs in Lumière, a twisted version of Belle Époque-era Paris. Sixty-seven years before the events of the game, the Fracture shattered the world, leaving it in pieces. One of those fragments is now home to the last humans, living under the rule of an eerie countdown. Every year, a mysterious figure called the Paintress inscribes a number into a giant tower on the horizon, which determines the age at which people will die. When the story begins, the number has dropped to 33. Anyone who reaches that age disintegrates into petals and smoke — a fate known as the Gommage. There’s no escape, and nobody knows why.

People respond to this reality — through art, through family, or by joining expeditions to reach the Paintress and try to end the countdown. None of those expeditions ever returned. Expedition 33 is the latest, made up of doomed souls with nothing left to lose. These characters know they’re likely marching to their deaths, but they do it anyway, for themselves, and for whoever comes next.

That idea, to keep going even when things seem hopeless, is part of everything in the game. You find journals left by people from earlier expeditions. You’ll find journal entries that read like poetry alongside blunt, stripped-down reflections—but each one deepens the meaning of your journey. You’re pushing forward to survive, but also walking the same ground as those who failed before you. You can feel their presence in the places they died, in their last notes, in the warnings and regrets they left behind.

The game’s combat system makes you feel every moment. At first, it looks like a standard turn-based setup with stylish menus and flashy effects. But once the action begins, it quickly becomes clear that most abilities require precise timing—button presses that need to land on beat, parries that demand sharp reflexes, dodges that leave little room for error. Enemies don’t simply take turns swinging at you, but they challenge your focus and timing. It’s more intense than what you'd expect from a typical turn-based RPG. Battles feel like duels, where your reflexes matter as much as your stats. Every encounter keeps you locked in because the outcome often hinges on how well you execute under pressure.

It starts simple but grows fast. Each character is unique and plays completely differently. Gustave is your sword-swinging leader, and his lightning-powered Overcharge builds up with every hit. Maelle is a fencer who shifts between stances based on conditions like weapon type or status effects. Lune is a mage who stacks elemental “stains” with spells, building up to massive attacks. Sciel uses cards and a light-dark phase system to power up, mixing vibes from Astrologian and Reaper classes in Final Fantasy XIV. Then there’s Monoco, a Chewbacca-like brawler who can copy enemy abilities, and late-game characters who get even weirder — one has a Devil May Cry-style rank meter, while another mimics a Blue Mage by stealing spells.

Every fight asks you to think, adjust, and pay attention. You need to manage AP (action points), track resources, and read enemy patterns. When you parry perfectly, you get a stylish counterattack in slow motion. Dodge well, and you'll be rewarded — maybe. The windows for execution are tight, especially for parries. Sometimes it feels like Sekiro snuck into your RPG, and the game pulls no punches. It gets super hard. Bosses hit hard, and some regular enemies are designed to break you down if you're not prepared.

There’s more under the surface, too. You equip Pictos to modify character stats and abilities. Use them long enough and you unlock Luminas' passive traits that add even more layers. The system isn’t the most user-friendly at first. Sifting through 50+ icons on one screen can be frustrating. There’s no sorting or filtering, and the interface is cramped. But once you learn how it all fits, the payoff is worth it. Setting up a perfect build and watching it click into place in a tough fight is one of the best feelings the game offers.

Exploration is structured in a classic JRPG way. You move around a big map with tiny versions of your characters, kind of like in Final Fantasy VII, finding new paths and hidden areas. These areas might contain side bosses, hidden Pictos, or just lore tucked into strange corners. The lack of a quest log is a problem. It’s easy to forget where to go or miss side quests entirely. Still, there’s a charm to wandering and stumbling into something new, especially when the world looks this good. Floating islands, twisted cities, and dreamlike coral forests all make Lumière and its surroundings unforgettable.

The dungeons you visit are more linear, mostly pushing you down direct paths with some branching detours for extra items or fights. Combat is triggered by touching enemies, who respawn when you rest at checkpoint flags left behind by past expeditions. A minimap would have been helpful, especially in areas where the paths blend into the environment. Without one, it’s easy to get turned around.

But the art direction makes up for a lot. The game is visually stunning, with enemy designs that look like surrealist paintings coming to life; you’ll fight everything from creepy mimes to beasts that look stitched together from dreams and nightmares. Boss fights are consistently great, often introducing special mechanics. One boss grows flowers that shield it, forcing you to prioritize targets. Another eats your party members until only one is left. The designs are weird, beautiful, and terrifying all at once.

Sound design and music bring everything together. The soundtrack is packed with variety — there’s symphonic rock, French accordion jigs, opera vocals, quiet piano, and atmospheric synths. Nearly every track hits hard, though some are so brief you wish they stuck around longer. The score matches the emotional beats of the story, whether you're preparing for battle or dealing with the aftermath of loss.

And yes, the story does go to some unexpected places. The first two-thirds are focused and emotionally grounded, centered around the expedition, the mystery of the Paintress, and the characters’ slow unraveling as they face death. There are some sudden narrative shifts later that don’t land as well. The final act feels like it’s trying to say too much, introducing new ideas that aren’t given enough time to breathe. But it never loses sight of its core themes — grief, legacy, art as survival — and the characters keep it anchored. Even when the plot stumbles, the voice acting and dialogue carry the weight. The cast delivers every line with heart, and the subtle facial animations give scenes a real sense of presence.

It’s not all heavy. The game has humor and warmth, too. Campfire conversations reveal the party’s quirks and bonds. You can even pursue romance. There are silly minigames. Gestrals, wooden puppets that act as comic relief, fill the world with personality. Despite the dark premise, the game doesn’t wallow in misery. It finds room for joy, for connection, for defiance.

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 isn’t perfect. The interface is clunky. Some mechanics need better onboarding. The final story twist feels disconnected. And the lack of features like a photo mode or quest tracker stands out. But these issues don’t outweigh everything it gets right. This is a game about dying that makes you feel alive. It takes old-school RPG ideas and pushes them somewhere new. It asks you to be present in every battle, to feel every loss, to care about what you’re fighting for.

In 31 hours, I finished the story and a good chunk of the side content. There’s still more to explore, and I want to go back. That’s the highest praise I can give. Clair Obscur may be about endings, but playing it feels like a new beginning — for its world, for its developer, and even for the genre.