Some games come and go. You play them, enjoy them, maybe even recommend them to a mate, and then they quietly fade from memory. Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 isn’t that kind of game. It doesn’t just want to be played. It demands to be felt. It lingers. Days after finishing it, I found myself thinking about its characters like old friends, its world like somewhere I’d actually visited, and its themes like questions I still hadn’t fully answered. This is more than just a great RPG. It’s a landmark moment for storytelling in games.
The premise is bold and unsettling. Each year, an artist known only as the Paintress selects an age to erase. She paints the number on a monolith, and everyone of that age simply vanishes. No mercy. No exceptions. This year, she paints 33. You’re part of the last group old enough to do something about it, and your goal is simple and impossible: stop the Paintress and break the cycle.
What starts out sounding like a high-concept fantasy quickly becomes one of the most emotionally resonant, thematically rich narratives I’ve experienced in years. It’s not just about fate or rebellion or sacrifice. It’s about memory, grief, legacy, and the unbearable weight of knowing someone else gets to decide when your story ends. For all its darkness, the game never loses sight of hope. It’s haunting, yes—but it’s also deeply human.
Visually, it’s nothing short of stunning. The world of Expedition 33 looks like it came out of a fever dream shared by a surrealist painter and a gothic architect. The floating city of Lumière is a masterpiece in itself, full of crumbling grandeur and eerie beauty. Twisted statues, candlelit ruins, impossible structures—every area feels like it was designed to be stared at. This isn’t just a game world. It’s a gallery you explore on foot.
And none of that would matter if the gameplay didn’t deliver. Thankfully, it absolutely does. Combat is technically turn-based, but it’s far from passive. You’re not just picking moves from a list. You’re timing dodges, manually aiming attacks, parrying strikes, and constantly making split-second decisions. It’s the perfect blend of precision and creativity. Even routine battles feel dynamic, and boss fights are proper set-pieces that demand your full attention.
The free-aim system adds an extra layer of involvement. Instead of watching animations play out, you’re lining up shots on enemy weak points in real time. It feels tactile and rewarding, especially when paired with a combat rhythm that encourages experimentation. Build variety is solid too, with distinct skill trees and equipment options for each character. You’re never locked into one way of playing, and the game rewards those who mix things up.
What really elevates the experience, though, is the cast. These characters aren’t just plot devices or party members—they’re the emotional core of the game. Maelle, Lune, Gustave, Sciel—each has their own story, their own trauma, their own voice. The writing is sharp and grounded, with dialogue that’s often subtle and natural rather than overly theatrical. And the voice acting, especially in French, adds layers of nuance that make each scene land.
There’s a moment at the end of Act 1 that completely floored me. Gustave’s death isn’t treated as a dramatic twist—it’s quiet, devastating, and meaningful. The game doesn’t beg for your tears. It earns them.
Considering this is a debut title from Sandfall Interactive, the level of polish and vision is extraordinary. You can feel the creative risks. Nothing here feels like it came out of a design-by-committee process. Every enemy, every boss, every weird corner of the world feels handcrafted. The interface is sleek and immersive, the menus don’t fight you, and the pacing is near perfect.
The soundtrack deserves special mention too. It’s haunting and cinematic, full of melancholy strings and eerie choral elements that elevate every major moment. Some tracks are so good I found myself just stopping to listen. There’s one piece during a snow-covered ascent that genuinely gave me chills.
Are there flaws? A few, if you want to nitpick. Some enemy types are reused a little too often. The inventory system could be a touch more intuitive. But none of that gets in the way. It’s like noticing a paint smudge on a masterpiece—it’s there, but it doesn’t change what you’re looking at.
What makes Expedition 33 special is that it doesn’t compromise. It doesn’t pad itself with busywork or hold your hand. It trusts you to follow its story, to dig into its world, to connect the dots. That kind of confidence is rare. That kind of respect for the player is even rarer.
By the time the credits rolled, I didn’t feel finished. I felt changed. That’s not something I say lightly. This is a game that takes big swings, but more importantly, it knows why it’s swinging. It’s ambitious, beautiful, devastating, and unforgettable.
And that’s why, without hesitation, it’s a perfect ten. Not because it never stumbles—but because what it reaches for is so much more important than perfection. It’s about impact. And Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 hits like a masterpiece.