“Life keeps forcing cruel choices.” — Verso

I’ve now played through and finished Sandfall Interactive’s Clair Obscur: Expedition 33, and it stands out as a captivating entry in the JRPG space, blending a deeply melancholic storyline with eye-catching visuals and a combat setup that mixes thoughtful planning with split-second decisions, all within a richly detailed world evoking a fading era of grandeur. At its heart lies the chilling concept of the Paintress, a mysterious entity who annually inscribes a number across the heavens, causing all who reach that age to fade from existence without fanfare or trace. The game’s protagonists band together for a high-stakes voyage aimed at scaling her towering domain and halting this grim tradition before it strikes Year 33, transforming a familiar quest motif into an extended reflection on life’s brevity, rebellion against destiny, and the customs societies invent to endure tragedy. The tone stays approachable, laced with sharp-witted exchanges amid the gloom, while gameplay keeps players actively involved, and echoes of iconic JRPG influences from Hironobu Sakaguchi—like the sweeping epics of Final Fantasy and the poignant depth of Lost Odyssey—shine through in its design choices.

The plot progresses as a gripping blend of escalating peril and introspective pauses, opening in communities that have woven the Paintress’s decree into their daily fabric. Local celebrations honor remaining time, households tally days with subdued anxiety, and affluent districts ponder existence over lavish artworks meant to defy forgetting. Your team gathers from those scarred by previous culls—bereaved kin, displaced souls, wanderers—infusing the group with individual wounds that amplify the shared plight. The path forward involves sidetracks through abandoned sites, fraught dealings with devotees viewing the Paintress as a benevolent force, and ethical dilemmas such as granting mercy to those facing obliteration. Closer to the summit, layers of lore unfold, suggesting the Paintress could stem from a misguided origin or embodied sorrow, prompting the crew to debate whether victory redeems or merely reshuffles catastrophe.

This storytelling prowess draws clear lines to Hironobu Sakaguchi’s legacy, the visionary behind early Final Fantasy triumphs and the overlooked masterpiece Lost Odyssey. The grand-scale conflicts and heartfelt interpersonal ties of Final Fantasy resonate in how Clair Obscur intertwines global peril with private sorrows. Yet Lost Odyssey provides the closest parallel, with its focus on ageless wanderers burdened by sorrow—mirrored here by time-bound lives—employing ethereal sequences and subdued musings to delve into mourning’s toll. The short, evocative tales in Lost Odyssey‘s “Thousand Years of Dreams” parallel the game’s archival entries and memory glimpses, which breathe life into vanished souls: versifiers halted in flow, tinkerers forsaking unfinished marvels, youths denied basic legacies. Studio insights highlight Sakaguchi’s skill in rendering eternal burdens profoundly mortal as a guiding light for crafting the party’s resilient yet fractured ideals.

Central motifs pit surrender to fate against willful resistance, threading seamlessly through dialogues at rest stops and chance meetings to avoid heavy-handedness. Communal resignation appears as sensible resilience rather than weakness—resisting an annual wave proves futile, so adaptation prevails. The travelers represent the flip side: audacious optimism teetering on folly, fueled by unyielding curiosity, akin to Lost Odyssey‘s undying figures rediscovering purpose amid oblivion’s threat. A comrade might grip a memento from a lost relative as rage’s spark; another embraces excess, seeking fleeting thrills since futures dissolve; yet another serves as ethical anchor, cautioning that unchecked revolt harms bystanders. These paths collide poignantly—fractures from panic, mends through peril’s forge, hushed admissions of battling for vitality over triumph, capturing Sakaguchi’s fusion of mythic scope and visceral feeling.

Sorrow and recollection anchor further layers, via retrospective visions and elective records that personalize the toll, nodding to Sakaguchi’s use of intimate narratives to anchor vast realms. This juxtaposes against vibrant holdouts—opulent dances beneath ominous vaults, buskers flaunting flames to taunt twilight—fueling an overarching idea of enactment drawn from his dramatic sensibilities. Existence morphs into a drama directed by the Paintress, participants ad-libbing parts: resolute captain veiling dread, comic veiling remorse in quips, thinker unraveling legends pre-finale. The script deftly merges genuineness and showmanship; raw outpourings yield to lush scores, probing if sentiments endure or merely peak performances—reminiscent of Lost Odyssey‘s detached eternals reenacting humanness.

Optimism faces scrutiny, portrayed with nuance rather than idealization, honoring Sakaguchi’s shift from Final Fantasy‘s luminous quests to Lost Odyssey‘s jaded realism. Initially a binding flame, it frays amid reversals—raids by adherents, glimpses of doomed prior ventures—exposing vulnerabilities. Does opposition uplift, or burden allies with delusion? Nuanced moments abound: euthanizing a settlement embracing mass erasure to spare agony ignites clashes mirroring life’s terminal choices, akin to Lost Odyssey‘s eternal-versus-finite contemplations. Kinship and affection weave closeness—a divided pair riven by self-offering, budding connection strained by farewell drafts—revolving around fleeting hours. Cling or release kin? Impact stems from narrative faith in interpretive space, shunning neat closures per Sakaguchi’s player-trusting ethos.

The orchestral soundtrack stands as one of the game’s true triumphs, composed by the talented Lorien Testard with contributions from a full symphony orchestra that captures the Belle Époque essence in every sweeping string section and haunting motif. Testard’s score masterfully shifts from delicate piano interludes during quiet camp reflections—evoking fragile hope amid numbered days—to thunderous brass crescendos during tower ascents and boss confrontations, perfectly syncing with the emotional highs of defiance and loss. Guest artists like Alice Duport-Percier on vocals add ethereal layers to key themes, such as the Paintress’s ritual melody, which recurs as a leitmotif tying personal grief to cosmic dread. Recorded live with meticulous attention to period instrumentation, including harps and woodwinds for that ornate, fading-elegance vibe, the music doesn’t just accompany; it immerses, turning traversal into symphonic poetry and battles into operatic clashes that linger long after the controller’s down.

Performances soar across the board, with standout work from Charlie Cox as the determined Gustave, bringing a grounded intensity to the engineer’s final-year desperation, and Ben Starr as the enigmatic Verso, delivering a layered mix of menace and vulnerability that keeps you guessing. Jennifer English shines as the fiery Maelle with raw emotional power, while Shala Nyx’s calm yet fierce Sciel adds a steady anchor amid chaos. These voices, alongside gravel-voiced wisdom akin to Andy Serkis and resilient fire reminiscent of others in the cast, lend real heft to reflections on purpose in a counted world, elevating every dialogue into something memorable.

The opulent, twilight-era backdrop enriches motifs, merging Sakaguchi-esque fantasy with continental lavishness for novelty. Elaborate towers rend misty expanses, attire upholds decorum in wreckage, vessels glide as innovation’s specters—all painting a realm in refined decline, staging poise toward closure. Playful quirks—a trader morphing beasts for barter scraps, an aeronaut spouting verse aloft—highlight stubborn spirit, easing gravity sans dilution. Runtime hits 20 hours core, concise yet hinting at untapped depths—like genesis tales or foe quests—primed for expansions, echoing Sakaguchi’s potent brevity.

Gameplay propels via evolved hybrid vigor, building on Sakaguchi-defined norms: menu selections via vibrant dial (strikes, resource skills for ruptures/chains, targeted blasts, aids) merge with instant retorts through evades, counters, leaps versus foe cues, like Lost Odyssey‘s strategy plus timing. Flawless guards restore fuel for climaxes, crafting battles as hazard-harmony flows syncing with tale strains. Traversing covers sparse hubs with patrolling threats in flexible areas—bypass for pace, engage for growth—stats tilt to quickness/endurance edges, execution overriding setups. Initial timing hurdles test, end patterns exact, glitches annoy, yet synergy evokes tale revolt and Sakaguchi innovation.

Aesthetics dazzle: interfaces flare in spectacle—delays, bursts—rendering wins grand, saluting Final Fantasy pomp. Taken as a whole, Sandfall Interactive’s Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 takes a well-established brand of RPG mechanics and storytelling, polishes it with modern hybrid twists, introspective depth, that masterful orchestral score, and stellar voice work, modernizing it into one of the best games of recent years—a somber treasure where fate-drama depths, keen casts, and dynamic clashes in compact form outshine sheer scale, flaunting its Sakaguchi nods boldly while standing tall on its own. Shortfalls in ancillary tales and timing tilt persist, yet for evocative RPGs melding soul and vigor, it endures memorably—affirming grace persists, counted or not.