I always hate when people say something is “like catching lightning in a bottle.” I get it’s meant as a compliment, but to me, it evokes a sense of luck — a once-in-a-lifetime sort of sentiment that downplays the labour that crafting a true work of art demands. The time, the minds, the love… all of which a game like Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 (2025) (Ex33) is so evidently brimming with.
And alright, this isn’t unique to video games, but Sandfall Interactive has created something so evidently beyond just a game. This turn-based, spiritual successor to the JRPG genre, serves as a deeply literary exploration of love, loss, and the impossibility of rewriting the past. From its art direction to its sound design, to the sucker–punch twists, I’d call Ex33 a modern-day masterpiece — and critics are falling over themselves agreeing with me. So, an indie studio comes out of nowhere, produces something extraordinary, and still people chalk it up to luck, rather than the cultivated passion and skill behind it.
Let’s uncork the lightning, then, and break down why Ex33 resonates so strongly for me.
From the very beginning, your fellow expeditioners drive home messages such as “when one falls, we continue,” “tomorrow comes,” and that everything you do is “for those who come after.” At first, these mantras fit neatly within the idea that you’re working to save the world — each small breakthrough paving the way for the next expedition. But once the story reveals itself as an elaborate coping mechanism built by a grieving family, those messages are recontextualized.
The Dessendre family is shattered by the death of a son in a house fire — a tragedy for which their daughter is blamed. In their denial, they construct entire worlds, retreating into the painted reality of the canvas where the game unfolds. As long as that world exists, they don’t have to face each other or the truth of what happened. But eventually they are forced to confront their past, navigate guilt, and reconcile. The player is looped into the intense sense of loss, pushed to grapple with philosophical quandaries, like whether the canvas and its inhabitants are sentient beings worth saving, or whether erasing that world is justified if it’s the only way for the Dessendre family to move forward. Even this brief summary raises a deeper question: when grief is all-consuming, and living in the comfort of ignorance is a real and appealing option, is moving on truly possible?
Along the way, the characters — their humour, relationships, and internal conflicts — pull at the heartstrings and make it clear how their struggles have led them here, making the choice to move forward hard to commit to. In a world of palimpsestic narratives, and nesting-doll realities, deciding where to draw the line, what counts as real, had me pulling out hairs. The characters of the canvas feel real to me, and I am too emotionally attached to cast them aside — yet keeping them means preventing the Dessendre family from healing.
This exploration of grief — how we move forward, leave the world better than we found it, and honour the dead — is accompanied by stunning design work, enticing gameplay, and a generational score. Together, they create an experience that’s been sweeping awards shows, and one I doubt could be as well achieved in any other medium. But is it lightning in a bottle? A once-in-a-lifetime achievement? I sure hope not. Imagining a future where nothing matches up to Ex33 feels impossible, because it’s shown just how far experimental storytelling can go. There will be other great stories in the meantime, and I have no idea what Sandfall Interactive has in store, but I’m waiting with bated breath.
