Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 & Why There is a Wrong Way to Grieve

The city of Lumière is dying. From the moment the game opens, the camera reveals the image of a bent and dilapidated Eiffel Tower. Buildings are raised off the ground in disturbingly crooked positions. Waves of hardened ink blots string across the streets of the city. We are shown a terrace nearby, brimming with flowers, while a man stands facing a number far off in the distance, over the vast ocean. The man – Gustave – throws a stone at the number in vain, before another character, a young girl named Maelle joins him and gives the first line in the story:

“If you’re gonna give someone flowers, you should probably do it before they wither and die.”

Lumière doesn’t have much time left. Each year, a Monolith across the sea displays a painted number, and those whose age matches it vanish during an event called the Gommage. Now that the count has reached 33, the city is left with only a sliver of time before its entire civilization ceases to exist.

Clair Obscur: Expedition 33 is a game that centers around the theme of death, the grief that accompanies loss, and how people react to that loss in different ways. This is a story that hits so close to home for so many people because we also face death and loss in our own lives. It may not be a regular or annual occurrence like in the game, but it is a certainty that we will all have to face. 

There is a popular adage when it comes to grieving that there is no wrong way to grieve. That it’s a personal journey that we each must approach and undertake in our own way, no matter how much time it may take. But I would argue that there is a wrong way to grieve – if that grief and hurt harms those around us.

A family comes into play later in the story of Expedition 33 that personifies the stages of grief as they navigate their own great loss: the death of their oldest son. Their tragedy has major repercussions for the city of Lumière. The mother is in depression because of her loss, and so seeks to remake the truth to escape the pain. The eldest daughter is angered by the loss – more than that, she is angry at how the other members of her family are handling it. The youngest daughter – the one responsible for the tragedy in the first place – is in denial and seeks to escape the pain and blame for the fracture of her family. Only the father seeks to accept what has happened and begin to move on.

This family fracture, the result of a great loss, causes pain to the entire family and attempts to help one another are smacked away. The youngest daughter—who is revealed to be Maelle’s true identity—is reborn in the world of Lumière as a denizen, without any memory of her previous life. In reality, Lumière is a living world painted into existence by her family. She grows to love Gustave as an older brother figure and is agonized when he sacrifices his life to protect her later in the game. When she recovers her true identity and remembers the loss of her brother, she is determined to stop the family feud that has affected the world for so many years, and reclaim control of the canvas. 

The final act reveals that Maelle’s intentions are as rooted in grief and loss as the rest of her family. Facing a return to the real world – a world that blames her for the death of her brother – she would rather remain in the canvas, even at risk of losing herself and her health. She would rather escape and live in the fantasy than return and face the pain.

Expedition 33 reminds me of another story that also explores the themes of grief, loss, and escapism: The Neverending Story. The main protagonist, Bastian, is a bookish boy who has recently lost his mother, faces a lonely home life with a grieving and distant father, and is bullied mercilessly in school. He is given the book The Neverending Story and uncovers a world of fantasy, magic, heroism, dark forces, and so much more. He is eventually able to go to the last of Fantastica, and is treated as a revered messiah-figure, who can make anything come true through his own wishes. Gradually, he loses memories of his human life, the loss that he felt, and eventually even his own name. After a series of poor choices, he realizes he has to return to the real world, or face being trapped in Fantastica forever.

Both Maelle and Bastian are grieving characters who have lost someone close to them and try to retreat from that grief through escapism, which winds up hurting both of them, even if they don’t realize it at the time. Their loved ones also face their own journeys with grief. Bastian’s father wallows in his sorrow, barely noticing the only son he still has with him. Each member of Maelle’s family is left to their own devices to erase the pain, rather than connecting with one another. 

Gustave and Maelle’s friends in Expedition 33 also face their own journey with grief. Lune, the group’s arcane expert, redirects the loss of her family into seeking knowledge about the world. She leans in and relies on her logic rather than on her emotions to dull the pain of loss. Ciel, a former farmer and teacher turned warrior, smiles at death head on – which is a sharp contrast to the rest of the cast in the game. Despite losing her husband and unborn son and the pain of losing so many friends, she is at peace with the nature of the world, going so far as to say “Death is a friend who will welcome me home.”

Personally, I will admit that I’ve never been able to handle loss well. Despite the promise of Christianity that death isn’t permanent and that one day all things will be made new, this doesn’t take away the hurt of loss. Like Maelle and Bastian, I am tempted to escape from my pain and distract myself so that I don’t have to face the reality that I will no longer see the face of a loved one in my daily life. The reality is, that through time, the memories with them will fade. It will be hard to remember faces, scents, and voices. 

I have to remind myself that escapism, while not harmful in the short run, is not the healthiest approach when it comes to grieving. Spending time finding distractions so as to not think about the pain of loss, pretending it’s not there, and acting like everything is fine will not help me in the long run. It’s running away and avoiding the difficult process of confronting pain in order to achieve long-term healing. 

I will indulge myself in a good book, game, or music to help not think about my grief for a little while. These things are good in themselves, and can serve as a wonderful time of rest and respite. But I am learning that I don’t want to live in these things, either, and miss the rest of my life passing by because it’s too painful. 

Grief hurts because it forces us to face life without the people we love. Sooner or later, everyone experiences that pain, though each person copes with it differently. Yet grief is not proof that loving someone was a mistake—it is proof that they mattered. As Esquie says in Expedition 33, “Losing a rock is better than never having a rock.” Likewise, the Bible calls us to “weep with those who weep” (Romans 12:15, NLT), sharing one another’s burdens and reflecting God’s compassion. Through time and the support of others, we can find the healing and strength needed to endure profound loss. God doesn’t want us to turn inward in our grief, but toward each other and toward Him.