Clair: it's not uncommon for people to express a desire for an RPG cast populated by adults, if one's primary context for the genre is through games mostly starring adolescents or even children. Clair Obscur fulfills that premise through its own story hook, in that the more regular folks of the party cannot be older than 32 and for the most part occupy that cusp, and the more supernatural allies are also depicted as younger adults regardless of their immortality or what have you.
Obscur: in practice, this ostensible shake-up to genre convention doesn't really accomplish much--it only serves to limit the cast's diversity through its own contrivance. Everyone in the chief playable cast is equivalently able-bodied (Gustave's "cool" arm prosthetic is treating disability as a power-up as video games like to do), conventionally beautiful and handsome as an universal basis, attired in the same gold-trim-on-black uniforms, and indeed occupying a similar age range (with one teenager present) according to the game's setting tenets. This artificial narrative limit prevents anyone older than media-sexy adults in their prime being focal to the story, so the writing takes on the same kind of tenor largely independent of who you're interacting with because people's contexts and lived experiences are often so corresponding. There is no particular "mature" imprint put on the characters or their dilemmas, except a superficial exterior treatment--the writing still moves according to genre expectations, archetypes and stylings.
Clair: it's visually a very stylish and flashy game. A lot of the environmental 'oomph' is achieved through extensive post-processing, from lightshafts and bloom to ambient particles. Degrees of scale are played with as the monument-oriented topography can be experienced through an on-the-ground POV, or seen how it slots into the miniature abstractions of the world map, which still preserves relative scale to other surroundings the best it can.
Obscur: I did not actually enjoy the art direction much holistically. Character design issues I mentioned, but a similar homogeneity exists in the environmental work where the worldbuilding premise of the Fracture leads to an entire game of shattered landscapes suspended in frozen time as you navigate your way through the floating rubble. It's as if the setting's nature as a painted world conceived by an artist as their personal reprieve lead to the developers using that as license to produce a number of "surreal" and arresting environmental themes but paid no mind to how they string together or make up the whole of the world, because it is by nature "whimsical", invented within the fiction and adrift in a sea of symbolism. This kind of creative direction needs a really strong anchoring to work, but the game leaning on tired and blunt "huge statuary and faces everywhere" architectural residue intermingled with fragments of early 20th-century Parisian cityscapes doesn't really engender much of an intrigue about the world beyond variations on the same wallpaper pattern.
Clair: it's cool that every playable character comes with their own sub-system and combat resource to shape their play with, making preference calls in who you like to field a little more multifaceted in mechanical terms.
Obscur: it feels cool only until it becomes clear that they're all the same basic design principle tweaked just enough to seem different. The game doesn't utilize things like cooldowns to regulate skill use with, but it applies a skill rotation rhythm to every single character where you build up a resource to power up the big damage payoff moves, whether it's Stains, Foretells, Stances, Perfection or Mask Upgrades that are the medium through which you accomplish that task. In effect it leads to highly rote play in any instance, with no regard paid to what you're actually fighting, because the strategies are almost always identically efficient once identified; the only difference from just-press-attack RPG combat design is you have more hoops to jump through. The game's signature move as a whole in its battle system is illusionary choice--far less of it matters than it would like you to think.
Clair: there's some pretty good stuff in the camp conversations throughout the game; the game's writing voice works best when the character interdynamics are in play through quiet conversation, and the voice actors have material to play with that doesn't consist entirely of grim drama as the main narrative spends most of its time on. There's a comedy bone in the game that manifests the clearest through VA delivery, facial expressions and body language, and it's no small feat to land as many gags as the game does. If I cared about these characters, it happened in these private contexts, through Lune and Sciel's stargazing bonding (one of the vanishingly few woman-to-woman interactions of significance in the game), Sciel being able to speak of her suicide attempt, or Verso affirming his love for both Esquie and Monoco.
Obscur: this is the most heteronormative bullshit in the genre since Xenoblade 3. It's not a game that abstains from romance at all; it's full of hetero relationships of all kinds from ex-lovers to estranged spouses to loving couples to flirts and sex-friend flings. Queer people aren't involved in any of these because queer people don't exist, and people other than handsome white folks barely do either (Lune is there, and the only black person with an exceedingly minor speaking role dies thirty minutes into the game). The game further sidelines half of the party from narrative spotlight as the story and the entire world the game presents comes to be unveiled as the staging grounds of the internal conflict between the Dessendre family of artists, of whom Maelle and Verso are part of and thus integrally involved and consequential to the story's main thrust, with everyone else having to play support, or resign themselves to accepting their existence as constructs who ultimately do not have say in what the game is about in its supposed exploration of familial grief.
Clair: exploration in the game in terms of mechanical incentives and rewarding itemization is pretty consistently impactful. Almost everything you fight drops something new, whether an entirely new weapon or Picto, or upgrading their levels if you're below their loot table value in what you currently possess, and the level design's small offshoots and side paths similarly hold some new treasure or another to discover.
Obscur: is it really discovery when you always know what to expect? The game's design language seems terrified of "wasting" the player's time with any space or corner of the world that isn't mechanically justified, so every corner of it is absolutely filled with literal shinies to keep compulsively picking up in an unchanging, unbreaking rhythm. It's "gamified" spaces masquerading as environments that simply exist, and that sense of artifice isn't helped any by its aggressive borrowing from Souls conventions in shaping itself, from level design loops and unlockable shortcuts to bonfire respawn points where you charge up your explorational resources for another go at the wandering mobs of a dozen parried sword guys. The roteness and derivation of navigation is only made worse in that to play the game, you have to go through those motions since it's patently evident how the bulk of its reward loop is tied to it. The very occasional platforming bit serves as the highlight of the game's explorational tissue, because it's just enough off-skew from type and requiring at least some kind of tactile skill instead of following static button prompts to scale topography.
Clair: Gustave's an interesting protagonist to start off with, even if I'm not fond of the manner of his introduction (Sophie walking to her death gives lip service to presenting interactions from her perspective before the end, but ultimately the scene and the game's opening is more invested in how it affects Gustave going forward, and by extension the player as the one inhabiting him). Charlie Cox gives a subdued performance for a person who has a tendency to fade into the background despite his leading role, and the contrast works to the extent that you might not pick up on the signaling done toward his inevitable demise.
Obscur: the protagonist shift from Gustave to Verso is absurdly comical in how it juxtaposes narrative tragedy with functional expendability. The first piece of media I took note of was a line-up of the major characters, and my first thought was "why does this game star the same guy three times over?" Verso and Renoir end up being related, but Gustave as part of that trifecta is so literally replaced by Verso so utterly comprehensively and immediately upon death that I could not do anything but laugh when the game strived to shock me. He is the same kind of beardy handsome guy, he becomes the protagonist despite having no dynamics within the group he swoops into, he shares the basic skills that Gustave possessed in his limited early-game utility, he inherits all of Gustave's weapons (only with now passive abilities unlocked), and he develops the same kind of sibling relationship with Maelle that Gustave had, even before they're revealed as actual siblings. What is the point of a shift like this if you don't feel the loss in narrative or mechanical terms at all?
The very simple number-go-up relationship system in the game also unlocks between Verso and the rest of the party, and it's through there that the game's compulsive heteronormativity also wakes from the abyss as the player can choose to have a sexual relationship with either Sciel or Lune, with the unopted-for woman even half-jealously quipping "it could've been great" as if to tantalize the player with what they missed out on. While the interactions between Verso and Monoco can be adorable in how vulnerable they can be with each other, most of it takes on a kind of pissing-contest supremacy bonding tenor that I'm hesitant to claim as a particular dynamic of their own, because for all I know it's how the writers would've leaned into man-to-man exchanges in general if the game had more of such relationships to explore. There's Esquie, but he's the same bundle of airheaded joy with the entire cast in ways that aren't particularly gendered.
Clair: like the skill rotation enforced by the battle system's makeup, dodging and parrying exist as defensive actions with the design intent that they're meant to imbue a turn-based experience with more variability and player expression. If you're good enough at the timing component, you can fight opponents that statistically you're not "supposed to", and that's always an incentive in RPGs to explore their systems and push them to their limits. It also feels great in spectacle terms to see the entire team synchronize a counterattack against a blow that otherwise would've knocked everyone out, and those flourishes are the capstone for internalizing and executing against the trickiest of enemy patterns.
Obscur: parrying ultimately does little else except expose the game for the shallowness of its RPG systems. It wholesale makes all defensive statistics irrelevant from the jump: defense is not an attribute that ever impacts play, and vitality only potentially does at the very beginning of Expert difficulty play when any mistake is a wipe and you don't have other options to negate damage while you're still learning the game's general tells. The game constantly introduces new passives to learn and equip for the characters, but despite their seeming specificity and build potential, raw power is always the optimal and efficient answer, and it is not achieved through tricky set-ups and shifting battlefield conditions--just a simple pile-on of all available damage up passives suffices, until you're doing damage in the hundreds of millions at the end of the game and one-shotting even the superbosses. It's a game that almost certainly has been influenced by genre works that have a reputation for being able to be "broken" in the player's favour, but it simply does not push back enough or make that process involved enough to feel like one has earned it through understanding of its mechanics--simply playing the game "normally" brings you to that point regardless. What you're left with are a host of reaction tests full of delayed and mixed-up combo timings as the game's actual system of interaction, removed of their action game contexts which have other factors like positioning that do not matter here, while the numbers grow and grow in size without ever actually elevating your interactions with the game's systems. If anything, as the game goes on it compresses around itself into an experience that barely ever feels consequential to play.
Clair: Act III being a sprint to the final boss with maybe a half or third of the game's potential runtime devoted to optional content ran well with what I liked most about the game, in just poking around the world to see what there was to find and charting the extent of the explorational boundaries at each juncture of the story. Existing within that overworld is the game at its presentational best, as you get your old RPG abstraction jollies while getting to take in the large-scape geography of the Continent. I felt more about seeing Lumière and the twisted Eiffel Tower looming over it from the outside in than I ever did strolling its streets, and the same goes for the Paintress's giant frame in the horizon, rather than confronting her up close. Distant imagery is usually the game's strong suit in crafting environmental drama.
Obscur: Act III does not work as a piece of game design if you're concerned with narrative and mechanical aspects cohering. Either you spend an excess amount of time doing the optional things and experience the final dungeon and boss as a trivialization, or you go straight for it and experience an intended power curve... only returning to do the rest of the game after a very, very definitive climax after which the many sidequests narrative elements don't settle in naturally anymore. The ending is also framed in a very manufactured, bogus way, where a sibling stand-off between Maelle and Verso is contrived so there can be a dramatic choice to be made in whose perspective to support: Maelle for preserving the Canvas world, Verso for erasing it and laying the real world Verso's memory to rest. I don't buy the disagreement from the perspective of pitting these two against each other, as two children who have spent the entire game suffering the consequences of their parents' violent conflict. I also don't care for the highly stark "bad end/good end" contrast between the two endings, with supporting Maelle's perspective netting you a haunting portrait of denial and escapism that ends on a literal jumpscare if you didn't catch on to the negative framing, while Verso earns the game its actual tonally appropriate ending, with the Dessendres reconciliating and beginning the healing process over Verso's death, and all the inhabitants of the Canvas waving goodbye to Maelle as she resolves to live in the outside world. If the game had been committed to sympathizing and favouring each character and viewpoint equally, this kind of off-balance presentation for the endings wouldn't hang over them and they could exist as equally valid codas for the game and its themes. As it stands, there's only one "real" course for the story to take and more fool you if you didn't pick that side. It felt like the decision mirrored in uncomfortable ways the dynamic between Renoir and Aline, where each is ostensibly not in the right or wrong in their conflict... but you end up seeing and hearing a lot more from the former in person in how the game's written and presented, so his perspective inevitably matters more to the story as a result, while Aline is left mostly to be spoken of by others.