Five games deep, Sniper Elite delivers what I consider to be its best instalment since the original thanks to the influence of games like Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain and the Hitman reboots. Yet a total lack of confidence in its core sniping conceit, as well as a truly dire story, drag down what should be a more enjoyable stealth game.
It’s probably not what a lot of people coming to care about, but someone at Rebellion was intent on cramming numerous cutscenes into this thing, and they are all, without exception, duller than the dead eyes of the Nazis left in the wake of protagonist Karl Fairburne. This macho American commando and sniper is a videogame gruff-man so generic he feels like he didn’t even get to the end of the assembly line of the factory where they make these cookie cutter men. It’s not impossible to imbue a Nazi killing machine with inner life and depth—BJ Blazkowicz from is subversive with his well of introspection. Karl is boilerplate, and everything he says washes over me like white noise.
