Owen Gleiberman Chief Film Critic In the bravura opening sequence of David Fincher’s “The Killer,” we watch the title character, a cold-as-dry-ice professional hitman who is never named, as he prepares to assassinate his latest victim.
The hit is taking place in Paris, and the target is some sort of powerful corporate tycoon who we, like the killer, know nothing about.
His home occupies the entire penthouse floor of one of those ornate block-long Parisian apartment buildings. The killer, who is played by Michael Fassbender, has set up his sniper’s nest in an empty, darkened WeWork space across the street.
He’s got his huge black telephoto rifle, placed on a table whose height he can manipulate. The gun shoots large gold bullets that can penetrate glass without shifting their trajectory.
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