Movies, clearly, love snipers. Always have and always will. There’s something about them, in their murderous eagle-eyed efficiency — the watching and the sadism — that runs directly into the DNA of the medium. And it’s an appeal that’s unusually devoid of moral context.
Think of the great screen snipers such as, say, Edward Fox’s “the Jackal” in 1973’s The Day of the Jackal, stroking his custom-made rifle, complete with silencer, scope and explosive tipped bullets.“Beautiful piece of work,” he drools, minutes before famously blasting a watermelon to pieces in an Italian forest.