A silenced Glock 43. A stark, well-positioned sniper’s nest. A gray-hued minimalist wardrobe straight from the pages of GQ. From these three images alone, one can get a rough idea of what’s waiting for them in David Fincher’s “The Killer.” 

Indeed, for a man who made his name directing gritty, grungy thrillers like “Zodiac,” “Fight Club” and “Seven,” Fincher’s latest offering is an exercise in (metaphorically) bloodless precision — all clean lines and sharp angles, right down to the sculpted jawline of the film’s titular character (played by Michael Fassbender). And when I say “titular,” I mean titular. “The Killer’s” script and premise are so lean, so devoid of narrative flab, that Fassbender’s dramatis personae doesn’t even have a name; he is credited only as — you guessed it — The Killer. 

And what a killer he is. From the first scene, the film’s anti-hero is the picture of efficiency, his daily routine and heart rate guided by a smartwatch whose metronomic exactitude mirrors his personal mantra: “Stick to your plan. Anticipate, don’t improvise. Trust no one. Never yield an advantage. Fight only the battle you’re paid to fight. Forbid empathy. Empathy is weakness. Weakness is vulnerability. Each and every step of the way, ask yourself: What’s in it for me?” 

Nevertheless, as tends to be the case with all-too-perfect men of action, the formula is eventually compromised — the center never holds. Sure enough, after a botched contract, The Killer finds himself betrayed by his handler, returning home to a ransacked compound and his badly beaten romantic partner. 

Our focal hired gun retaliates quickly, kicking off a multinational game of cat-and-mouse that displays the full range of his frightening expertise … and forces him to break almost all of his rules along the way. However, in this case, even when the falcon cannot hear the falconer, it is just as capable of carrying out its deadly mission. 

“The Killer” is far from perfect (we’ll get to why in a moment), but when it is able to function in a manner that matches its carefully crafted, understated aesthetic, it’s a thing of beauty akin to a bespoke suit — not flashy, but oozing quality. 

Take, for instance, Fassbender’s performance. He will not win an Oscar for this, nor will his monotone or grim countenance capture anyone’s attention. But he doesn’t have to do any of these things — the movie never demands it. This is a story that knows exactly what it is and what its audience wants to see; it’s not a grand romance, or an explosion-filled action flick or even a traditional assassin film a la “John Wick.” Instead, it’s a simple narrative that titillates its audience with procedural intricacy (how would a trained killer — the titular Killer — say, track down a person of interest), a sleek style and vaguely cool dialogue. Fassbender acting his socks off wouldn’t add anything to these objectives, so why should he? Fincher understands that intentionality is the name of the game, and “The Killer” is a pure distillation of just that.

But this is not to suggest that “The Killer” is worthy of unconditional plaudits, and at times the story’s simplicity works against it. Some sequences — like one particularly egregious scene where Fassbender just … watches a house for a few minutes — are perhaps too humdrum for the average viewer. Especially given the relative paucity of dialogue, “The Killer” at times falls short in its promise to occupy its audience for the entirety of its 118-minute runtime. 

The lack of time Fincher gives to the film’s antagonists is also less than ideal, hampering the murder-fueled catharsis that typically sustains revenge-oriented movies. Tilda Swinton does turn out a poised showing as one of the gunmen responsible for brutalizing The Killer’s partner, but her appearance is so limited that it hardly counts as a point in the movie’s favor. Again, Fincher’s unpretentious goals are apparent, but there are certain things that all films like “The Killer” need to be successful. 

So is this homicidal tour de force worth checking out? Probably. Just don’t go in expecting “The Godfather.” In The Killer’s (and Popeye the Sailor’s) own words: “I am what I am;” anticipate nothing more and nothing less, and Fincher’s creation will surely satisfy you.