There's a tension between the realistic grittiness Breakpoint aspires to and its fundamental nature as an open-world muckabout. A big pretty world is not enough, even if you do simulate the fact that its mountains are exhausting to slide down. Despite this, my experience with Breakpoint has been resoundingly mediocre, and has frequently dipped into outright naffness. There are waterfalls to bike under, enticing forest trails, sumptuous beaches. We'd gloss over all the dullness in-between. We’d enthuse about that time our car got improbably stuck on a mountain, or the fleeting moments when the clumsy reality of infiltration brushed up against a spec-ops fantasy. We’d have rejoiced in the possibilities offered by a seamless open world, merrily meandering between repetitive and listless shootouts. There was a time, he observed, when Breakpoint’s vast, meticulously-crafted jungles and mountains would have been gob-smacking. As I flew our helicopter towards yet another near-identical slice of Ghost Recon Breakpoint’s drone-infested, “libertarian utopia” turned hellhole, RPS vidbud Matthew pointed out something much more interesting than anything in the game.
