Let me set the scene: It’s late at night, headphones on, and I’m squinting at my monitor as Unreal Engine 5 paints sun-bleached Sicilian hills under sepia-tinted skies. I went into Mafia: The Old Country with low expectations-after Mafia III’s open world fatigue, I was honestly relieved to see the franchise doing something different. But man, those opening minutes hit different. As I guided Enzo Favara-barefoot, orphaned, face smeared with mine dust-through narrow alleyways bursting with chatter, the world already felt more alive than the last two Mafia games combined.
I’m Dam (Lan Di), and with two decades of mafia game obsessions under my belt (the original Mafia hooked me like Sunday-morning Mass), what I wanted most was an origin story that felt like folklore and operatic tragedy, not just an excuse for pistol play. Mafia: The Old Country had a lot to prove, and from the first hour, it’s clear Hangar 13 wanted to pay homage—not just to their own legacy, but to every black-and-white gangster film your grandpa ever watched.
Let’s get this out of the way: the game looks utterly gorgeous. I’ve played on a mid-tier RTX 3060 rig, toggling between “Quality” at 1440p and “Performance” at 60fps, and it floored me how evocative everything felt—textured cobblestones underfoot, storefronts bustling, idle men with cigarettes clustered at corners. The sepia grain overlays give the impression you’ve wandered into a photograph, but it never feels forced. At times, I’d just slow-walk through a market, drinking in the little moments: kids chasing after stray dogs, women gossiping on balconies, the occasional priest glaring at you with suspicion. This is easily the most lived-in Mafia city since Lost Heaven, and I adored simply existing inside it.
But here’s the catch: you can’t go poking your nose where it doesn’t belong. For all its intricate streets and sprawling sun-blasted countrysides, Mafia: The Old Country is not an open world. Its environments are dense, almost claustrophobic in their detail, but you’re gently herded from one set-piece to the next. I was surprised by how little I missed the “sandbox” chaos—until I tried to revisit shops or alleys after a story mission and found invisible guards shooing me along. It’s a theater, not a theme park. If you’re comfortable living inside a cinematic diorama rather than running amok in a virtual Sicily, you’ll find a lot to love.
Of course, the sense of authenticity stretches to how people act and move. Facial animations—especially on Enzo and the cold-eyed Don Torrisi—are subtle and expressive, not just uncanny mannequins. There’s a scene halfway through where Enzo cracks a rare smile, and I barely noticed, until I realized how rarely his face softens. That restraint sold me far more than any monologue could have.
Now, as someone who can still hum Mafia II’s radio tunes on command, I’ll admit: I was a little crushed when I realized there wouldn’t be a radio scoring my nightly drives in Mafia: The Old Country. No surprise—a story set before radio existed—but still, riding through Sicilian hills to silence (save the clop of hooves or the sputter of early motorcars) ends up feeling more sterile than cinematic. I longed for bursts of mandolin, folksy harmonies, or the kind of street opera you’d expect from a Godfather prequel. There are orchestral interludes here, but they’re low-key, rarely taking center stage.
Curiously, it’s the English voice work (with thick, movie-mobster Italian accents) that salvages the mood. Don Torrisi’s voice oozes honeyed menace, while Enzo’s understated delivery plays off beautifully against Isabella’s brittle warmth. Lip sync is nearly perfect—I know, I spent an embarrassingly long time watching people talk in cutscenes just to catch out-of-sync moments, and found almost none. The end result is that conversations, especially in smoky backrooms or shadowed piazzas, feel almost uncomfortably intimate.
Gameplay-wise? It’s traditional, sometimes even a little stubborn. You don’t hop between rooftops or mow down thirty guards with a Tommy gun; this is a story of patience, of knowing when to act. For the first several missions, you’re mostly on horseback. The horses are, no exaggeration, better than any open-world mount I’ve ridden since Red Dead Redemption—they feel weighty, unpredictable, occasionally refusing to obey just to remind you who’s boss. Eventually, antique sedans and jalopies enter the picture. No, they don’t handle like modern racers, but there’s a bouncy, rickety charm to white-knuckling a Model T down a dirt road while a shotgun rattles in the seat next to you.
Guns are slow, clunky, and—strangely—satisfying as hell. Carrying only a battered revolver and a hunting shotgun, taking down a guard isn’t just muscle memory. Reload times are glacial, ammo is scarce, and shootouts are more cowboy duel than cover shooter. One boss fight in the opera house (clearly inspired by The Godfather Part III’s climax) had me creeping through velvet curtains, counting every bullet and waiting for the right moment before breaking stealth. I missed the bombast, but appreciated how every shot mattered.
The stealth and distraction systems, while not revolutionary, let you mix knife work, thrown coins, and—occasionally—starting small fires with lanterns to sow chaos. There’s a ritualistic, almost respectful brutality in hand-to-hand kills, but the novelty wears off about halfway through. Swordfighting with knives during a dusk-lit duel feels amazing once; by the third or fourth time, I found myself wishing for a shakeup. I liked the stat-boosting religious trinkets—simple to collect, actually thematic, and no cluttered menu screens—but I did find myself wishing for deeper progression or harder choices.
And I have to be honest: as someone who usually ramps difficulty to “Hard” out of the gate, this game never punished me. Enemy AI is predictable, and late-game missions rely on set pieces instead of challenge. It’s a brisk journey—just over ten hours for me, poking in corners—and if you want tough-as-nails combat, you’ll walk away underwhelmed.
Where Old Country utterly excels, though, is in its cast. Enzo Favara is easily the most human the franchise has offered since Tommy Angelo—scarred by poverty, dry-witted, and full of tiny, wordless gestures that suggest a real, beating heart. His friendship with Luca (a kind of loyal, hapless cousin) leads to scenes that feel unnecessary in the best way. I keep thinking about one bit where Cesare, loyal but dopey, tries to impress the crew by pissing off a bridge after too much grappa. The plot didn’t need it; the world did.
The core arc hits all the expected mafia beats: rags to riches, betrayal, doomed love (Enzo and Isabella’s chemistry is the real deal), the “family first” code. Don Torrisi comes across as more than just the shadowy puppetmaster—by the end, his blend of charm and egomania had me genuinely wondering if I was supposed to root for or against him. The writing is tight, not padded. No hour-long filler quests, no tedious collectibles: just clean, old-school chapter design, with scenes that actually stick with you. It’s all done with an Italian theatricality I’d been missing since Mafia II’s heyday.
Even when the main thread is coasting on familiarity, the game’s staging makes ordinary moments feel cinematic. A sequence set in a Palermo-esque opera house, with cross-cutting between gunplay and aria on stage, absolutely nails what interactive crime fiction should feel like. I set my controller down for thirty seconds just to watch it play out, grinning like an idiot.
Of course, no game is perfect, and I’d be dishonest if I pretended The Old Country didn’t play it safe. The level design rarely surprises; you can practically smell where the next ambush will pop. Gunfights don’t escalate, and by hour eight I found myself missing those gleefully unpredictable set pieces from earlier games. The lack of meaningful side activities is a double-edged sword: the tight focus keeps things moving, but there’s almost nothing to do outside the central story. “I get it,” I remember muttering as I tried to buy ammo at the one gun shop yet again, “this isn’t Grand Theft Palermo. But can I get one secret poker den, just for fun?”
Also, the soundtrack’s absence weighs more heavily the deeper you get. I longed for some audio color to break up quieter moments—street musicians, bickering merchants, or just diegetic noise to fill the air. It would’ve pushed the immersion from “impressive” to “unforgettable.”
If the thought of a tight, linear, emotionally-charged mafia tale in a drop-dead gorgeous setting excites you, this is an easy yes. If you’re the kind of player who gets lost in optional side content, multiplayer chaos, or RPG-style skill trees, you’ll be bored out of your mind. This is for the storyteller, the Sunday cinephile, or anyone who wants to taste the blood-and-dust flavor of old Sicily without needing to “100% complete” every block.
Mafia: The Old Country is a love letter to classic mafia fiction above all else. It’s both a gift and a curse: elegant, insular, and occasionally too timid for its own good. But when it sings, it sings like Pavarotti at dusk with a gun under his coat.
So, where does this sit in my heart after twelve hours living as Enzo Favara? It’s not a new classic, but it’s a classy return—a well told, beautifully mounted, sometimes too careful mafia fable. I missed experimentation, and the lack of challenge is hard to ignore. Yet I came away moved by Enzo’s plight and grateful to see Mafia return to storytelling basics. For that, I’m giving Mafia: The Old Country a solid 7.5 out of 10. It doesn’t take big risks, but it nails every note it cares to play. If you grew up on mafia movies, you’ll feel right at home.
Mafia: The Old Country offers a drop-dead gorgeous, old-school mafia saga bursting with heart and cinematic moments, but it’s content to color safely inside the lines. Perfect for those who love story and ambiance. If you want wild gameplay freedom or tough-as-nails challenges, look elsewhere.
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