Mars Attacks Dredd Issue 3
What happens when you take tiny, frail, genocidal, green-men and lock them in a room with the angriest, trigger happy lawman in all sci-fidom? Well, the answer should be obvious, and we are running out of places to pile the bodies.
Issue three of Mars Attacks Judge Dredd finally begins to tally up the death toll fans of either series have been expecting. Writer Al Ewing has laid down enough foundation to give us a credible story, and that is a wonderful thing, but unfortunately, until now, has left us with a shortage of chaos, and a modest death toll. Now the foundation has settled, and Judge Joseph Dredd has been given free reign to light up as many little green men as his heart desires, and apparently he desires that quite a bit.
Now, this is not a fantastic cerebral read, and Ewing makes no attempts to bring us down a path that will even feign intellectual enlightenment, but we do get a bit of slapstick (though tragically, this book has yet to hit a potent comedic stride), and an abundance of things getting blown up.
The art load carried by artist John McCrea and colorist Jay Fotos is a heavy burden to bear, as the script calls for ample bodies being scattered and splattered from page to page. This issue is pretty heavy on the action, and it’s about bloody time! Now, there is not a great deal of memorable work done here, the script being so heavily immersed in blood and gore, that one exploding corpse tends to bleed into the next, but it is a marathon bit of work that does require some admiration. The heavy saturation of movement in each panel does not grant pause for admiration of individual panels, but does acknowledge how incessant the herculean task is taken on by the poor boys running the visuals.
In summation, it’s a fun read, with a bit of slapstick, and a ton of gore. Now that the scene has been set and the action unleashed, I am sincerely looking forward to the following issues.
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About the Author - CajunBean
He was born in the swamps of Louisiana, where he spent his days punching gators in the crotch and funneling gumbo til his eyes bled. Then one day, a powerful foreign entity dragged him across several state lines, and tethered him to the Colorado Rockies, where he lives in perpetual fear of freezing to death and there is nary a gator crotch in sight for punching. Now he hides inside, dreading snow flurries, and hammering away reviews and non-nonsensical ramblings for the outhouse overlords (cuz apparently someone saw fit to lord over outhouses).
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