Magnus Robot Fighter Issue 3
So, between Archer and Armstrong and now Magnus Robot fighter, I think Fred Van Lente has just locked me in as a fan. I don’t go “fan” all that often.
This issue of Magnus Robot Fighter starts off knee deep in whacky cliché shenanigans, and then proceeds to beat us in the face with cult classic jokes. The Dude is jammed in the background. THE DUDE!
So, this whole issue is a well composed chase scene in which we get a more fleshed out feel for the world of North Am. Oddly, somewhat racist character H8(R) spends the whole issue hitting us with one liners, and, for some reason, it makes the narrative that much more absurdly enjoyable.
On the surface, this issue really does feel like a simple story, but woven between the lines of this fantastic little book is nuance and a tale of oppression. Van Lente plays the tale to a comedic tune, while all the while creating a world and universe that is startlingly bleak and utterly depressing once you peel back the layers.
On the artistic front, artist Corey Smith keeps up with a the demanding pace of the script and never really lets up. Character design, scene composure, everything just flows with no hiccups to speak of. Follow it up with the truly solid color work of Mauricio Wallace, and you really have a beautiful work in your hands.
Magnus Robot Fighter really flew under my radar, and I am glad to have stumbled on it.
In summation, this book is really just crazy fun. The action burns hot and fast through witty narrative, and the scenes are visually wild and intense. It’s a book with a lot of surface value, while still maintaining a cleverly tragic undertone. I see my pull file getting slightly fatter.
4 ½ out of 5.
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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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