I suspect that this particular selection (more than any other) will be both surprising and controversial –that is if a statement of pure opinion and meager blog post about such can be worth genuine controversy.
But let me get right to the matter. Here is what I love about the Venerable Dreadnought:
For the first time in any vehicular assembly, I actually enjoyed myself when putting glue to plastic on this one. I have always struggled a bit for some reason with the mechanical models. I haven’t the foggiest why, but this lamentable deficiency has been with me since way back when I was mashing my way through Airfix models and Nascar plastics (completely true).
Not so with the dreadnought. I was nearly giddy throwing this hulk together.
In large part, I believe that this was so because of a) the breadth of options allotted for your particular dreadnought and b) the simple, clean quality of those choices. It’s all beautiful and coherent and evocative and lumbering but potent.
The current state of GW prices aside, this model stands in my mind as an exemplary specimen of the company’s investment in nearly every single plastic kit of good taste and ambition: options. options. options.
Granted, and particularly so when considered next to my discussion of posture and sculpting dynamism elsewhere in this series, the dreadnought is a chunk… and yet only five small magnets later and my dreadnought here has more dynamism than all the Star Wars figures that I enjoyed as a boy and, indeed, most other “action” figures until the mid-to-late 80’s. eat your heart out Fisher-Price.
How strange. How utterly unexpected, given the utterly static nature of every other figure on my bookshelves. I do not look for action figure qualities on my tabletop. I do not play in that way. Still, I have a deep investment in the visual end of the hobby and I believe that this model compensates adequately for the fact that it is a series of bricks on stilts. To be sure, the pos-ability actually breaths a bit of life into what might otherwise be statuesque.
So cool. So easy.
And then the paint. Again, absolute pleasure. Perhaps I am simply stuck in a rut of painting masses of infantry at the moment and thus remember the experience with generous servings of nostalgia, but I genuinely wish all my time at the hobby table was this much pure, simple fun.