The artist biography writ large, that is what Genius, Isolated (2011, IDW) is. Unexpectedly hardback and beautifully art directed, one wonders why all biographies can’t be like this.
Well, for one thing, there is pretty much no one like Toth. I say this as both good and bad really, since his reputation precedes him. It colors our opinion of his work as much as the scribbled postcards that show up in Alter Ego, as much as the nostalgia factor of seeing his hand in Space Ghost, Toth the perfectionist crank has become as much of a charicature as the real thing.
But given that this is the first volume of the three volume series, lets get a few things out of the way, because this review is partly a review of the biography, and partly a review of Toth, and how he is a symbol for discussing comics from the past in a general sense. IDW has pulled out all the stops and the volume does practically what I’ve always hopes that an artist biography would be: Plenty of scans from original pages, older photographs, correct annotations, arranged thematically as opposed to simply chronologically (which accounts for the second third volumes breaking both a person’s life up as well as the different periods of work that they created), clear art direction in both layout, and great readability in the typefaces. Hardback, meant to last, even a bookmark ribbon for keeping place. Crisp printing with deep black blacks, essential for someone like Toth.
It does everything right. Interviews with everyone still living that, and research to dig up quotes from past contemporaries to illustrate both Toth’s employment situations as well as his reaction to them. Mullaney and Canwell do a good job of not trying to sweep Toth’s legendary anger under the rug, but, perhaps, trying to give it some context.
So lets ask this question: for a beautiful book like this, is Toth deserving of it?
It may seem like an odd question really. Toth epitomizes “the artist’s artist”. His work had a documented profound effect on his contemporaries, and he’s been labeled a genius too many times to count for his brevity of line, precise and deliberate negative space and pacing acumen, his work drives many an artist to simply shake their head and say, “I can’t layout that panel better than that.” But a read through the book simply points out the utter mediocrity of the early decades of comics, and how, twenty years on from Bob Kane and Bill Finger on Batman, the industry had learned less than nothing about how to do better work.
Small wonder that Toth fumed and exploded on his bosses at, it seems, almost every opportunity. All that artistic talent and no where to go with it.
So yes, to answer my own question, yes Toth the artist deserves a biography of this magnitude, Toth from the pages of the comics doesn’t. Far too many of his stories were utter crap and then they were colored by hacks who lacked the rudimentary ability to simply determine a light source for the panel that they were rolling their crayons over. I go back to the Miller quote, back before Frank went off the deep end, when he said (and I’m paraphrasing here): “People act like we’ve got fifty years of behind us when we have fifty years of crap.” And its true.
And he’s not infallible either. While the letter that he wrote to Steve Rude ripping apart a story that Steve had penciled has circulated around the internet for years, there are certainly choices where his panel to panel transitions don’t quite up. In a way, it’s a relief to see a story where there are times that he’s not perfect either.
And that moves us to an integral part of the artwork: as the Artist's artist, I certainly can look at superior storytelling and recognize it when i see it. I can also recognize lazy storytelling or inept storytelling pretty damn quick. Trying to explain the nuances of WHY Toth's work is superior is an entirely different science, and one that the book doesn't even try to do. And I'm not sure it should. Digging into the semiotics of comics is a complex science, and one that is fraught with misunderstandings. There is not a common language sometimes that even allows to have that discussion on the interwebs, so no wonder the book decides to circumvent the entire discussion. Toth's work passes the smell test for those of us who know good storytelling when we see it. And if you don't give a damn, then you're not likely to be reading this biography.
But it is a joy to see some brilliant pages where Toth’s simplicity and expression shine through in the original black and white, as opposed to through poorly printed and designed color. It is then that all the elements that make Toth that artist’s artist shine through. Beautiful examples are the originals from “The Crushed Gardenia” (Who is Next #5) pages 115-122 and “I Fooled My Heart” (Popular Romance #24) on pages 123-129.
As professionals in this industry, we take on illustrating stories like the ones presented here, stories that almost seem to prove the long held opinion that comics are for mentally deficient humans. Could Toth have adapted to deeper, more adult work had the industry been there for him to work in? Almost certainly.
It’s a shame that he didn’t have the opportunity to work in a world were Maus had won the Pulitzer, where comics had become a medium to be respected. But, sadly, one is left with the idea that Toth, the tortured artist, Toth, the emotionally immature, Alex Toth, always his own worst enemy, would have fucked it up. And that's sad. This was, after all, Toth, the man who refused to get help for his depression and his OCD tendencies.
So I’m left with two questions: when is the next volume coming out? And… if you can do this sort of treatment for Alex Toth, a true luminary, why can’t this be done for the true king of 20th Century comics, for Jack Kirby?
Well, for one thing, there is pretty much no one like Toth. I say this as both good and bad really, since his reputation precedes him. It colors our opinion of his work as much as the scribbled postcards that show up in Alter Ego, as much as the nostalgia factor of seeing his hand in Space Ghost, Toth the perfectionist crank has become as much of a charicature as the real thing.
You know, we've talked about this before, and asked all these questions before: what do comics owe us? Do they owe us a living? Do we bleed hours and talent and fingers onto the page that is glanced at, and then discarded with nary a backward glance?
Artist Gerry Alanguilan was inspired to write about the future of comics and inkers in particular, and wondering just who and when it all becomes obsolete and we end up in situations like Jason. I was right there in 2000, finishing off the biggest project in my comic career, a Batman series with Doug Moench and Paul Gulacy, two of my idols, and I walked away. I had finally gotten my career to the point where I was working with "A" list pencillers, so i didn't have editors blaming my inks for construction problems that the penciller couldn't solve. Except that digital inking was looking and I could see pencillers being angled to doing such complete work that they wouldn't need inkers. I realized that sooner rather than later inking and inkers would be made, on the mid-end level, obsolete, and to continue to rely on that was stupid. Sean Godron Murphy has his thoughts on it as well, and I agree with him. My analogy is the same as his: for years I said that it was like wanting to design buggys for horses to pull at the dawn of the automotive age. You may make the best buggys ever, but if the world is pulling against you, then you're going down. Better to diversify as much as you can and not get locked into a support position. When the people you support get laid off, you're getting laid off first.
We live in a banner time for crime comics. And, like the pulp era before, a time of anti heroes born out of a time of horrible economic disparity where the poor are on the streets and the rich live like robber barons, we find solace in the man not afraid to live in fear of his mortgage being ripped out from under him by Bank of America, or of losing his job to China; he is a criminal with a moral code of being true to himself in all that that means. We admire him because he's not afraid even as we recognize what a bad man he is. As Cooke continues to work on adapting the Westlake Parker novels for comics, it is easy to take for granted just how good these books are.
And one final, appropriately labelled Parting Shot: a one page passage from Butcher's Moon, one of Westlake's favorite pieces of prose, and a full bleed black and white illustration that kicks as hard as anything Toth ever drew up.
Although, if you look through the George Tuska issues, Tony was pretty vincible when it comes down to it. Over in the Avengers he totally kicked ass, and then in his own book he was being whipped, melted, shot at, had chunks of his armor falling off at any provocation, constantly running out of power and falling to his knees and having his butt handed to him by the likes of Mikas, the Soulfather.
Was rereading some of the old Sandman comics, and marveling at all the balls that Neil kept juggling through the series. Of course he bit off a bit more than he thought for the final Kindly Ones storyline, but it was one hell of a ride.
Never underestimate the creative spirit out there. While checking in with Comic Tools blog for an update on brushes I happened to scroll down to post on inkwells.
marker sketch, colors in photoshop
Overkill: the art of Tomer Hanuka
One of the drawings from Dr. Sketchy's last night in SF. A rather fetching Black Cat sketch here.
Another experiment in colors - using Photoshop and modifying the opacity among other things. Whoever came up with "multiply" in the menus was a genius.
Been a long time since i've experimented with color, but getting the new Robert Maguire book (Dames, Dolls and Gun Molls by Jim Silke) for Chanukah, i've felt the need to play around a little bit. 
