The Levitation

The Levitation

Of all feats of magic, the levitation is the most unique. It’s fascinating and often beautiful theatre, yet it struggles to create a concrete moment of astonishment, and is prone to be passed off as a mere “trick.” It’s difficult to take a levitation seriously, in any rational sense. It is just so out there. And yet, they can be incredibly captivating, commercial, and supportive for a magician’s reputation.

Mind reading is plausible. Most people will buy a presentation of a card divination trick if it focuses on the “picking up of subtle tells” by the spectator. And that’s because it’s true. Poker pros use such techniques on TV all the time, and the public has a strong fascination with that. Now the magician may be simply forcing the card, and may have absolutely no real experience in the art of cold reading, but selling that concept to his audience can be achieved as to provide an emotional hook to the effect, cover the method, and generate astonishment revolving around that this “mind reading” effect might be real.

A vanish is plausible. It might be plausible through an explanation of the hand is quicker than the eye, that what the audience is seeing is merely an illusion, that if they truly forget the coin is there, it might just vanish. Audience can buy that if presented well by an experienced performer who can back it up with good magic. Everyone has had the experience of not seeing something right in front of them, or having something seemingly vanish from one place only to be found someplace else.

Levitation is impossible. Nobody has ever had an experience where they witnessed something levitating, unless of course they were at a magic show. It is so far removed from reality and so physically unfamiliar that even the flawed Too Perfect Theory applies itself almost by default. Magicians are so eager, when presenting a levitation, to through in every possible proof to disprove the use of a string or support, that they seem to pinpoint the method for their audience simply by which proof they didn’t include. Hmm, he waved his hand above and below but not to the sides. I wonder where the string is running?

And that’s the problem. Without proofs, levitations lack impact, yet with them, they often become obvious. Also, the more proofs you include in your act, the longer the levitation is occurring, allowing the audience more and more time to closely scrutinize every action of both the object, but also the magician. The second rule of magic says never to repeat a trick. Well, in my mind, a levitation is really a trick that is infinitely repeating itself for as long as it is occurring. Every millisecond where that floating silver ball doesn’t begin to accelerate exactly 9.8 meters per second towards the ground is a magic trick: the same trick they saw the millisecond before, and the same trick they see for the next three and a half minutes that that zombie ball floats around stage through various hoops.

So do we not do levitations? Do we only do them for a second or two? Some would argue agree with those statements. In close up magic, an object levitating for a few seconds can be a very powerful and memorable feat. Or, as Daniel Garcia explains on volume 2 of Loops, suspensions or animations can become even more powerful than outright levitations. And I feel like suspensions and animations of objects fall into the same camp as levitations. If it were a real talent, it seems that the same energies and powers used to move something along the table would be the ones developed further so that one could cause things to float. But there is a difference here: animations and suspensions are plausible where-as levitations are not. Therefore I feel they can evoke astonishment far easier. People have had objects move unexpectedly (from wind, pressure, condensation, magnets, whatever).

More on this later…

Three Standing Ovations!

Last night I performed for a KILLER crowd at a summer camp in Santa Rosa. It was one of the best shows I've ever had the pleasure of being the performer for. Good thing too: 8th, 9th, and 10th graders are a tough crowd. Luckily, the camp councilors did an excellent job of warming the kids up and hyping my show (including a dance competition onstage!).

Logistically, I was neverous about the show for two reasons. Number one was simply due to the age group. Teens can either be alot of fun, or a very difficult to please group. Number two, I was starting off with a new piece. Any comedian or magician will tell you that that first piece of magic/comedy/interaction/introduction is one of the most crucial times onstage. Starting with new material is tough, and since this particular piece involved a big joke, I was particularly nervous. Having your first joke bomb (especially when you vest alot of effort into it) really makes connecting with your audience difficult. Luckily, this new piece went over very well (although the hummer card piece which was to follow didn't. The audience didn't know though).

Also, I found a new introduction for my rope routine which involves.....FIRE! Audience loves fire.

So yeah, great show last night. Earned three seperate standing ovations (one for invisible deck, one for cups and balls, and one for encore)! That's a BIG first for me.

Vanishes

The Vanish

Of all things magicians are expected to be able to do, making things disappear is probably ranks as the most popular. Hardly a performance goes by, be it a formal show or just a few tricks at a party, that I am not asked to make somebody’s wallet, or wife, or bills, or general problems disappear. Just mention the mention that you’re a magician draws out these silly questions from spectators.

I find vanishes to be a very unique element in the magician’s repertoire. As impressive and demanded as they are in an act, very rarely are vanishes met with the vocal reactions of astonishment which we as magicians strive to pull out of our audiences. In many ways, they are a lead in to a production or reappearance effect. The excellent movie The Prestige even mentions that simply making something disappear is never enough; you have to bring it back. In the real world, a magician will find this to be true.

Think about it. When you vanish a coin and pull it from behind a child’s ear, where do they react? Sometimes they will smile or laugh when you show the coin gone, but most often, it’s when you reproduce the coin that their face brightens and they really react to the magic.

Does this mean productions are stronger, more powerful effects than vanishes? I don’t believe so. In our coin example, I feel that the production of the coin is only as powerful as it is due to the vanish preceding it. Together, the vanish and production create a more complete effect, better than just a solo vanish and solo production.

Oftentimes, a vanish is required to provide context for a production. Consider a magician taking an initialed coin, vanishing it, then shows his hand unmistakably empty as he reaches into his pocket to reproduce the initialed coin. Now imagine that same routine without the initial vanish. Where you had two magic moments, you now have none; just a man pulling an initialed coin out of his pocket. For that reason, the vanish is considerably more important than the appearance, for without the vanish there is no magic effect at all.

Again, the audience reaction is likely to come at the reproduction of the coin from pocket, even if the coin vanish is a very splendid feat of magic. Audiences expect the coin to be reproduced, so they save their vocal appreciation for the reproduction. And here’s the cool part, they will stay with you until you reproduce the object that’s vanished. In that way, vanishes can be used to add suspense to a performance of magic. The vanish grabs attention and creates interest. The suspense comes in the time lapse between the vanish and reproduction.

When I street perform, I always find a drastic increase in the size of my crowd the moment I begin my cups and balls routine (the finale of the act). How does the effect begin? With three vanishes. Well, the first is a legitimate vanish, the second is a gag, and the third is sort of a half-gag where the ball does eventually vanish from my mouth. The balls all then reappear beneath the cups, which consistently gets applause/wows/laughs/”how-did-he-do-that’s.” The suspense the three vanishes create is evident. People pay attention and never walk away during this phase of the effect.

For this reason, I feel vanishes are very important tools for magicians. Vanishes are a magic method to begin a very primal and suspenseful narrative. The balls vanishing nab attention and immediately rev the audience up for a production effect. It’s like a juggler walking around with three burning torches. Everyone knows he’s going to juggle them, and they will stick around (physically and mentally) to watch him do it. Same goes for the vanish-reproduction combo.

I feel the need to stress here that none of this really applies to what I like to call “magic asides.” These are magic effects, often done on the offbeat, which provide minor moments of awe to a performance. I’m talking about things like producing a lit match from nowhere in order to ignite flash paper for the main effect, or vanishing a marker after a card has been signed. These effects, which could be played up into main tricks, often appear in stage performances without significant attention drawn to them. I find they add more atmosphere and credibility to the performance than provide moments of astonishment for the audience. These “magic asides” are a topic for a different day, but—like I said—a minor vanish used for this purpose will not create the suspense to hold an audience’s attention. They realize that the main trick involves the signed card, so when the marker vanishes, they simply smile and move on to watch the card trick. They won’t dwell on the marker nor expect to see its return any time soon. And much of this is affected by the performer’s attitude towards the vanishing. If you focus on it, they will focus on it. Without focus or attention from you, suspense will not be created, even if it’s not an “magic aside.”

So vanishes are good for creating suspense and adding power to productions, Ryan? They aren’t powerful on their own? Will that depends on a lot of things. The vanishing birdcage is a classic stand-alone vanish, and is quite impressive when done well. However, that routine also often follows with the reproduction of the dove. David Blaine presented a wonderful moment of magic on his first TV special Street Magic where he uses the Raven to vanish a coin from a young man’s hand. The spectator just stared at his empty hand for a good while, and then simply stated “Cool.” And that’s really the reaction I feel vanishes conjure. They are not as exciting as productions of bright or larger objects, or levitations, or transformations. People don’t scream and run down the street after a vanish. Vanishes are simply the absence of what was believed to be there a moment ago. There’s beauty in that absence though. There’s no doubt in my mind that the young man Blaine performed the coin vanish for will remember that moment for the rest of his life. And when I watch great magicians cause coins or cards or elephants to vanish, even when I know every single move they are making, there is still a great little moment there when the cage or hand opens, and what was there is now gone.

It’s a snap to attention: an immediate rewind of the mind followed by a rapid fast-forwarding to see what happens next, to see if (when) it comes back. And that is astonishment. But astonishment isn’t everything for a performance of magic, and that is where the vanish’s weaknesses come in play: strictly as a finale. Vanishes just seem to lack the punch to drive an audience to their feet in applause. Transpositions do, and transpositions are half-vanishes, but the final magic effect which an audience is left with is a production in the case of a transposition. David Copperfield’s “Thirteen” finale to his current show is such an effect. The vanishing of a dozen randomly selected spectators onstage, while suspended in the air, is an extremely well thought out and convincing mystery. As an audience member, your jaw drops and astonishment begins to set in. But you are left waiting, waiting for the conclusion, the reproduction. And when the spectators reappear in the back of the house with their flashlights the crowd jumps to their feet and the astonishment really hits home. Such vanishes fail without a re-production.

More thoughts soon.

Recent Memories

I've been very busy lately (school/magic/moving/life) but I wanted to take the time to jot down a few words about some interesting characters I've performed for at recent shows. More and more I find myself viewing people as characters playing out their own stories in life. I find it easier to put up with people's faults when you view them in this manner. Consequently, people also become far more interesting. Anyways, a few memorable ones lately:

-At a wedding two Fridays ago, I was challenged by a older man to "pull a man out of a hat" for his sister. His sister then spoke up to request Tom Cruise.

-A 8 or so year old boy at a show who, after my first card effect, simply stared at the two black aces in his hand and smiled for a good fifteen or twenty seconds. After a few more tricks, and some chit chat, I learned that he was here with his mother, who'd abandoned him at the table in lieu of the open bar. Sad, but I was very happy I could step in to give him something to smile about while his mother had her fun.

-At a restaurant gig in the Mission, I was finishing up some magic with one table, when suddenly a man at a neighboring table mustered the energy to yell at me "Magic? I hate magic!" Smiling, I turned to face him. I remember thinking, 'if he is going to take the effort to get my attention, even in such a challenging and negative fashion, he obviously wants to see something.' It took less than a minute to have him reaching for the cards and questioning "how did you do that!?" He explained, afterwards, that he didn't like magicians because they always had always expected him to believe that magic was real, when he was certain it wasn't. I told him that I agreed: magic isn't real. I don't ask my audiences to entertain the silly childish notion that magic is real. All I ask is that they open up their minds to something they won't be able to explain. With this mindset, magic becomes quite a lot of fun. He seemed to like this reasoning, and after the gig was over I ran into him outside. He thanked me, complimented my performance, and said he appreciated me not treating him like an idiot.

Street Shows

I street performed for the first time in over a year today, and I must say, I had one of the best times performing I've had in a long time.  There's just something about busking that is so liberating and fun.

Granted, busking in San Francisco is crazy difficult.  People have a such a "don't talk to me, don't look at me," shield which they put up in this city.  Once you break through that sheild, it's all good, so long as your show is under ten minutes.  Those two factors (short attention span and difficult crowd building) are what makes these streets so tough.  You are constantly struggling to gather a crowd.  Once you do, you run through the show, have some great laughs, meet people, pass the hat, and then BAM, you're back gathering a brand new crowd.

I like longer street shows.  Twenty minutes has always felt perfect to me, so having to cram everything into seven minutes (including the crowd gather) is hectic.  Back in Sactown, I could get away with that length of a show.  But here in SF, I feel people are so excited to see all that the wharf has to offer that they are very hesitant to commit much time to a street performer.  Ironically, I feel there's not much to do at the wharf BESIDES watching street performers.  You'll see more stuff, learn and laugh more for far less watching street performers than a trip to Hooters, the Aquarium, and the Sea Lions.

That's actually one of my problems with the Wharft at SF: everything is so in your face.  Give us money!  BUY THIS!  YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS NOW, but first pay.  It's exhausting.  Obviously this is why everyone puts up the "don't mess with me" shield I'm talking about.  But still, there should be more stuff to do which doesn't require the committment of money up front.  Street Theatre is great for that reason; you see the show, and then desided how much to pay.  People don't get that.  They just think "If I stop, I have to pay this kid."

Cagigal is talking about doing a documentary on Street Theatre in SF, and I really hopes he pursues this.  I'm such a big fan of the art, and you will definately see me on the streets in the coming season.

BTW, I totally forgot about the sunburn that comes with this type of work...:-(

-Ryan

My Weekend

So yesterday I performed 5 and a half hours of close-up magic: the most time doing professional magic in a single day I’ve ever had to do.  It was split up over three events, but still, I was in the car speeding to the next event as soon as one was over.  Very hectic, but satisfying day, and it really solidified for me that this is something I really enjoy doing.

A few notes about my performances that night:

-For one, I found myself very much being “myself” at all the shows.  For some reason, I was very comfortable, and was branching off, improving jokes and routines which went over very well.  I passed out all of my remaining business cards too.

-When I first started performing magic professionally, I would go to events with my pockets stuffed with different props.  Over the years, my pockets have increasingly lighter for various reason.  However, I feel that they may have gotten too light.  Yesterday, I worked with two decks of a cards, Holy Moley, Paperclipped, a sharpie, business cards, and sponge balls.  No coins (I’ve found the washers make a great substitute, and with the recession, there is a great in-line joke to introduce them), no gimmicked decks, no magnets, nothing.  Of course, I’m borrowing coins, rings, dollars, and napkins the whole night, but still, I feel I do need to add a little more variety to my walk around routine.

-My opening routines still lack magic within the first 15 seconds.  I need to work on that.

-Drunk high schoolers make for an interesting crowd.

I want to explore astonishment a little more.  There's so much out there, and I feel like I'm just skimming the surface.

So I have an idea: and idea which is losely based on Eric Mead's in Art of Astonishment.  I'm concidering hosting special magic shows for five people at a time.  No addmission charge, no sales pitch, just some very deep, and powerful magic aimed at generating at least one moment of true astonishment a night.

We'll see if there is some interest, and then see how it goes I guess.

Originality in Magic

Magic is very much a backwards art.  It's the only art form where all the work you put in is never supposed to be seen by the audience.  Its end result, astonishment and wonder, are emotional sensations much of the population are very reluctant to submit to.  And to top it all off, we are all seen as very much being the same.

The root of this publicly viewed "uniformity" stems from several factors in magic, I believe.  I mean, one could argue that since there are so few magicians out there, compared to singers, dancers, film makers, etc, that the sterotype of a magician is likely to be the most influential piece in the public's image of magicians.  What is this stereotype, a man in a tuxedo and top hat doing old, cliche tricks.  (The Tuxedo by the way, is just the epitome of sameness I think.)

But that's the society's fault I suppose.  I'm sure jugglers, ventriloquests, and mimes deal with the same sorts of originally problems.  (BTW, one of the most moving, artful pieces I've ever seen on stage was by a mime.)

But I guess the real problem with this is that, as magicians, we all do the same tricks.  Why shouldn't we be percieved as all interchangable.  But that's not really entirely our fault either.  There are only so many things 'magical' one can do.  One can make something vanish, appear, transform, teleport, restore, escape, penetrate, predict, and percieved through supernatural mean (reading minds).  That is it.

Now of course, you can do these tricks with a trillion different objects, presentations, order, and twists.  So why do so many magicians peform the bill to lemon?  I think we can credit Darwin with the answer; natural selection.

For some reason or another, throuhgout the ages of magic and marketting, and performance and art, the natural selection of all these forces and desided that, for most performers, for this teleporation, a bill and lemon are the best objects to use.  For penetrations: linking rings, for vanishes and productions: cups and balls, for restorations: a piece of newspaper, for a predictions: meaningless shapes and numbers, for transformations: a silk into a cane, for escapes: a water torture cell.

Maybe the last one was a little hyperbolous, but you get the idea.  And these are all very good tricks, which explain why they are the classics of magic.  However, the problem is, when we all do them, they become cliche and earn us the title of being interchangable performers.

In response, most peformers and magic trick producers, immediately look for simple substituations for these classic effects.  Everyone has seen the linking rings, but in my act, I'm going to use linking coathangers!  Now the trick is better because it's something new, and better yet, is an ordinary object!  Now it's a new and better trick!.

Hmm...not really.  I imagine that when most audience member see the linking coathangers routine, the first thought they have is "why isn't he just doing it with rings, like every other magician," not "wow, most magicians do this trick with rings, but he's using coathangers!"

The trick is the same, and as little emotional meaning as a typical linking rings routine has, I'd argue that the linking coathangers has even less.  It is even more mundane, and much more awkward.  At least with a linking ring routine, you have an opportunity to be elegant.  The rings can be a beautiful performance piece, if done by a master.  Alternatively, the linking coat hangers could also be a good routine, if  it fit with the theme of the performer.  (The thought of a character who cannot afford rings, but still wants to be a magician immediately comes to mind.  However, in this example, notice how the use of this substitue prop is accounted for in the performance, and not merely ignored.)

However, much of this discussion has been about an ordinary performance by an ordinary performer.  I truely believe any master magician can take any trick and turn it into at least a good performance piece.  At the opposite end of the bell curve, however, poor magicians can very easily butcher perfect magic tricks.  I am not interested in these two extremes, but the center, the area where most of us lie.

More on this later...

Second Blog

So this is my second attempt at creating an ongoing blog.  Hopefully this one will prove more useful than my previous effort.

Last year, I had a college writing professor who explained how writing is a means to an end; more specifically, writing is an excellent way to discover meaning and hone one's thoughts.  In class, we applied it to essay writing.  She would often say, just write down everything you think to say about a subject, look through what you have, find a thesis, cut out everything that doesn't fit with that, reorganize and then, POOF!, you have an essay.

This process of discovery through writing worked very well, so the following is my attempt at replicating such a technique with magic.

I've made this blog public so all can read, think, and maybe learn something from my own thoughts.  So yeah, here we go.

I just finished reading Tangled Web by Eric Mead.  I remember when this book first came out three years ago.  I almost bought it then, but something held me back.  But Joe Pon (owner of Misdirections Magic Shop here in San Francisco) suggested I read it, so I picked it up.

Now this isn't so much a review, as just sort of my thoughts on the book, and what it left with me.  It's very short, and I finished it in like two sittings (then again, I devour magic texts.  If only I could do that with my Econ textbook...).

There are some very good routines in here, particularly openers.  Currently, I'm working on his "A Fine Howdy Do" close-up production of a quarter.  Now this routine offers nothing revolutionary.  At its heart it is a production of a quarter with flash paper, into a copper silver routine.  However, the whole time I was reading the routine, I could just see how well this routine would play.  Now, my approach in walk-around settings isn't bad, but this type of opening routine could obviously bring it to a new level.  Honestly, I felt like I've been failing for not using such a powerful opener.

Also, looking at the script Eric provides with the routine gave me another insight.  As script for his copper silver routine, he explains how truly impossible it is for him to make the coin disappear why the spectator is holding on to it.  He explains that he must make the spectator forget about the coin in order to make it disappear.  At this point Eric introduces the copper coin and comments on how his grandfather or father had given it to him, and that it was special.  Then, Eric would pause, look at his audience and mention how he'd just distracted them with this little backstory.  And yeah, then the coins are shown to switch places and all that jazz.

Here's the cool part: Eric just combined back story with plot progression in the most efficient way I've ever seen, read, or heard about.  The back story about where the coin comes from, it's relevance to Eric, and the fact that he keeps it with him, all move to characterize Eric in the minds and hearts of his audience.  Remember, this is still his opening trick, and he's already putting this back story into his performance.

However, the cool part is that this back story, true or not, is recited in order for the trick to work.  It's a plot piece in the context of the trick, since Eric has to make the audience forget about the coin to make it disappear.  That complexity is just genius to me.  Back story in magic almost always slows down the performance, however this particular example shows that it can become a very integral part of the trick.  I'm very excited to explore areas where I can apply this lesson in my tricks.

So yeah.  Yay for flashpaper, and yay for plot oriented back story in magic.