My Dad showed my my first magic trick. The memory is still hazy about the specifics but I think the trick involved colored LPs that changes colors with each flourish. I supposed if you were to show me the same trick now, in the back of my mind, cynicism paces but then when I was a wee lad, simple sleight-of-hands or the sun setting, all these are magical.
Later, I came across a magic kit where I surprised my mother with a paper bouquet from out of thin air, then read books about legerdemain and half-practiced the various palms and cuts. Being lazy, I often settled on self-working tricks. I was a poor example of a magician.
But that never waned my fascination of the craft.
Those days, it was David Copperfield that intrigued me. Watching him made the Statue of Liberty disappear or escaping from Alcatraz amazed me. Then, I saw Doug Henning and read up on Houdini. I borrowed books from the library and learned about Chung Ling Soo and Dai Vernon. Once, I came across Modern Magic by Professor Hoffmann, which detailed the secrets behind many Victorian magic.
During the nineties, my interest in magic was piqued by David Blaine. He introduced a new style of magic called Street Magic. It was a new concept, going up to random strangers and performing for them close-up magic and watching the audience’s immediate reaction.
But if you asked me which magician I hold dear to my heart, it would be Ricky Jay.
Who is he, you asked?
This is the opening of a 1993 New Yorker article about Ricky Jay.
The playwright David Mamet and the theatre director Gregory Mosher affirm that some years ago, late one night in the bar of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Chicago, this happened:
Ricky Jay, who is perhaps the most gifted sleight-of-hand artist alive, was performing magic with a deck of cards. Also present was a friend of Mamet and Mosher’s named Christ Nogulich, the director of food and beverage at the hotel. After twenty minutes of disbelief-suspending manipulations, Jay spread the deck face up on the bar counter and asked Nogulich to concentrate on a specific card but not to reveal it. Jay then assembled the deck face down, shuffled, cut it into two piles, and asked Nogulich to point to one of the piles and name his card.
“Three of clubs,” Nogulich said, and he was then instructed to turn over the top card.
He turned over the three of clubs.
Mosher, in what could be interpreted as a passive-aggressive act, quietly announced, “Ricky, you know, I also concentrated on a card.”
After an interval of silence, Jay said, “That’s interesting, Gregory, but I only do this for one person at a time.”
Mosher persisted: “Well, Ricky, I really was thinking of a card.”
Jay paused, frowned, stared at Mosher, and said, “This is a distinct change of procedure.” A longer pause. “All right—what was the card?”
“Two of spades.”
Jay nodded, and gestured toward the other pile, and Mosher turned over its top card.
The deuce of spades.
A small riot ensued.
He’s old school, a throwback to magic of substance instead of style. He’s the gentleman conman. He holds your attention with his presence and his patter. His tricks are a story by itself as demonstrated in this video:
The man engages you so for the duration of the trick, you feel part of it. He also writes and acts. Seen here is Jay playing the role of the con artist. Note how he pressures the rube by shouting at him.
And now, Jay has a new show called Ricky Jay: A Rogue’s Gallery, that will be performing soon in L.A and I would be attending it. One more item crossed off my bucket list.
And maybe, I’ll get to be a child again.
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