by Mr_Grue » Mar 16th, '14, 12:06
Another sneak preview of a Mainly Mental blogpost. This is something I drafted a while ago, but for some reason never got round to posting. Although the subject matter is getting a little dusty, the issues remain fresh.
Bullet Catch was a show that Rob Drummond put together and performed at the 2012 Edinburgh Festival. It played in the small downstairs theatre at the Traverse and received great reviews, a Herald Angel Award and a Total Theatre Award. It later played in New York and at the National Theatre in London.
As the title suggests the play takes as its focus point the bullet catch, and in particular a performance that resulted in the death of the magician. Its narrative blends fact with fiction. At one point the ill-fated performer receives a letter from Houdini warning him off doing the trick, but the text of the letter actually comes from a genuine one that Harry Kellar wrote to Houdini:
Now, my dear boy, this is advice from the heart, DON’T TRY THE D—N Bullet Catching…no matter how sure you may feel of its success. There is always the biggest kind of risk that some dog will “job” you. And we can’t afford to lose Houdini. You have enough good stuff to maintain your position at the head of the profession. And you owe it to your friends and your family to cut out all stuff that entails risk of your life. Please, Harry, listen to your old friend Kellar who loves you as his own son and don’t do it.
This, and other aspects of the presentation, strongly suggests that the story Drummond tells is true, which is not the case, but lends the show a mournfulness that is to its credit. The narrative weaves its way through a number of effects, as Drummond tells us both of the magician’s final days leading up to the shooting, and the impact that the shooting had on the participant that squeezed the trigger. This participant is represented on stage by a single volunteer. The journey Drummond and his volunteer go on brings them close together, the relationship building towards the bullet catch that, in fiction left one man dead and another destroyed. Drummond seems intent, in telling this tale, of bringing alive the danger and significance of the catch as it is played out.
In short the show is incredibly powerful and tense. Before the catch is performed, Drummond allows people to leave should they wish to. I believe in most cases people did walk out at this point.
And I’m saying all of this because it is vital to appreciate how good the show is before discussing what I want to discuss.
At one point, about two-thirds of the way through the show, Drummond and his volunteer levitate a table. Afterwards, Drummond talks to audience members about what preference they have for knowing or not knowing how such an illusion works, in essence, whether or not they are comfortable with letting the magic live. He then instructs the audience, if they do not want to know how the illusion is created, to close their eyes.
He then dismantles and packs away the table, showing how it works.
It is a L_______ table.
Now, here are a few things to keep in mind. The audience sizes, both in Edinburgh and, I think, London, were about 300, maximum - no thousands of YouTube secret hunters, these. Not everyone kept their eyes open (though most did). They saw this trick performed within the context of a play and, despite the aluminium attache case the table was packed away in, the early twentieth century trappings of the play masked the modern nature of the table (not that the table is, nor needs to be, particularly high-tech). Also, I would say that the secret of the L_______ table is, in a sense, a trivial one. That is not to say that it isn’t a supremely well designed and made prop, more that the quality of its thinking and execution has to do with hiding what is in reality a mundane method.
Lastly, and no less importantly, I watched the play with an intelligent woman who afterwards, on explaining the workings of the table to her husband, said that the table had a motor in it, and that she didn’t understand the box subtlety beyond showing off. In short, she had not understood what she had seen. I can’t use her as a stand in for the entire lay audience, of course, but I think it serves to show that not everyone who kept their eyes open would have learnt the secret.
Whether or not this matters, is a debate in itself, of course. Oh, and I’ve seen performances of the L_______ table that exposed the table more thoroughly purely through the incompetence of the performer.
But regardless of all these “yes buts” he does in the end expose a marketed prop that is someone else’s intellectual property, and a part of many others’ livelihood. Here is how Drummond himself defends the decision to expose the table, taken from the script book:
This has been a matter of contention amongst some members of the magic community. I accept fully that revealing the secret to a trick not of my own design is ethically fraught. However, the relationship this creates between myself and my audience, the comment on the nature of truth and depression, the moment of melancholic and profound theatre that this action makes possible, convinces me that such an act is justified in a theatre show. And, anyway, they chose to look.
I’m not convinced this is a great argument, personally. The audience choosing to look or otherwise isn’t the issue - the magician guards the empty box for his own sake, not for the sake of his audience. I also don’t feel that, in the moment of exposure, the “comment on the nature of truth and depression” was made loud enough - it was drowned out by the audience’s own curiosity. If, later on, they realise that they have forever lost the wonder of the illusion, I’m not so sure they’d tie it up with the themes of the show.
But here’s the rub, irrespective of my view on Drummond’s argument. He sees the exposure as an element of artistic necessity. I think it’s fair to say that most, if not all of us seek to elevate what we do from craft to artform. Here is a magic show that is presented squarely as an art form, but in doing so kills one of its babies. To use exposure as a leverage for other tricks is by no means strange to Bullet Catch. Some areas of card magic, for instance, pretty much rely on it - any card magician that incorporates gambling demonstrations, for example. Drummond no doubt feels he is right in the decision he has made, but without any legal backstop preventing exposure (a backstop the existence of which I don’t think I or many people would be entirely comfortable with), how does one reach that decision? At what point is the lasting effects of exposure less important than the impact of the theatrical moment of that exposure?
Simon Scott
If the spectator doesn't engage in the effect,
then the only thing left is the method.
tiny.cc/Grue