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      Now You See It: A Magician’s Memoir Promises Truth and Other Lies

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }What to ReadNew Books to Watch For This Month25 Book Review GreatsNew in PaperbackListen: The Book Review PodcastAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyNonfictionNow You See It: A Magician’s Memoir Promises Truth and Other Lies“My mother had taught me the value of truth,” the magician Derek DelGaudio writes in “Amoralman,” his memoir, “but she neglected to teach me the cost.”Credit…Calla Kessler for The New York TimesAmazonApple BooksBarnes and NobleBooks-A-MillionBookshopIndieboundWhen you purchase an independently reviewed book through our site, we earn an affiliate commission.March 2, 2021AMORALMANA True Story and Other LiesBy Derek DelGaudioLying is ubiquitous. Why should it be otherwise? There are far more reasons to lie than to tell the truth. Isn’t lying beneficial? Often, it is. And the importance of truth-telling — is it a fiction we tell ourselves? A fairy tale? A form of self-deception? Our original lie?And yet we have this absurd belief that we are truth-tellers, or at least that we’re capable of occasionally telling the truth.In “Amoralman,” Derek DelGaudio’s masterly memoiristic account of lying and self-deception, we start life fully capable of truth-telling. Man in the state of nature or in infancy (take your pick) revels in telling the truth to others. In his epigraph DelGaudio — a sleight-of-hand artist and stage performer — quotes Ecclesiastes: “We are born knowing only truth. Then we see.” Maybe we retain this ability later in life. But it seems unlikely. We may know the truth, but quickly realize no good can come of it. So we give up on it.“Amoralman” offers up successive parables. Central among them is the parable of the cave from Plato’s “Republic.” In the parable, men are in shackles. They can turn neither to the left nor to the right, nor can they look behind them. They spend their lives looking at the shadows of things — not the things in and of themselves. (Not so coincidentally, the title of DelGaudio’s Off Broadway play and its subsequent screen adaptation is “In & Of Itself.”) They are prevented from seeing the truth and when shown the things in their real and substantial form, prefer to return to shadows and shackles. It is summed up in DelGaudio’s maxim: “I lost sight of reality just enough to glimpse the truth.”The book is in two parts. The first part, a bildungsroman, introduces DelGaudio’s family, his mother’s lesbian lover, Jill, and then Ryan, the boy next door. Their Colorado neighborhood comprises two different religious groups: conservative Christians and ultraconservative Christians. Ryan and his family are members of the latter. DelGaudio’s happy childhood is permanently interrupted when he tells Ryan about having two mothers. “My mother had taught me the value of truth, but she neglected to teach me the cost,” he writes. “She told me that honesty was always the best policy, but now I had evidence to the contrary.”The second part of the book is an extended poker game. Hired to cheat others, DelGaudio imagines he’s in control. After all, he’s the one involved in false dealing. It turns out differently than he might have expected.This is a story of unending ironies and misconceptions. That which we expected to be the truth is a lie, or at least a partial fiction. Anecdotes could be true, but falsely attributed. Intentions could be and are misrepresented or misunderstood. Good guys turn out to be bad guys and vice versa. And the purpose of magic and sleight-of-hand in such a universe? It goes back to Plato’s cave, which reminds us that things are always different than they seem. We misunderstand context. We confuse shadowy representations for the things in and of themselves. We live in a shadowy, fictional world.DelGaudio believed when he was a boy that the puppeteers in Plato’s cave were trying to dupe the prisoners. But he couldn’t answer why. By the end of his story, he realizes that the puppeteers may have been themselves deceived. And yet, grafted onto what might at first seem like a despairing vision — a vision I would not be at all unsympathetic toward — is a belief that life is not less than what it seems, but more. We are limited by how we see ourselves, and once we shed those blinders the possibilities are endless. Once we realize we are all slaves dealing in a world of shadows, we can imagine (or even confront) almost infinite possibility. So, is this ultimately about deception? Or is it about truth?Why not both? “I am not interested in fooling people,” DelGaudio tells us. “It’s about truth. To know illusions is to know reality. … I want to be the prisoner that returns to the cave.” He imagines an escapee who “picks up the tools of the puppeteer and teaches himself to cast shadows, with the hope of using those illusions to set the others free.”His deepest epiphany comes when he realizes that the game of duplicity that he’s running is being run on him. He is duping others, but he is also duping himself. Like Plato’s cave, nothing is as it seems.“Amoralman” can be seen as a series of illustrations about how we deceive ourselves into believing that whatever we’re doing is right and good. There’s the sense that the only thing we can be certain of is that we’re being deceived. But also, that the real Amoralman, the most amoral man of all, is ourselves.There is a much-told anecdote sometimes attributed to William James. It concerns the little old lady who on being told that the Earth revolves around the sun, said, “I’ve got a better theory.”“And what is that, madam?” inquired James politely.“That we live on a crust of earth which is on the back of a giant turtle.”“If your theory is correct, madam,” he asked, “what does this turtle stand on?”“You’re a very clever man, Mr. James, and that’s a very good question,” the little old lady replied, “but I have an answer to it. The first turtle stands on the back of a second, far larger, turtle, who stands directly under him.”“But what does this second turtle stand on?” asked James.To this, the little old lady replied, “Oh, Mr. James — it’s turtles all the way down.”In DelGaudio it is turtles all the way down. Turtles on top of turtles on top of more turtles without surcease. Certainty leads to uncertainty and then more uncertainty.For me, the shadow of Ricky Jay runs through much of this. Ricky was a friend of mine, a master magician, an incredible archivist and raconteur. DelGaudio is a less misanthropic version of Ricky. Not necessarily nicer, but less misanthropic. What we don’t know about man doesn’t lead us into a pit of despair, but perhaps to a future of enlightenment and to greater possibility. We are opening our eyes not to slavery but to infinite possibility. Such an optimistic vision almost gives me the heebie-jeebies. But it’s the end of the Trump era, and we deserve to turn over a new leaf, no?In the first part of the book, there’s an exchange between DelGaudio and his mother where he tells her he wants to be a Christian. Then he learns that Christianity can be as much about intolerance as about forgiveness. But there’s this additional irony in DelGaudio’s presentation of himself. At times he seems like a Pentecostal revivalist. He often has the air of a disappointed true-believer. This is the stuff not of nihilism, but of someone searching for true belief. Perhaps searching for something beyond belief.It reminds me of one of my favorite lines in literature — the last line of Huysmans’s “À Rebours”: “O Lord, pity the Christian who doubts, the skeptic who would believe, the convict of life embarking alone in the night, under a sky no longer illumined by the consoling beacons of ancient faith.”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      Siegfried Fischbacher, Magician of Siegfried & Roy, Dies at 81

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      AdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storySiegfried Fischbacher, Magician of Siegfried & Roy, Dies at 81Mr. Fischbacher’s death came months after that of Roy Horn, his partner in one of the most spectacular shows in Las Vegas history.The illusionist Siegfried Fischbacher in 2008. Together, he and Roy Horn captivated Las Vegas audiences for decades.Credit…Mark Sullivan/Getty Images for CineVegasRichard Sandomir and Jan. 14, 2021Updated 6:30 p.m. ETSiegfried Fischbacher, the German-born magician who was half of Siegfried & Roy, the team that captivated Las Vegas audiences with performances alongside big cats, elephants and other exotic animals, died on Wednesday night at his home in Las Vegas. He was 81.The cause was pancreatic cancer, said his publicist, Dave Kirvin. Mr. Fischbacher’s longtime partner in the production, Roy Horn, died of complications of Covid-19 in May at 75.For a time, the team’s name was all but synonymous with Las Vegas show business, with spectacular performances that combined smoke machines and white tigers, lasers and elephants, sequined costumes, snakes and illusions of metamorphosis.Their long-running production at MGM’s Mirage hotel and casino was one of the most lavish and successful in Las Vegas history.Mr. Fischbacher, left, and Roy Horn with Mantecore, the tiger that mauled Mr. Horn in 2003.Credit…Peter Bischoff, via Getty ImagesThe pair’s show ended in October 2003, after Mr. Horn was mauled by a 400-pound white tiger named Mantecore, which dragged him offstage before a stunned capacity crowd of 1,500 at the Mirage.The attack left Mr. Horn with lasting damage to his body. After he spent years recovering, the team made one final appearance, with Mantecore, at a benefit performance for the Lou Ruvo Center for Brain Health in Las Vegas in February 2009. They retired from show business in 2010.Mr. Horn, left, and Mr. Fischbacher in New York in 1987 with the rare white tigers Neva, left, a female, and Vegas, a male.Credit…Scott Mckiernan/Associated PressMr. Fischbacher and Mr. Horn, who were domestic as well as professional partners, kept dozens of exotic cats and other animals in the Secret Garden and Dolphin Habitat, a glass-enclosed, tropically forested habitat at the Mirage; at Jungle Paradise, an 88-acre estate outside town; and at Jungle Palace, their $10 million Spanish-style home in Las Vegas.“From the moment we met, I knew Roy and I, together, would change the world,” Mr. Fischbacher said in a statement after Mr. Horn’s death. “There could be no Siegfried without Roy and no Roy without Siegfried.”The two performers amazed Las Vegas audiences over four decades with stage extravaganzas that blended Mr. Fischbacher’s mastery of illusion and Mr. Horn’s preternatural ability to train and communicate with white tigers, lions and other animals.In their lavish shows, an elephant would vanish, a white tiger would turn into a beautiful woman, a tiger would appear to levitate over the audience and Mr. Horn would become a snake.The success of Siegfried & Roy’s show paved the way for more spectacular ones in Las Vegas.“Cirque du Soleil came in, you know, and Steve Wynn started that concept of Cirque in Las Vegas,” Mr. Fischbacher told Las Vegas Weekly in 2013. “The same thing that we inspired, Cirque du Soleil, inspired him.”Mr. Fischbacher was born on June 13, 1939, in Rosenheim, Germany, to Martin and Maria Fischbacher. At age 8, he became fascinated with magic when he saw a book on the subject in the window of a local store. It cost only five marks, but his mother would not give him the money; he claimed to have a found a five-mark note on a street and bought the book.When he performed a trick in which a coin vanished in a glass of water, his father praised him. “For me, having been brought up in a strict Bavarian way, it was the first time my father ever acknowledged me,” he is quoted as saying in his online biography.He was inspired by a German magician named Kalanag, whose show, Mr. Fischbacher said, was “one of the most exciting events in my life.”He left home at 17, working first as a dishwasher and bartender at a small hotel in Lago di Garda, Italy, then as a steward on the Bremen, a German cruise liner. The captain of the Bremen saw him perform magic for the crew and suggested that he perform for the passengers.He met Mr. Horn on the Bremen in 1957. Mr. Horn was a cabin boy with a love of animals who had smuggled his pet cheetah, Chico, onto the ship. They struck up a friendship, and Mr. Fischbacher asked Mr. Horn to help out with his magic act.“I did the usual thing: rabbit out of the hat and birds and so on,” Mr. Fischbacher said on CNN’s “Larry King Live” in 2003, five days after Mr. Roy’s accident. “Afterwards, I said, ‘What do you think?’ And he said, ‘Can you do what you did with a rabbit with a cheetah?’”“I didn’t know he had a pet cheetah at the time,” he added, “and I said, ‘Anything is possible.’”In 1964, five years after they started working together, they were playing nightclubs in Germany and Switzerland. When they performed at a charity benefit in Monte Carlo in 1966, Princess Grace of Monaco raved about them, giving their career a boost.As their act became more extravagant with the addition of more illusions and animals, Siegfried & Roy were booked into nightclubs throughout Europe. They made their debut in Las Vegas at the Tropicana in 1967, then moved on to headliner status at the Stardust in 1978 and the Frontier, where the marquee billed them as “Superstars of Magic.”Steve Wynn, who built the Mirage, signed them to a five-year, $57.5 million contract in 1987, three years before the hotel and casino opened. The deal included building a theater to Siegfried & Roy’s specifications. Mr. Wynn quickly cashed in on his expensive bet when they began to sell out immediately. They grossed an estimated $30 million in 1990 (about $60 million in today’s dollars).They were “the single most successful entertainment attraction in Las Vegas history,” Mr. Wynn was quoted as saying on the ABC News program “Nightline” in 2019.“Thirty years, 48 weeks a year, capacity business,” he added.Their act ended abruptly on Oct. 3, 2003 with the mauling of Mr. Horn after 5,750 performances at the Mirage. During their performance, he stumbled onstage — both he and Mr. Fischbacher said he had probably had a stroke — leading Mantecore to grab him by the neck and drag him offstage, causing an extreme loss of blood.Mr. Horn believed the tiger, sensing he was ill, was trying to protect him. Immediately after, Mr. Horn is said to have asked that no harm come to Mantecore. (The tiger was unharmed, and died 11 years later.)Mr. Fischbacher is survived by his brother, Marinus, and his sister, Margot, a Franciscan nun who goes by Sister Dolore.Speaking to Larry King in 2003, Mr. Fischbacher talked about the connection that he and Mr. Horn had with their audience, some of whom came hundreds of times.“I’m OK,” he said. “I’m good. I love my audience. I love the audience like Roy loves the animals, and this combination together, it worked, you know.”AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More

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      Review: A World of Cardsharps and Zoom Dupes in ‘The Future’

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      #masthead-section-label, #masthead-bar-one { display: none }The Best of 2020Best ComedyBest TV ShowsBest BooksBest MoviesBest AlbumsAdvertisementContinue reading the main storySupported byContinue reading the main storyReview: A World of Cardsharps and Zoom Dupes in ‘The Future’In his latest magic show, Helder Guimarães shuffles an old genre into a new technology with mixed results.Helder Guimarães in “The Future,” his Zoom magic show for the Geffen Playhouse.Credit…Julie RenfroDec. 14, 2020When a used-car salesman says, “I will be honest,” it’s a sure sign he won’t be.Same with a card huckster. For him, “I will be honest” means “Don’t look at my hands.” Other tells may include “You saw for yourself that this deck was legitimately shuffled.” (It wasn’t.) Or “I want this to be as fair as possible.” (Watch your wallet.)All of these are part of Helder Guimarães’s patter in “The Future,” a Zoom magic show from the Geffen Playhouse trying very hard to be more — but only partly succeeding. Oddly, it’s the magic part that most disappoints, at least as theater. The “more” part, a stretch toward greater meaning, is engaging even as you wonder if it too is a deception.That stretch comes between card tricks, as Guimarães offers glimpses of his life’s journey from fanboy to sorcerer’s apprentice to fast hand for hire. The tension between entertainment and crookery that’s built into the business eventually grows into a full-blown dilemma when he meets his childhood idol in Marseille.The idol, a British cardsharp named Kevin who presents himself as a reformed gambler, at first fulfills Guimarães’s teenage fantasies. Kevin seems to be the kind of man who would ply his trade in purple rooms with velour curtains and Venetian landscapes on the wall.The reality, in the form of a rigged high-stakes poker game Kevin invites Guimarães to join, is somewhat seedier. Eventually the younger man has to make a choice between betraying his idol and maintaining what he thought were his values.“I wanted to put some wonder in the world,” he says. Kevin, on the other hand, “wanted to outsmart people for money.”By the time Guimarães finds himself rigging raffles at corporate parties, the bright-line difference between those two worldviews has blurred. We never do learn what choice he made about Kevin, which makes sense theatrically, if not morally or magically. Who creates an illusion but refuses to complete it?To the extent the show’s tricks are meant to illustrate that story, they are effective. Many of the ones Guimarães learned from Kevin or saw him perfect — “second dealing, center dealing, stacking the deck, false shuffling, mucking” — are performed live during “The Future.” Narratively, that’s satisfying.Guimarães displays a hucksterish eagerness, but on Zoom, “pick a card, any card” doesn’t work.Credit…Geffen PlayhouseBut as magic for magic’s sake, the tricks, however brilliant, are baffling, for the very reason they succeed: They’re invisible. That’s especially the case on Zoom, where “pick a card, any card” doesn’t work.It’s less than awe-inspiring, for instance, that Guimarães has to tell us he has completed Kevin’s “cold deck” deception, a holy grail act of prestidigitation in which all 52 cards are secretly switched out for 52 others. On the evidence of our senses, nothing at all has happened except the elaborate setup and the surprising conclusion. I oohed but wasn’t sure what I was oohing at.Guimarães’s hucksterish eagerness, in contrast to his questing thoughtfulness in other contexts, doesn’t help in this one. As a workaround for the Zoom problem, he hammers so hard at the transparency of his deceptions that, like a character in a play, he invites skepticism about them. We know they are tricks; why keep badgering us to say that they aren’t?It’s misdirection, of course, the art of keeping our minds off whatever a magician doesn’t want us to notice. Kevin’s version, during that rigged poker game, was to have a confederate shatter a wineglass; on Zoom, with its lack of real eye contact, the task of distracting the eye is naturally much harder. That’s probably why a ticket to “The Future” includes a collection of props, including a deck of cards, mailed to each audience member in a chic black capsule: misdirection for the pandemic age.So although I admired Guimarães’s skill in “The Future” as much as I had in “The Present,” his previous show for the Geffen, I tired of his more elaborate tricks even faster than I did in the past. And though his storytelling — this time more evocatively realized in Frank Marshall’s direction — was lively, it wasn’t so distracting as to quell my suspicion that it was merely another form of misdirection.This suggests a genre problem. (Or it may just be a me problem; most of the 50 or so participants seemed to have a grand time throughout.) Magic, like ventriloquism, mind-reading, mime and other para-theatrical forms, has long sought greater legitimacy on what used to be called the legitimate stage. Working Vegas like some elephantless variety act is no longer enough for ambitious magicians; they aspire to the condition of drama.I think that’s a mistake. If the choice, as Guimarães expresses it, is between putting some wonder in the world and outsmarting people for money — tickets for “The Future” are $95 — I vote for wonder. I’d rather have some sequins and a rabbit than a three of clubs with a résumé.The FutureThrough March 14; geffenplayhouse.org.AdvertisementContinue reading the main story More