I’m an amateur magician. I’ve performed at children’s parties and done some touring. I wouldn’t class myself as an expert, but I am in the magic circle. I love to see professional magicians perform, there is nothing better than when you see a trick and you have no idea how it was done.
I read a forum post a month ago that had a link to a YouTube video, 10 times magic went wrong. I checked it out, and as you can imagine, the contents were quite horrific. Two of the clips were of the Nail Under the Cups trick. If you are from England, you may have seen Derren Brown performing this. It’s a good one, if the magician is qualified. If they aren’t, then you end up being at positions seven and three of this video.
A magician mixes up some cups, under one is a piece of wood with a nail pointed up. The others are weighted, so they all feel the same. The magician puts on a blindfold and gets their volunteer to guide them over the top of the cups. The magician then pushes the volunteer’s hand down, crushing the cup. It’s usually when there are two left that this trick goes wrong. And when it does it’s very bloody.
The clip in question though, is of a man sawing a woman in half. We’ve all seen this. But in this grainy footage, the woman screams, the box is brought apart, blood drips from the opening and the legs of the woman slip out. The bloody bottom half slams on the floor with a thunk, the legs spasm, then stop. The curtains are hastily brought across and the show ends.
There are comments after the video, people calling bullshit, until someone posted the full trick in question. At the end of this video, the woman can be seen on stage, whole again, nothing wrong with her at all.
People argue with each other that the woman must have been in the upper box and the lower box contained some prosthetics. The thread ends with someone saying that they swear it’s real, they’ve seen it in person.
I commented saying, “I’m skeptical, magic is illusion, no one gets sawn in half; incredible footage though.”
The next day, I get a direct message from someone with the handle Tricked4Life.
Hey Baz1987, the man from that video is performing next month. He’s called The Russian, it’s invite only. I can arrange tickets if you like?
I replied, Totally, I’d be up for that, please!
While waiting to hear back, I went to watch the video again. The link didn’t work, a message came up saying it had been taken down due to copyright infringement. I tried the top 10 one too, that was also gone, just a 404 page.
It was a Saturday, so I was already on the whiskey and watching Netflix. I think I was binge watching Breaking Bad for the third or forth time.
Tricked4Life replied with a link. I browsed to the site. It looked like something from 1997. There was a still from the video and a form below. Slightly drunk, I filled out the details and continued to the payment form. I had to pay in BitCoin, what the fuck was that?
I messaged Tricked4Life, “I don’t know what BitCoin is.”
“PayPal me the money and I can buy it for you.”
“How do I know this isn’t a scam?”
“You don’t, but as a magician, you should see through a trick a mile off ;)”
It sounded like he was baiting me.
“How much?”
“£540.”
“Christ, that’s heavy.”
“It’s worth it though.”
“Have you seen him before?”
“No, this will be my first time. I know some people who are going. They said he’s incredible. You have to see it for yourself.”
I left the computer and continued watching TV, though I couldn’t concentrate. I really wanted to know how the trick was done. I drank more whiskey and got more drunk.
I woke in the early hours. Confused, I took in my surroundings and realised I fell asleep in front of the television again. My head pounded, so I went to the kitchen and drank some orange juice, before throwing the best hangover cure, bacon, into the frying pan.
As the meat sizzled, I checked my phone. I had an email with the subject, Ticket Confirmation. My heart sank. I opened it up to see a confirmation number and an address… in the Ukraine.
I’d bought things while I was drunk before, but not a ticket to a magic show in Eastern Europe. Not only was I out £540, I’d need to book plane tickets and a hotel.
I gazed at the whiskey bottle, to see it almost empty, not even as much as a shot left. I felt embarrassed.
I logged into the forum and read the messages I had sent.
Fuck it! was the first. The second my details and a third saying I’d PayPalled the money over, with a reply saying to buy a Tuxedo if I didn’t have one.
I won’t bore you with the details of how I had to beg my manager to give me the time off at last minute, suffice to say I had to agree to perform at his daughter’s birthday. I was surprised and relieved with how cheap plane fare was to the Ukraine. That was the only ray of light I had in this stupid ordeal. I rented a Tux from a local business and I was ready to go.
The flight was bumpy. We flew through a thunderstorm and for the first time in my life, saw the lighting hit the tip of the plane. People startled and children cried. I was nervous myself. It wasn’t long after the Russians shot down a passenger jet over the Ukraine. I was very happy when we landed.
I sat in silence in the taxi to the hotel. When I got out, I saw it was a dump. I asked the driver to wait, he nodded. I had no idea if he understood me or not. Three stars was supposed to be the rating, but it looked more like an abandoned office building than a hotel.
I checked in and changed. I was glad I was only staying for the night. My rushed plans meant I didn’t have more than a few hours until the show started.
Thankfully the taxi was still outside when I returned. I handed him the printout of the address and we drove off into the night.
It was an odd city, nothing like the London that I’d known all my life. It was as if it wasn’t planned, that it just sprawled in every direction when the need for more buildings were required. We stopped at the end of an alleyway. He pointed down it.
“Are you sure?” I said.
I expected us to be somewhere posh.
“Is right,” the man said, finally breaking his silence.
I got out. Almost as if the driver was in a hurry, the taxi sped off. Suddenly I felt all alone, in a foreign country I knew nothing about.
The rain poured down and soaked through my Tux. The woollen material grew heavy with the water. I wondered if I’d get my deposit back.
I jogged down the alleyway. Light leaked out from a door underneath a fire escape. I thumped on the frame and waited.
A man wearing paint splattered jeans and a body warmer opened it.
“I’m sorry, I don’t know where I’m going. I’m looking for this.”
I handed him the printout.
“I’m supposed to see some Russian magician…”
He lifted his chin and opened the door wider. I was glad to get out of the rain. Inside had the appearance of a factory service corridor.
“Through there,” he said pointing to the end of the hallway.
Visions of me entering some basement out of the film Hostel filled my mind and I wanted to turn back and go straight to the airport. The outside door clunked shut.
I took a deep breath and walked forward. My shoes echoed around the small passageway and I felt vulnerable. I pushed on the metal bar at the end and hoped for the best.
I was shocked. The low murmurs of hundreds of voices filled the large room I entered. It wasn’t as I expected. It was cavernous. It looked like a palace. Large marble columns rose up from the floor and held in place an ornate ceiling, from which hung intricate chandeliers.
Dozens of men in suits drank from Champagne glasses, all deep into conversation. No one turned to stare at me. It was as if there was nothing odd about me entering via a back door. For a magic show, I found it kind of fitting. Standing there though, I wasn’t sure if I felt more out of place here or in the alleyway.
A waiter approached and I panicked.
“Drink, sir?” he said, offering me some Champagne.
I took the crystal flute and resisted the urge to down it in one.
I sipped and tried to blend in.
“The show will start in thirty minutes,” was announced over the tannoy in an Eastern European accent.
The guests looked up as if watching the person making the announcement.
Another waiter offered me some canapés. I grabbed one and thanked him.
“Baz?” someone shouted and I peered around.
I locked eyes with a man I didn’t recognise.
“Do I know you?” I asked.
“I’m Dan,” he said offering his hand.
“I’m sorry, I don’t recall.”
“Tricked4Life? I ordered your ticket.”
Confused, I said, “How did you recognise me?”
“Your avatar, man,” he said smiling, “Good to meet you in person. I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”
“£540, I wasn’t going to stay at home.”
“Are you excited? I’ve seen some famous magicians around.”
I was nervous. Dan didn’t appear to be.
“Oh shit, is that
He turned.
“Hell, yeah,” he replied, “
“That’s crazy, this is the real deal then?”
“I think so,” he said, taking a large gulp of his drink.
“What’s his real name?”
“I don’t know, no one does.”
“That’s a bit ominous.”
“He’s the best of the best, who cares what he’s called.”
Dan checked his watch.
“We should go take our seats.”
“Yeah.”
The house lights went down and cheers erupted from the crowd. A spotlight lit the red velvet curtains. They waited for the crowd to die down before they opened.
I was disappointed when I saw him on stage. His hair was grey, not black like the video. He was so much smaller in stature than how he appeared, too. Assistants wheeled in a large tall box.
The magician led one of the assistants inside and proceeded to lock the padlocks on the front of the box. He counted down from three, and on the beat after one, fireworks exploded at the front of the stage and the walls of the box collapsed in on themselves. He approached and spun the box around showing it was now flat. The remaining assistants rolled it off stage and the crowd clapped.
“That’s easy,” I said turning to Dan, “Fireworks - textbook misdirection and trap door underneath.”
He smiled.
Medieval wooden stocks were now brought onto the stage. The magician asked for a volunteer from the audience. A young lady stood up (the only female in the whole crowd) and was invited on stage. The magician mimed claps, and the audience obliged. The woman was secured into place. He threw some eggs into the crowd and offered her as a target. Most missed, except the last that hit her square on the face. Laughter erupted. An assistant arrived with a melon. The magician picked up a sword, its blade flashed in the bright spotlight. He lifted it overhead and brought it down, slicing the melon in two with ease.
He approached the woman in the stocks and with one swift blow, her hands and head fell into the baskets below. The crowd roared with approval.
“Impressed yet?” Dan said to me and to be honest I was vexed.
No sudden flash of light to hide the switch of body parts with fakes, but no blood either.
“She was obviously a stooge, are there any other women in the crowd?”
More helpers joined on stage, mopping the floor as if to clean up blood that wasn’t there. A chuckle fluttered through the crowd.
The final illusion was the classic Chinese Water Torture Cell made famous by Harry Houdini.
A large tank of water sat centre stage. The magician took off his clothes to reveal a turn-of-the-nineteenth-century bathing-suit, a beige number that covered his body and upper legs. He placed on a nose clip and rubbed his hands in anticipation.
He ascended the ladder attached to the tank and jumped in. Water splashed over the sides and an iron lid was slammed into place. Padlocks were locked around the top and a curtain drawn in front. A man started a stopwatch and gazed at it in earnest.
Time passed. I checked my watch, he had been in there for ninety seconds. The curtain was removed, to reveal his hand poking out the top trying to pick the locks on the outside, then the curtain was replaced.
Another minute passed and banging could be heard from within. The man with the stopwatch brought his hand across his throat, signalling to end the performance.
Someone ran on stage with an axe and the curtain was pulled away. The locks were still in place, but the tank was empty. The audience gasped.
“Hallo,” rang out around the auditorium.
I turned to see The Russian in the stalls above, dripping with water.
Wild cheers erupted and everyone clapped.
“How did he do that then, Mr Smart Guy?” Dan asked, clearly pleased with himself.
“I have no idea,” I said, clapping without even thinking about it.
The house lights went up.
“There will be a ten minute intermission before the second part of the show, will guests with tickets…” the announcer said, listing off numbers, “… please make their way to the door at the side of the stage.”
“That’s me?” I said to Dan confused.
“Me too, are you excited?”
“I don’t understand?”
He grinned and grabbed my hand.
He led me along the row.
“What’s going on?”
“Didn’t you wonder why it was so expensive? We’re part of the show!”
A silent dread filled me.
“I don’t want to do it.”
“Come on! You’re a magician, don’t you want to know how it’s done?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to be on stage.”
“You’ve done that before, though.”
“Of course, but mostly in front of children. At most fifty people. Not in a theatre with over four hundred containing some of the most respected magicians in the world.”
“Too bad, you’re going,” he said, tightening his grip.
We waited at the back of the line of eight people. A man checked tickets and one by one they were led backstage.
Dan passed his ticket over, letting go of his grasp. I thought about leaving, but before I could, the man asked for mine and like a robot I handed it over.
It was quiet backstage.
“Oh shit, is that
“Hey,” he said excitedly, “I’m…”
“I know who you are,” I said shocked that
“Are you boys excited?”
“Very,” Dan said, “Baz here’s a little nervous.”
“Don’t be nervous,”
“I have no idea what’s going on,” I blurted out.
“Don’t listen to him,” Dan said, “he’s just scared.”
“And you should be, it’s not very often that you’re in the presence of a real magician.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, someone who performs real magic.”
I scoffed, “There’s no such thing as real magic.”
“Is this guy for real?”
Dan shrugged his shoulders.