Magicians dazzle skeptics with array of tricks at Fringe Festival
It has oft been suggested that the Fringe beer tent is a magical place — invariably during the wee hours of the night when the amber suds flow freely among the parched thesps gathered after their performances. But this is the middle of the afternoon with no brews in sight at the tent, yet there is much magic — and mentalism — at play.
Travis Bernhardt and Christian Cagigal, each with their own Fringe spectacles, are in the midst of bedazzling some skeptics with an array of edgy sorcery — that doesn’t entail getting beer out of the tent bar.
San Franciscan Cagigal is not just a magician but a raconteur — and a ham, too. His Fringe show is aptly titled Obscura, “bizarre magic,” wherein he does sleight-of-hand and tells stories from the dark side. “And I’m your narrator, the cute Mister Rogers in the black sweater.”
Bernhardt, a Vancouverite, has brought to the Fringe his Unpossible! show, wherein he does everything from turning cigarette butts into bucks and divining the names of the first people whom patrons have kissed — who are not their parents.
In addition to the Bernhardt and Cagigal revues, this year’s Fringe also features two other magic shows: Vincent Pimparé’s bilingual Going Mental! and Keith Brown’s Exchange.
“All of a sudden, magic is making a comeback at the festival,” says Fringe boss and artistic director Amy Blackmore. “We’ve always been open to magic, but this is the most we’ve seen.”
Cagigal claims magicians are much maligned — almost as much as mimes and clowns: “Lots of people hate magicians. It’s always an uphill climb. The image is often of insecure nerds, part of a club of insecure nerds. So it makes our job harder.”
Bernhardt doesn’t disagree: “A lot of people get into magic because it’s a good way to get into performance if you haven’t been to theatre school. Magic is powerful, so some can get on stage and not be very good and do a trick, and the audience will laugh and they’ll think they’re doing well. What they don’t understand is that the audience doesn’t like them, but rather they like the trick.
“So magicians hover somewhere
between crippling insecurity and absolute narcissism, and in the overlap, that’s where we live.” Esteem issues at play here? “Of course,” Cagigal says. “Why else would we pretend to have magical powers? As the great magician Max Maven once said: ‘To become a great magician, you have to overcome the reason you became a magician in the first place.’ And if you can’t get over that, you’re going to have a really miserable time.”
Sad. Let’s give these magicians a little love. It’s not like they’re just pulling bunnies out of a top hat, after all.
“Gosh, no, I’m not pulling rabbits out of a hat,” stammers Bernhardt, before cracking: “But that’s largely because of consent issues. I can’t ask a rabbit and they can’t sign releases, either. Otherwise I’d have no problem.”
“My issue with the rabbits is cleaning up their poop,” Cagigal opines. “That tends to mess up my act.”
“But sometimes I can make Jesus appear on stage — that’s up there with the bunnies,” Bernhardt says.
In lieu of making the latter appear, Bernhardt, clearly
unafraid to get his hands dirty, scours the beer-tent floor for a cigarette butt. After locating one, he slips it into his hand, then holds his hand tightly before opening it. And, poof, out comes a shiny new nickel.
“And that’s how we get rich in this business,” Bernhardt says. “A slow process, I grant you, but it all adds up.”
Not to be outdone, Cagigal produces a pair of giant playing cards, then recounts a short story about religion and medieval torture while manipulating the cards.
“The Queen of Spades shall represent the confused and befuddled member of the community, falsely accused of heresy,” says Cagigal, using his most distinctive Masterpiece Theatre voice. Then he somehow manages to contort the cards, so that half of the front end of the Queen of Spades is facing one way while the back is facing the other way, while all meshed into one card. All of which apparently relates to the torture being inflicted on the falsely accused Queen.
“Ah, the Queen is now beside herself, twisted but suffering in silence,” Cagigal adds. “What would you expect? She’s such a card.”
Pretty impressive magic, and with dramatic and comedic flourish to boot.
Bernhardt, ever the innovator, then picks up a twig from the ground, breaks it in half, then puts it back together — and with no Krazy Glue in sight. Pretty impressive as well. Back to Cagigal. He yanks a mini-wishing doll — which looks more like a mini-Voodoo Doll — from his bag of tricks, places it in the palm of his hand, and asks me to make a wish. Then he instructs me to pick up Bernhardt’s surgically mended twig.
“Now take a deep breath and slowly lower the stick to the doll,” Cagigal commands.
Lo and behold, the mini-wishing doll in his hand begins to levitate upward — and with no sign of batteries propelling it, either. “Now you’ll have to hold on to this stick forever and, who knows, your wish may come true.”
“That’s amazing,” Bernhardt says. “And I just love pulling the strings on that for (Cagigal).”
“Yeah, us magicians are always trying to help each other out,” Cagigal counters. “Really.”
Blackmore has a confession: “I have to admit I was really
skeptical about magicians before. Now I want to grow up and become a magician’s assistant.”
“You won’t regret that career choice, either,” Bernhardt tells Blackmore. “For you, too, will walk on water just like us.”