pulls back for the final strike and the drum begins to roll, you never stop to wonder why Mr Brookes feels he has to threaten her with his cane three times, only to wonder what kind of state she’ll be in when you see her next – while down inside the cabinet what is actually happening is that Reggie is swearing like a trooper and praying that Sandra doesn’t mess anything up in her change in the wings, cursing the high heels digging into his chest and groping for the lever and switch that operate the spring release and the smoke.
When the cabinet has fallen open, and there is that odd moment of silence in which Mr Brookes casually looks upstage at the clearing smoke, Reggie always hold his breath. A force , they call this bit – the trick of making you ignore all other explanations except the one the man in charge wants you to think about. Of course, if anyone in the audience genuinely believed that they’d actually just watched a woman get roped, stuffed into a box and made to vanish, they’d scream. But instead, Reg knows, they are watching the smoke wreathe its way into nothingness over Mr Brookes’s head, concentrating on him and his magical powers, missing entirely the fact that Sandra is busy transforming herself herself , and somewhere else entirely.
Why do people never spot how the world actually works? Reg sometimes wonders, as he lies there in the dark, trying not to cough with the smoke. Perhaps they’re paying us to – but he never gets to the end of that thought, because there’s always a sharp rapping knock over his head from Mr Brookes, letting him know that the tabs are down and it’s time to uncurl and clamber free.
The rest is just nuts and bolts. The finesse with the reappearing ropes – the finesse is the final grace note of an act, the twist that makes you smile – is in fact achieved with the crudest trickery of the whole routine; a second handkerchief with two fresh ropes inside it is already set in Mr Brookes’s right-hand trouser pocket from the moment he walks on. The magical plume of smoke from inside the locked cabinet is produced by two teaspoons of flash powder mixed with a quarter-teaspoon of powdered magnesium; the flick of Reggie’s switch connects an inch of fuse wire in the powder tray to a six-volt lantern battery, and the heat of the wire does the rest. The mirrors inside the cabinet are actually polished zinc; the silver satin drape which shrouds the apparatus is salvaged parachute silk, but with its hems weighted with lead fishing weights so that it will fly like the real thing. Sandra’s ball gown isn’t from Bond Street at all, but from a retired wardrobe mistress in Forest Hill. Her white ‘fox’ fur stole is a length of remodelled angora rabbit. The champagne she’s pouring is French’s Ginger Ale, and the gold-foiled Moët & Chandon bottle she’s pouring it from so elegantly gets washed out and reused every night. Her freshly brushed-out blonde curls are a wig, as you know, and her radiant smile at the curtain call –
Sandra’s smile has been getting a bit harder to keep in place recently, and this afternoon’s rehearsal hasn’t exactly helped. Although she does still fancy Teddy – and God know he’s better on the job than some she’s chosen in her time – after six weeks, she knows a little too much about what those hands can do to her ever to be fully at ease in their company. Grin and bear it may be the routine onstage, but that does have its limits. She’s really not sure – well, let’s just say she’s really not sure how much longer she can put up with transforming herself whenever he clicks his fingers.
Clearly, Reggie isn’t the only thing that’s invisible in this act.
‘I think we can leave that there for now,’ said Mr Brookes, coiling his rope for the very last time and finally declaring the rehearsal over. He stowed the rope carefully back in his pocket, and started wiping his hands on a clean white handkerchief. ‘If I
When the cabinet has fallen open, and there is that odd moment of silence in which Mr Brookes casually looks upstage at the clearing smoke, Reggie always hold his breath. A force , they call this bit – the trick of making you ignore all other explanations except the one the man in charge wants you to think about. Of course, if anyone in the audience genuinely believed that they’d actually just watched a woman get roped, stuffed into a box and made to vanish, they’d scream. But instead, Reg knows, they are watching the smoke wreathe its way into nothingness over Mr Brookes’s head, concentrating on him and his magical powers, missing entirely the fact that Sandra is busy transforming herself herself , and somewhere else entirely.
Why do people never spot how the world actually works? Reg sometimes wonders, as he lies there in the dark, trying not to cough with the smoke. Perhaps they’re paying us to – but he never gets to the end of that thought, because there’s always a sharp rapping knock over his head from Mr Brookes, letting him know that the tabs are down and it’s time to uncurl and clamber free.
The rest is just nuts and bolts. The finesse with the reappearing ropes – the finesse is the final grace note of an act, the twist that makes you smile – is in fact achieved with the crudest trickery of the whole routine; a second handkerchief with two fresh ropes inside it is already set in Mr Brookes’s right-hand trouser pocket from the moment he walks on. The magical plume of smoke from inside the locked cabinet is produced by two teaspoons of flash powder mixed with a quarter-teaspoon of powdered magnesium; the flick of Reggie’s switch connects an inch of fuse wire in the powder tray to a six-volt lantern battery, and the heat of the wire does the rest. The mirrors inside the cabinet are actually polished zinc; the silver satin drape which shrouds the apparatus is salvaged parachute silk, but with its hems weighted with lead fishing weights so that it will fly like the real thing. Sandra’s ball gown isn’t from Bond Street at all, but from a retired wardrobe mistress in Forest Hill. Her white ‘fox’ fur stole is a length of remodelled angora rabbit. The champagne she’s pouring is French’s Ginger Ale, and the gold-foiled Moët & Chandon bottle she’s pouring it from so elegantly gets washed out and reused every night. Her freshly brushed-out blonde curls are a wig, as you know, and her radiant smile at the curtain call –
Sandra’s smile has been getting a bit harder to keep in place recently, and this afternoon’s rehearsal hasn’t exactly helped. Although she does still fancy Teddy – and God know he’s better on the job than some she’s chosen in her time – after six weeks, she knows a little too much about what those hands can do to her ever to be fully at ease in their company. Grin and bear it may be the routine onstage, but that does have its limits. She’s really not sure – well, let’s just say she’s really not sure how much longer she can put up with transforming herself whenever he clicks his fingers.
Clearly, Reggie isn’t the only thing that’s invisible in this act.
‘I think we can leave that there for now,’ said Mr Brookes, coiling his rope for the very last time and finally declaring the rehearsal over. He stowed the rope carefully back in his pocket, and started wiping his hands on a clean white handkerchief. ‘If I
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