Magic Castle

The members-only magic venue has appealed to me for years – and I finally got the chance to go this past Friday. Turns out a friend of mine knows a juggler who was performing there. Said juggler invited my friend and my friend invited me – so I was on the list. It was like getting into the Viper Room, but way better.

After stressing about wardrobe and deciding that it wasn’t the right season for velvet or seersucker and that tweed isn’t appropriate for evening, we dressed in our black-tie vintage finest and drove to the mansion on the hill. I never valet, but I made an exception this time.

Sorry there are no photos – but it’s because they’re not allowed. It was one of the first things the hostess told us. After a short orientation, we entered the club by saying “open sesame” to a plastic owl perched within a bookshelf.

Inside was dimly lit, with vintage geometric print carpets and posters and photos of magicians from various eras on every inch of wall. Drinks in hand, we headed into the first show in the Close-up Gallery. There, a young magician named Kevin Viner popped a balloon to reveal a bottle of wine and remedied an audience member’s Federal offense by mending a torn dollar. He had a busty audience member named Suzette inspect some quarters before he made them magically change places.

Next we were off to the W.C. Fields Bar, which we found with the help of a castle knight named Miss Mindy. She walked with a cane, courtesy of a drunk driver she told us, and its wooden handle had googly, glowing beads for eyes. We took a seat in the back to watch a sardonic witted magician named Erik Tait who had a way with cards and cups. But the woman sitting next to me wasn’t having it. She didn’t believe it was magic, which made me wonder why she’d come to this place at all.

We went to the last main show of the evening at 11. There, Matt Marcy had audience members picking socks out of a bin that miraculously matched the ones on his feet and let us listen in on a call to a magic trick tech support line. Next, Scot Nery cooked a pancake while juggling knives and contorting with a backpack. He also found that woman from the bar, the one who didn’t believe in magic, in the audience and put duct tape over her mouth. Then a French guy named Julien Dauphin turned bubbles to glass baubles and his assistant’s dress from black to white.

Waiting in line for the valet, I felt happy with amazement. I recalled how I’d tried this stuff at home as a kid. I’d covered an unsharpened pencil with black electrical tape and painted the ends with Papermate -- but for some reason, it never quite worked right. However, this place had real magic and I wanted a piece of it. And for $1 at the gift shop, I figured it was worth a try.