What It’s Like To Take A Magic Exam
The Magic Circle has been around since 1905, but even though they have a website and accept PayPal, getting in is still done the old fashioned way.
LONDON, England — Monday night I took my exam to join The Magic Circle, the second oldest and most exclusive extant magicians’ fraternity in the world. The Society of American Magicians was formed in 1903, The Magic Circle in 1905, and The Magic Castle in 1962.
I had a great time. It was a new experience for me. For those of you who aren’t magicians, this may take some explaining.
You see, there are many magic clubs and societies. To join most, all you need to be able to do is fork over some dues and fog a mirror. Oh! And recite an oath of course. Naturally.
A few, however, require an audition of sorts, or an “examination” as they call it at The Magic Circle. The Magic Circle starts with questions, an interview, and then, if they think you’re membership material, the exam. By “examination” they mean “performance”.
For most pros and foreigners who want to join it, The Magic Circle will accept examinations submitted via DVD, however because I wanted a story to tell my grandkids, and because I don’t live in 1998, I decided against the DVD.
At first, I thought this would be a pass/fail affair, and I prepared an easy routine I could get through with a minimum of fuss, so I would definitely nail everything and get in.
Then I was given the grading parameters. I would be separately graded on technique, originality, presentation, everything. It wasn’t pass fail anymore. Now I wanted a good grade. This wasn’t straightforward anymore.
Perfect.
I turned up on the day not 100% decided on what I would perform. Picking just ten minutes of your favorite material is like choosing which of your children to save from a fire.
An American taking a magic exam in London, I didn’t have all my props with me either. All I had was a deck of cards, some bits of paper, a pen, and some silverware I got from a restaurant supplier. I found out there would be five of us testing for either basic membership (as was the case with me) or a more advanced form of membership available only once someone is admitted, or something like that. Magicians tend to be genial chaps around each other and I found everyone very friendly, but I could feel the tension mounting.
You see, not only did I not have the slightest idea what I would perform, I knew I would be performing magic tricks for an audience who would definitely not be fooled by anything I did:
Magicians don’t watch magic like normal people. A normal person sees a magician shuffle a deck of cards, then produce the aces, and they’ll applaud at the production of the aces. The magicians will applaud at the shuffle and watch the aces emerge in stony silence.
When I watched the other magicians go on ahead of me, I did my level best to applaud at the normal places where ordinary people would, because I wanted the magicians to feel normal, for their timing to work, and to stop my hands from shaking.
At this point I should mention that I recently discovered that I have a pinched nerve in my arm, and my left pinky goes numb sometimes. This was one of those times. Terrific.
The audience grew and grew. By the time I got up there and started bantering with the MC (so the judges could write down the grades for the previous performer) I was really going into fight or flight mode. I knew I had cards, I knew I had forks, and I knew I had ten to fifteen minutes to fill.
The MC — a lovely fellow with enough personality to fill the stage on his own — introduced me to the audience of around fifty magicians, and I was off.
I had been specifically told not to reference in my act that I was performing for magicians or taking the exam, or anything of the sort. I was to treat this like a real performance for real people, so I decided I’d just been hired to perform at a barbecue and was arriving just a few minutes before the buffet would open. I referred to the audience as though they were a group of suburbanites, and the judges (whom I could not call upon to help with any effects) were children who I told I would entertain once the ice cream was served. Creating this reality was not only the basis for some of my jokes, but it would also force me never to refer to anyone as a magician.
To keep things lively, and to differentiate myself from the other magicians, I started with some jokes, ribbing my chosen audience participant for his skills, or lack thereof, with regards to observation and following directions.
I held up my left hand with two fingers extended in a V. “How many fingers do you see?” I asked.
“Two,” said my participant.
“Wrong. See, there are five,” I said, pointing out that in fact there were five fingers on my left hand.
The audience laughed at my hacky joke! I realized that if I could elicit the occasional laughter, it would throw them off a little, break up their magician mindsets, and give me a little room to breathe. Working in a room with dozens of people staring at your hands, knowing exactly what to look for, not being fooled by a damn thing you do, and still performing at your best… well, that’s a challenge.
I did a couple card tricks. They went over well. I had decided to do some technically difficult effects, ones I knew that if I could pull off, would get me points for originality and skill even though these were old chestnuts I happen to have my own twist on.
Then a friend of mine with his eye on the clock waved at me that I was running low on time. An idiot, I’d forgotten to check the time I started, so I couldn’t tell how much time I had left. I went for a shortened version of my silverware bending closer, one of the effects I’m most proud of.
Midway through, I realized I was running long. Shit! Shit! Shit! I was losing points for every moment I went over. I couldn’t just stop now, because I’d lose points on performance, so I powered through, wrapped up, and took a bow. Whew.
After the exam, I changed back into comfy shoes, and hung out with the members at the bar.
Three stiff drinks. I was sweating profusely. I took off my blazer. I chatted with one of the other testees. We talked shop, and I began to relax. I was introduced to various officers of the club, and shown some treasures in the club’s museum. I even went out with everyone to continue drinking after the club closed for the night.
Now I have to wait with bated breath as the judges tally up my scores. I find out how I did next month. I hope I get in. If I do, this becomes a story I can tell my grandkids.
If not, it’ll be the preamble. Nothing’s impossible, after all.
