Houselights flicker, then go off. A few coughs, bodies settle into seats. Silence. A spotlight hits center stage, the curtains open, and there he stands like Joel Grey in Cabaret, impeccably dressed and self-assured, knowing he has only until the curtains are fully open to catch our attention. He does.
An hour of hats and rabbits, mind reading, bodies suspended, cards, and we love it. Each act must be slightly more awesome, more startling, until the final blast when the curtains close and we exit convinced of magic.
I also cry while reading a book, am frightened by violent or dystopic movies, believe I have the right lottery numbers and that the Packers will win the Super Bowl.
Only humans display such willing suspensions of disbelief, a skill without which our days would be colorless, our conversations dull, our view of the world without interest to ourselves or anyone else, our faith based on what can be weighed or measured, our lives without love or sunsets, our lottery amounts close to zero. Lives without magic.
But… and there’s always a “but.” In small ways the magic of Santa Claus is replaced by the magic of family love… so, too, the Easter Bunny, ghosts and goblins, the tooth fairy, and all the small ways we add “play” to the serious business of running our lives. We all know these games will end and real life will take over until we enter another darkened auditorium.
But… again a But … the professional magician we experience rarely, the political doppelganger daily. They both draw our attention away from what they are really doing. The professional magician knows his trade but also knows people are entertained: the politicians knows this trade can be used to gain and maintain power. Not in 250 years have we seen this so clearly as when look at the current fascist who is neither a good politician nor a skilled magician.
The great magicians know subtle moves, striking repartee, gentle monologue, smiles and beguiling stances. There is nothing subtle, gentle, beguiling about the fascist. Embarrassing information about pedophilia? Distract… bomb a small boat in international waters. Information that the economy is weak? Distract… fire the people who count the numbers. Asked about the birthday card sent to Epstein? Distract… point to the “greatest ballroom ever built” and call the reporters lefties.
Distract… claims he is the best, the brightest, the most talented, most successful president who has settled seven (or is it ten?) wars yet cannot name one. There is nothing magical about this guy. More pitiful than effective, more gross than interesting, a failed man without the grace to see himself as others see him. The curtains will close on him.