The slow death of magic as we know it Or just another change in art?

The slow death of magic as we know it 

Or just another change in art?

On another board I belong to, there was a topic that bemoaned the fact that magic has changed. Believing that it has changed for the worse.  Many were aghast at the fact that mentalism is now mixed with magic.  Years ago, that was a no-no. You simply did not mix the two, as it made mentalism look like magic.  It took away from the mystery and "cheapened the grown-up art form of magic" called mentalism.  David Blaine and Criss Angel are often pointed to as the cause. Sometimes, others and I, as consultants, are also lumped in as culprits.  I have always liked to say that if we are entertaining, then we are doing our job. We are not here to change religion or personal beliefs but to get smiles and standing ovations and take people away from their lives, if only for a small bit of time. It is our job to entertain and if we have done so, we have done our job. But again, I digress as I usually do.

The argument on that board bemoaned that art needs rules. One poster said, and I quote; 

“Art cannot survive without limits. That sounds counter-intuitive, but it's true, for it is exactly those boundaries, i.e., standards, that heat the crucible of creativity.”

There is truth to the end of that statement indeed. The fact that those standards, those rules, "Heat the Crucible of creativity," but I disagree with the statement that art cannot survive without limits. 

We do need a rule base, but the base is really the small starting point in art.  A brush, some technique, and a canvas, and you are off to painting, maybe not a good one, but a painting nonetheless. A musical instrument and an understanding of how to play it, and you're off to being a musician and so on.

I believe that art progresses due to breaking the rules, therefore I disagree with the statement as a whole.

I believe that new art is found, created, and progresses by breaking boundaries.

If it were not the case, then we would not have Dali or Renoir. Each broke the rules of their time.

We would not have Dali or Frida Kahlo (who is all over Playa del Carmen, where I am currently writing this) if it were not for the surrealist movement, which is traced back to 1924 when the Manifestos Of Surrealism was written by André Breton, in which he explained the revolutionary ideas behind this artistic movement. He explained that this group of artists:

“We're seeking total freedom to depict the subconscious without being concerned with logic, rationalism, aesthetics, morality, or self-censorship.” 

Surrealism broke the rules of the time.  

And yes, I know Frida did not like to be called a surrealist and, in fact, said of the Paris surrealists, "This bunch of coo-coo lunatic sons of bitches" in a private letter. But much to her chagrin, there is no escaping that her art has a tinge of surrealism painted all over it.

By the way, one of the small tangents I am known for: Did you know Dali was fascinated with Hitler and even dreamed Hitler was a woman? Weird.  See that painting by Dali below.  Well, just look what's for dinner!

Both Matisse and Picasso broke rules with dual-perspective paintings. Many painters chose to break the rules of their times; rules of perspective, content, narration, and composition were all broken. Without these rebels, we would not have such wonderful eclectic art pieces today.  At the time, these detours from the norm were shocking to other artists and purists of the art, and were seen as blasphemy. 

If it were not for breaking rules, we would not have Ernest Hemingway, Beethoven, or Elvis (gasp).

Rules of what Christian music can and should be have changed a few times, and more recently, with TobyMac, who has attracted a whole generation to the church. Who would have thunk you would have hip hop in church?

If it was not for breaking rules, then the old style of writing about reality only (and yes, that was a rule), we would not have Science Fiction or Fantasy Fiction.  That’s right, Frankenstein and the Hobbit were rule-breakers at the time.

We would not have some of Charles Dickens's great writings like this run-on sentence of his:

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair...” from A Tale of Two Cities

Oh yeah, did I forget Shakespeare, who re-wrote how you write a sonnet and who created words out of thin air! Yes, Shakespeare was a major rule breaker

Even Sir Arthur Conan Doyle broke rules when he wrote in the passive voice, which he often did in his Sherlock Holmes series of books.

Probably some of your favorite movies would not have made it to the screen had the cinematography rules of the time been kept:

Script size: Social Network was 167 pages. The page average acceptable count is around 110 even now.  Keeping in mind that the rule is that one page of the script is equal to give or take one minute. But that is Allen Sorkin for you, breaking the rules.

Intent: Shrek: changed children's animated movie content. 

Who you keep alive: Psycho: Hitchcock killed off the main character, Vivian Leigh, in the first act.

Dialogue: Pulp Fiction: has pages and pages of dialogue, too much by the normal standards and rules of what is acceptable movie dialogue.

Race/violence: Night Of The Living Dead: put a black man in a lead role when it was seen, was a big no-no at the time, and if that was not enough ...oh my, the violence, the inhumanity. Variety is calling the movie “Pornography of violence.” 

Yes, rules are made to be broken, and now, due to these movies, we have so many other great movies. And should we forget 'Look Who's Coming to Dinner, which came out when interracial relationships were still illegal in 17 states?  Speaking of violence, Texas Chainsaw Massacre completely changed the way we look at horror movies, and speaking of banned it was banned in several countries from showing. Also, the film was advertised as based on a real story. It was based upon the real-life crimes of  Ed Gain; however, it was far from the real story. Director Tobe Hooper said that he felt it okay to lie to the people since the U.S. Government had lied about the Vietnam War. This movie opened roads for films to create social commentary. Something not done prior. Toby Hooper  also said; 

"The lack of sentimentality and the brutality of things" that Hooper noticed while watching the local news, whose graphic coverage was epitomized by "showing brains spilled all over the road", led to his belief that "man was the real monster here, just wearing a different face, so I put a literal mask on the monster in my film."

I believe that art rules can be broken, but only when done with a purpose. Was that a rule I just stated? On the other hand, haphazardness is not art, is it?.

I think art survives because there are no limits, only what came before to build upon, to re-mold and break free and become relevant. Change in any art is a huge, hard pill to swallow for those close to any art, but things do change, like it or not. Our grandparents hated the Beatles when they came out. Yes, I am quite aware some still do, but my point is they were not accepted by the older generation, who were used to certain types of music. Nothing has changed in that way; many hate the music of today. In the future, two or three generations from now, I guarantee that today's generations won't get the music or art presented to them, and many will be annoyed by it.

 The Dalai Lama has been credited with saying.

“Know the rules well, so you can break them effectively.” 

A line very close to it is credited to Pablo Picasso.

“Learn the rules like a pro, so you can break them like an artist.” 

And if that does not say artists can break rules, I am not sure what does. 

If it were not for breaking rules, mentalism probably would not be performed as Dunninger and Kreskin performed it. Or the way I perform it. In fact, with giving disclaimers, there were many who said, "There is no place for a fake mentalist."  When I pointed out to them that I had taken Entertainer of the College circuit two years in a row at APCA, the new mantra was, "Banachek is the exception."  If I could do it, others could and have done so since. 

The magician Doug Henning broke the traditional magician tux and tails rule when he showed up dressed like a hippy and performed what many called a spiritual type of magic. David Copperfield took it further with his GQ look, David Blaine broke rules in the way we see magic on TV, and Criss Angel broke all those rules with his goth look and the way large illusions were seen on the street for the first time. 

Now, don't get me wrong, I personally only perform pure mentalism. And I do not believe that my rule should hold for all.  But it is my choice for my character, and I create my own rules for my performance and character on stage.

I believe we are seeing a major change in the rules of magic today, and for many of us, it is sad. But on the whole, who knows, maybe wonderful things await us. 

When time stood still

When time stood still

The year was 1972. The place was Port Elizabeth, South Africa. The destination was the drive-in movie theater close to Marist Brothers, where I would go to school for a year (Marist Brothers that is, not the drive-in theater) and play Rugby and water polo.   Two sports I was not that great at. Soccer was to be my thing. By the way, the school is no longer there, but I digress. 

Marist brothers

My stepfather, Tom Martin, was driving (yes, that means my name was Steve Martin back before the name became famous with a comedian/actor who also does magic).  I was in the passenger seat. My younger brothers, David and Barry, were in the back seat.

Now Tom had a huge car, it was basically a tank, and I am going to guess that most Americans have not heard of the make, let alone the model, it was a gray Wolseley. Wolseley was a British Motor Vehicle company that was founded in 1901 by the Vickers armaments. The company was bought by William Morris and became part of that Empire. 

Now I am not really sure which Wolseley we owned, but I suspect that it was the Wolseley 6/110, also known as the Wolseley 300 in Denmark, as seen below:

What I do know is that my stepfather once wrecked it into a tree further down the same road as the one in this story, at the section where Main Street intersects the road in this story. He ran head-on into a stone wall, backed by dirt and a huge tree. The stone wall was destroyed even though it was backed by dirt, and the Wolesley had nary a scratch. At that time, there was a farmhouse in the background, and the wall was made out of large boulders. Now it appears to be a parking lot. The big trees are still there, as can be seen in the picture, plus a nice new yet lower lying brick wall.

The Wolesely was considered the finest "area car" ever employed by the London Metropolitan Police Force. This car had a top speed of 97.6 miles per hour and 0 to 60 in 14.4 seconds. I mention this speed and the fact it was fitted with drum breaks at the rear and vacuum servo assistance as a side note due to the fact I remember the first week we arrived in Port Elizabeth, after a long train ride from Johannesburg, my stepfather was refitting the Lockheed fitted drum bakes, when he was done he drove it head on towards me at a wall and hit the breaks. To show me "they worked."  Yes, I was between the wall and the car, and I was scared shitless. But I digress. Let's get back to: "This vehicle was a tank.” 

We made the right off Cape Road and headed down what is now known as the William Motley Expressway. Now the Motley Expressway is quite steep as you come down the hill from the Newton Park area. As you get further down, it evens out more somewhere between Lily Street and Main Street. And it is what happened there that I remember and will remember till the day I die.

I can still see it quite plainly. A black man was on the side of the road to the right ahead of us. He looked and started to step onto the road. My stepfather slowed down a bit, the man stepped back on the curb, we sped back up to our regular speed, then he just for no reason, jumped out into the middle of the road. It was at that moment that time stood still, or slowed to a very low speed for me. The man hit the front of the car. I could see him slide up the front of the car and fly slow motion up into the air. Our car spun for what seemed like many minutes, and we slid to a bumpy stop. I could see him land due to the fact that the car had swung 180 degrees around. My youngest brother Barry was in the back seat screaming, “Daddy hit a native, Daddy hit a native.” Keep in mind the context of apartheid at the time. Native was a very nice description of a black man compared to the horrible labels white Afrikana’s gave the black man then. Apartheid was horrific. And at some future time, I might write of my experiences of being an English boy in South Africa and not understanding why white Afrikana’s treated black people the way they did. But again, that is a story for another time. This story is about time, and to tell it, I need to finish the story.

Time stood still; even opening the door took time. Looking down, I thought I was covered in oil, but it was blood, looking dark under the amber street light. Slowly, I turned. The man was in the road, and his leg was hanging off. I remember some neighbors coming over, wrapping his leg in newspapers till the ambulance came. Slowly, things started to speed up with the passage of time as we know it. But time had surely almost stopped. Even now, I can see his shoe flying over the car as if it hung in the air, levitating in slow motion. Time had slowed to a halt during this, and time had crept up to its regular speed after we stopped. Now this was not the first time this had happened to me, but it is the one I remember because indeed it was the one time that time, as I knew it slowed down the most. And the one time a man may have died. The other times it slowed, but not so that I could see every single thing and detail, as if one minute was an hour.

To end this story, I should say that the man was taken to the hospital. A few weeks later, when the police came to the apartment in Kabega Park, we asked about him. It appeared that they had lost track of him. How does that happen? Well, during apartheid, it tragically happened all the time. Black lives simply did not matter to the white Africana.

This brings me to last week. Last week in Vegas, I was driving down a back street called Shelbourne. I stopped at a stop sign. There was a wall to my right, and the stop was way too far back from the end of the wall. I could only see a small part down the road. I proceeded to cross Placid Street, because I had been looking mostly to my right. I looked to my left, and when I looked back to my right, there was a blue Pathfinder just yards from me heading at my car full speed. 

Again, time slowed, not as much as that first time but enough for my brain to go into overdrive. I knew at that speed he was going to hit the front of my vehicle, and if he did, I would probably die. So instead of hitting the breaks I hit the gas. He slammed into the side panel between the front passenger and rear passenger doors. The strongest part of my car. Had I not reacted the way I did, I would probably not be typing this right now. The pictures do not do justice to the damage to my vehicle. That side was pushed in at least a foot. But here is the interesting thing (other than both of us walking away from the wreck that is), I remember each and every thought that came to me as if it was happening in very slow time, I remember each and every detail, seeing his horrified face as he knew the inevitable was about to happen, seeing his licence plate coming at me and thinking about all those things and seeing him come towards me at first fast then in slow motion, enough to react that fast and make changes that saved my life. In this case, once the collision took place, everything immediately went back to regular speed. 

Now I am not the only one who has had this experience; in fact, in 1892, in the Yearbook of the Alpine Club, geologist Albert Von St Gallen Heim wrote about this in reference to climbers. He stated that 95 percent of climbers who had an accidental fall reported experiences that included,

“A dominant mental quickness and sense of surety. Mental activity became enormous, rising to a 100-fold velocity or intensity. The relationships of events and their probable outcomes were overviewed with objective clarity. No confusion entered at all. Time became greatly expanded. The individual acted with lightning-quickness in accord with accurate judgment of his situation. (Noyes and Kletti, 1972, pp. 46–47)

Now, a hundredfold might seem to be a bit of exaggeration, but in my South African experience, it certainly did not seem to be out of the realm of possibility.

There seems to be the following phenomena in these moments of extreme immediate danger:

1. A slowing down and expanding of time

2. Acute focusing on a subject

3. An incredible reaction time from the data retrieved from that focus

4. Increased vision and hearing

5. Dominant mental quickness.

So what causes this, and is it a true phenomenon? Some recent studies have tried to recreate this phenomenon and have only succeeded to the point that the participants watching others fall at high rates of speed think their time falling was longer. As a result, these studies pointed to the passage of time not slowing down, but rather, there is a perceived overestimation of time. In one study done by Chess Stetson in 2007, he concluded, “we speculate that the involvement of the amygdala in emotional memory may lead to dilated duration judgments retrospectively, due to a richer, and perhaps secondary encoding of the memories. Upon later readout, such highly salient events may be erroneously interpreted to have spanned a greater period of time. (Stetson et al.)

Still, other studies ran numbers slightly faster than what was tracked by the human eye. In theory, the people should have been able to see the numbers if time slowed down. They did not. The experimenters again concluded that time did not stand still for them or slow down for them. 

I find issues with most of these studies. In each study, the people knew they were not in any real danger, such as during a free fall, and therefore, the flight or fight temporal distortion really would not have been stimulated. Maybe, just maybe, the human mind is smart enough to know when it should jump ship or not. The scientists should not be so quick to put this phenomenon down to “memory effects.”

So what would explain it? Well, Valtteri Arstila wrote in his paper the following from (Berridge and Waterhouse, 2003

“To begin with, the mechanism that could account for our experiences during the sudden life-threatening situations needs to fulfill at a minimum the following requirements: the mechanism needs to become active in such situations, it needs to activate fast, and it must have wide-ranging effects. The neuronal mechanism that fulfills these requirements is the locus coeruleus norepinephrine system, the main source of the neurotransmitter norepinephrine. The first thing to note about it is that it is (in addition to other things) part of a fight-or-flight response that humans and other primates have been postulated to exhibit. This response is triggered by a perception of a fearful and threatening situation, not threatening situations per se, and hence it is likely to play a role in the situations under discussion. Second, the phasic response (brief and high levels of discharge) of the locus coeruleus norepinephrine system to highly salient as well as task-relevant stimuli occurs with a short latency of 100–150 ms and actually precedes behavior (Aston-Jones et al., 1994, 1997). Thus, such activation is in accord with the fact that many accidents, like car accidents, last only a few seconds during which the effects could occur. Finally, given that noradrenergic neurons originating from locus coeruleus project exceptionally widely in the brain, the entire cerebral cortex, for instance, receives input from it, and that norepinephrine is one of the main neurotransmitters, it is unsurprising that the effects of released norepinephrine can be dramatic and wide-ranging. ”

All I know is that it is indeed a real phenomenon, perceived or not. I also realized that the older I get, the less time stands still. Now we do know the reason for this, or at least they say they do. It seems that as we get older, we lay down fewer memory tracks since we have "been there and done that" so many times, there is no reason for our brains and memory to lay down a new track. When one is laying down new tracks, time slows. Time often seems expanded when we focus on certain tasks. Look at a clock and watch the second hand; it will appear that time has slowed if you concentrate on each and every second movement compared to just sitting back and letting a minute tick by. 

A series of perceptions slows time down for us. Yes, this is perceived time, and that is what most of thetime we deal with in our lives, especially as we get older. But those special moments, those moments where time stands still, we react fast, we think fast, and we are superhuman.. Well, maybe it is just real magic and certainly the superpower I would want every day if I could have a superpower.. The power to make time stand still. Watch this video to see why :-)