Collector of Illusions
Once again the news has me finding relevance in the Don Waller archive. This time it's the sad report of the death of Ricky Jay, famous sleight-of-hand artist, and one of Don's faves. He wrote the October 25, 2007, cover story for L.A. CityBeat about Jay and an exhibition of his collection of vintage performance broadsides at the Hammer Museum. Don put himself in the story more than he often did in features; all for the better, methinks.
Anyway, on with the show ...
Collector of
Illusions
Ricky Jay is a
master of cards and a historian of chicanery. His exhibition of ancient
‘broadsides’ is a window into the deceptions of another time
By
Don Waller
“Paul Cinquevalli was unquestionably the most
famous juggler of his day. And on the first Royal Command Variety Show in 1912,
he appeared before King George and Queen Mary on a bill with the most famous
vaudeville artists in the world.
“This is an unusual broadside
because of the distinctive type being placed on the diagonal instead of a more
traditional format. It calls Paul Cinquevalli ‘The King of the Cannonball,’ and
he did a number of stunts in which he caught cannonballs with his neck and
balanced them in various poses.
“But perhaps he was more famous still for
being called ‘The Human Billiard Table.’ In a tight-fitting costume, he had a
number of pockets placed in specific pouches and he was able to roll balls
across his neck and shoulders making them land in the pockets of his choice.
“He was so famous at this time that
it was said that his name and fame as a juggler is a household word throughout
the universe …”
Permitting himself a crooked smile, the
barrel-chested, bearded gentleman standing on my right snaps his cell phone
shut and, speaking in the same parched, professorial tone heard on the taped audio
tour, says, “That’s pretty cool. That wasn’t working when I was here before.”
The two of us are standing in the
Hammer Museum in Westwood, looking at the initial trio of more than 100 items
that make up Extraordinary Exhibitions:
Broadsides from the Collection of Ricky Jay, which runs through November
25.
Jarred from his momentary reverie,
the gentleman extends a friendly paw. “Hi, I’m Ricky Jay.”
“Pleasure to meet you, sir,” I
respond with a reciprocal hand. “I know you don’t do a lot of interviews, so
thanks for taking the time to conduct a personal tour. It’s a great honor.”
His nose wrinkles slightly, eyes
narrowing. “Aw, c’mon, man. It’s just a gig.”
“No! Well, yeah … But it’s always
nice to combine business with pleasure.”
“Oh, well, I always try to do that
myself.” He brightens. “So where do you want to start?”
How ’bout with some background? Born
in Brooklyn in 1948, Ricky Jay is one of the world’s foremost sleight-of-hand
artists, a child prodigy of sorts, who made his television debut at age five.
He came to prominence in the ’70s, when he almost single-handedly revived the
practice of card “scaling” (throwing ordinary playing cards at speeds of up to
90 mph over great distances – such as over the roof of Hollywood magicians’
club the Magic Castle, or repeatedly firing them into the rind of a watermelon from
20 paces), which is when I first encountered him, performing the latter routine
on some forgotten late-night talk show.
He divulged the “secret” methods
behind this and other stunts in a “how-to” manual, entitled Cards As Weapons, first published by
Darien Books in 1977. Long out-of-print, the book continues to be in such
demand among aspiring prestidigitators that copies routinely sell on eBay for
upwards of $225, which begs the question, how does he feel about this
particular turn of events?
“I’m asked to reprint it fairly
often, and I’ve turned it down.” Jay shrugs. “To me, it’s the work from another
period. It’s the first book I wrote. It’s literally 30 years ago. I’m pleased
that there’s so much interest in it. I’m actually going to see someone about it
next week.”
Aside from his live performances –
notably the 1996 OBIE Award-winning one-man show, Ricky Jay & His 52 Assistants, directed by his longtime friend
and collaborator David Mamet – Jay has been a prolific writer, including
defining the terms of the conjurer’s art for The Cambridge Guide to the American Theatre and the Encyclopedia Britannica.
The Hammer show reflects three of
Jay’s more recent authorial efforts: Learned
Pigs and Fireproof Women (Villard Books, 1986), a compendium of eccentric
entertainers that stretches from stone eaters and armless dulcimer players to
sapient animal acts and master wind-breaker Le Pétomane; Jay’s Journal of Anomalies (Farrar Strauss Giroux, 2001), a similar
collection of essays on equally bizarre acts that was first published in 16
volumes of a fine-press journal between 1994 and 2000; and Extraordinary Exhibitions: The Wonderful Remains of an Enormous Head,
the Whimsiphusicon & Death to the Savage Unitarians (Quantuck Lane
Press, 2005). The last of which was published in conjunction with the initial
exhibition of Jay’s broadsides at the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts that same
year.
“I started gathering vintage
materials relating to not just magicians, but unusual entertainers of all
types, when I was touring around America and Europe more than 30 years ago,”
Jay explains. “Because when you’re on the road, working at night, there’s not a
lot to do during the day. So I spent my time going to bookstores, antiquarian
shops, printsellers, and libraries, researching these people and collecting
these artifacts.”
For several years, Jay served as
curator for the Mulholland Library of Conjuring and the Allied Arts, until the
owner’s reversal of business fortunes resulted in the library being sold at
auction for $2.2 million in 1990 to … David Copperfield, who deposited the contents
behind his collection of lingerie in a Las Vegas warehouse.
Partially as a reaction to this loss
– and presumably to feed his own collector’s habit – Jay now devotes a fair
amount of his time to acting in, or serving as a technical consultant for, a
variety of films and TV shows: Mamet’s House
of Games, State and Main, Heist, Things Change, Homicide,
and The Spanish Prisoner, Paul Thomas
Anderson’s Boogie Nights and Magnolia, Christopher Nolan’s The Prestige, the James Bond flick Tomorrow Never Dies, and the first
season of Deadwood, for openers. And
it’s these character roles that’ve made his rather saturnine visage most
recognizable to the general public.
Now, on with the show …
“One
of the best things about doing a museum show such as this is that we’re able to
expand on the book itself,” says Jay. “For example, let’s go over to the
section on Mathew Buchinger. Here we have the broadside from 1726 that’s
reproduced in the book, which calls him ‘the greatest living German’ and in the
form of a poem details his act, which included magic, swordplay, doing trick
shots in bowling, playing several musical instruments, and calligraphy. All the
more remarkable when you consider, as you can see by the woodcut illustration,
that he was born without legs or hands and was only 29 inches tall.
“And here we have a pair of his
actual drawings. In the self-portrait on the right you’ll find seven psalms and
the Lord’s Prayer inscribed within the curls of his hair, but you need a
magnifying glass to read them.
“I’m a great admirer of ‘the Little
Man of Nuremburg,’” Jay continues. “I know from another illustration that I
have in my collection that he did the cups-and-balls routine. Now, when you do
that, you generally use one hand for misdirection and the other to move the
cups. But because Buchinger needed both of his appendages to move the cups, you
have to wonder how he did it. So I studied it for three or four months, and I think I know. But we really can’t be
sure ’cause there’s no photographic evidence …”
Measuring 10x13 inches, the lavishly
illustrated Extraordinary Exhibitions
book is devoted exclusively to broadsides printed between 1618 and 1898, which
were created to promote specific performances – as opposed to posters, which
touted the entertainers themselves – and were intended to be as disposable as
the punk-rock flyers or Thai take-out menus of today. But there’s nothing like
seeing the actual artifacts. Not just in terms of scale, but in the quality of
the printing and their various states of preservation.
Plus, as Jay alluded earlier, the
Hammer exhibition spotlights literally twice as much material as the book,
adding everything from a children’s board game based upon a famous educated
horse, to magician Alex Herrmann’s personal stationery (complete with a logo
composed of cavorting red devils), to a doorway-sized lithograph heralding a
celebrated female ceiling-walker that sports colors so rich you could eat them
with a parfait spoon.
“It’s not just the art, it’s the
language,” Jay enthuses. “Because most of these broadsides are almost
exclusively text. I love the vocabulary they use. Like this warning not to
approach the elephant with ‘papers of consequence’ as he has been known to
destroy them. What are ‘papers of consequence’?
“And the hyperbole,” Jay continues.
“As has been said, when it comes to show business publicity, there’s neither
virtue nor advantage to be gained from being truthful.
“Here we have the name Miss Jenny
Lund – one of the most famous singers of her time – in huge type, but
underneath that in fine print we see ‘she will not appear but will be
represented by Miss Woolford.’” Jay smirks.
“And then there are all these
neologisms, such as ‘the Whimsiphusicon.’ What was that? Who knows? Probably
just something the performer made up to convince people they’d be seeing
something original.
“I suppose one of the benefits of
being a professional versus an academic is that I’m more likely to be able to
decipher from these fanciful descriptions just what that trick is and how
original it was. Who stole and who didn’t and why they were able to get away
with it. Of course, the skill is the selling. Like how people are invited to
bring their own stones to the stone-eater. Not much different than me allowing
people to bring their own deck of cards to my shows.”
So, metaphorically speaking, what’s
more important in magic, the singer or the song?
“It’s both,” Jay retorts.
“Absolutely. The material and the performance. I don’t think you get anybody
who’s great, who divorces one from the other.”
One
of Jay’s greatest strengths as an entertainer is how he brings the depth of his
historical knowledge to the stage. Witnessing his performance of Ricky Jay & His 52 Assistants at the
Geffen Playhouse last winter, I had no idea that the patter he used during his
rendition of the classic four-aces trick – he did it as four queens – was
quoted verbatim from The Expert at the
Card Table, written by a professional card cheat under the pseudonym S.W.
Erdnase in 1902 (and which has never gone out-of-print). To wit:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I shall endeavor to illustrate,
with the aid of this ordinary deck of cards, how futile are the efforts of
plebeians to break into that select circle of society known as the Beau-monde,
and especially how such entrée is prevented by the polite but frigid exclusiveness
of its gentler members …”
Now that I know this, I think it’s
even cooler that he did.
Along with all the magic and
mystery and the improbable entertainers, the Hammer exhibition showcases a
dazzling array of potential amusements under the rubrics of physical anomalies
(conjoined twins, for example), the animal kingdom (trained, caged or dead),
and museums and marvels (everything from a collection of criminals’ tools to
fine-clockwork automatons and chicken incubators).
A careful examination of these
broadsides provides a wealth of sociological insights. Some things never
change: seats closer to the stage command higher prices (those who wish to “sit
in the belly of a whale where 24 musicians performed a concert” pay double),
many acts flaunt their aristocratic admirers, and many more offer private
performances for a negotiated fee.
Several of these entertainers
became so well-known that they could be used as reference points for
then-contemporary satire. A 1787 exhibition of “The Monstrous Craws” (three
individuals afflicted with large goiters) inspired a political cartoon by James
Gillray that depicts the trio as King George III, Queen Charlotte, and the
Prince of Wales, filling their enlarged throats with the gold of the royal
treasury from a bowl marked “John Bull’s blood.”
These entertainments also were
fairly affordable. Many of the 18th-century broadsides include the price of
admission, often only one or two shillings. According to the contemporary
writings of Samuel Johnson, that same single shilling could be used to purchase
either a dinner of beefsteak, bread, and beer (plus tip) or a pound of soap. In
1760, a journeyman tailor would’ve earned two shillings, two pence per day and
two shillings would’ve been the weekly rent for a furnished room.
Considering the Hammer exhibition contains broadsides from
such far-flung locations as Persia (now Iran) and Mexico City, it speaks
volumes as to humans’ infinite capacity for wonder – and our desire to be
deceived.
Seeing how such deception lies at
the very heart of magic – and Jay’s personal interests extend into such related
areas as confidence games, frauds, swindles, and all manner of cheating
associated with games of chance – it’s worth noting that seven examples from
his voluminous collection of vintage dice are on permanent display at the
Museum of Jurassic Technology in Culver City.
On the audiotape that accompanies
this exhibit, Jay explains that dice, which have their origins in animal bones,
began to be manufactured from cellulose nitrate (the first commercially
successful synthetic plastic) in the late 1800s. While the substance remains
stable for decades, it will suddenly and dramatically begin to decompose, as
evidenced by the dice on display here and – thanks to Rosamond Purcell’s
sumptuous color photographs – in Jay’s book Dice:
Deception, Fate & Rotten Luck (Norton, 2003).
Perhaps far more noteworthy – especially for
those who don’t mind an occasional wager – is that for all Ricky Jay’s
formidable talents, he refuses to indulge in gambling.
“A lot of people assume that if you’re talented at
sleight-of-hand, you’d be a good gambler or a good cheat,” Jay explains. “And
that’s certainly not necessarily the case.”
‘Cause you might end up like Fast
Eddie Felson (Paul Newman’s character) in The
Hustler?
Jay laughs dryly. “That is the best
movie. I just love that. But the skill of playing well and the skill of
hustling are very, very different. I am really intrigued by methods used to
cheat. On Ricky Jay Plays Poker, I
demonstrate various methods of cheating at poker.”
This combination CD/DVD package,
issued by Octone/Legacy just last year, features 30 poker-related songs – all
selections from Jay’s collection – from artists that span the sonic spectrum:
Broadway, blues, country, jazz, soul, and techno.
He also wrote the liner notes and
provided the accompanying 68-page booklet’s eye-popping artwork, such as the
trio of images depicting groups of Chinese, then African-Americans, then dogs
passing cards under the table to confederates with their feet (or paws). The
custom deck of playing cards included shows a top-hatted Ricky Jay sitting at a
tableful of swells, duplicating this feat.
The 30-minute DVD showcases some of Jay’s most
devilish handiwork – including how to cheat an honest man – as well as his
genuine love of chicanery. It’s not enough to be able to deal yourself a
winning hand; you have to convince the other player(s) there’s almost no chance
of losing, too. And the sequence on proposition betting, involving an egg,
three cards, a rubber band, and a beer glass, is simply eye-popping, even in
slow-motion.
The promotional video for Bob
Dylan’s 2001 Love And Theft album,
with Jay playin’ the rockin’ role of a crooked card dealer, rounds out the
package.
In keeping with his cryptic nature
– Jay never entirely explains how any of his tricks, or those of any other
performer, are done – when asked if he’s currently carrying a deck of cards, he
replies, “There’s a chance.”
As for future plans, he mentions
“doing some research on knife throwing,” and acting in a pair of forthcoming
films (David Mamet’s Redbelt and The Great Buck Howard with John
Malkovich and Tom Hanks). In fact, he’s got to get to a post-production meeting
now.
OK, so what’s his favorite
magicians’ joke?
“I must say nobody’s ever asked me
that before. And I don’t … I don’t really have an answer. It’s weird. I can’t …
off the top of my head, think of one. I’m just glad you didn’t ask me, ‘Can you
make my wife disappear?’”
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