Sean M. Gallagher

Magic Bullet

Last Friday night, my wife, my boys and I went to see Penn & Teller do the latest version of their travelling magic/juggling/flim-flam show at Baltimore's Lyric Opera House. This is the second time we've gone to see them as a family; the last time was on New Year's Eve a year ago at the Warner Theater in DC. On that occasion, my oldest son Kevin got called up onstage as the volunteer/victim for the Saint Teller's Polyester Healing Miracle routine (which involved the apparent cutting and miraculous repair of a long sheet of white polyester–which we have, autographed and stashed for future presentation in a shadow box or something).

This time, I was pulled from the audience as an alleged reliable witness, for the show's finale–the Magic Bullet trick–based on my prior experience with firearms. This is the routine Penn and Teller have done on television a few times, and end nearly every performance with, but it never seems to get old because of the pure theatrical value of it. A pair of audience members–usually current or former members of the law enforcement or military community–are asked to vouch for the authenticity of the Smith & Wesson .357 revolvers and corresponding ammunition that they bring on stage, and to mark the tips and casings of the bullets so that they can be recognized after the trick. Then, the expert witnesses (that would be, in this case, yours truly and a retired Baltimore police officer) are sent to the wings while Penn and Teller train their laser sites on each other's mouths and apparently shoot at each other, breaking panes of glass that stand between them.

No one ever crosses the large yellow line made across the stage. The bullets have rifling on them, and the cartridges smell of burnt powder, but the marks are there. I have the evidence in my possession. It's a fabrication that's perfect in every detail, and everyone leaves the show asking me how they did it. “I have no idea,” I say.

Actually, that's not quite true. I think have an idea of how they do it, but I'm not talking. All I will say is there's a certain amount of misdirection going on, just like in every magic trick. But even if I did figure out all the details of the trick, I wouldn't share them, because I'm not going to screw with a scam of such beauty.

Part of the beauty of the trick is that it proves just how fallible we are as observers. They only pick people who are alleged experts as volunteers for the routine, and for good reason–the volunteers are the only ones who see the elements of the trick close up, and are the ones that essentially complete the illusion.

Another trick earlier in the show made everyone into the expert witness. Before the show began, two boxes sat on stage–one plexiglass, one solid wood— and Penn's recorded voice urged people to come up and check them out, as they would be used for the “challenge escape trick” in the middle of the act. Everyone went up and checked the boxes out, assuring themselves of how solid they were.

Then, the boxes sat in plain sight for over half the show, until Penn announced the trick. Teller was placed inside the plexiglass box, which was inside the wooden box; and then Penn sat on top of it and talked for about 5 minutes about how this would be an “honor system” escape. He said they wouldn't put a screen around the box, but that people were encouraged to close their eyes until the trick was over, “because all you'll see is a middle-aged guy crawling out of a box.”

Suffice it to say, there was a certain amount of truth to that. But the trick proved beyond a shadow of a doubt how unreliable a set of box-checkers we collectively were.

This is a lesson that's directly applicable to life. Most people perform illusions of some sort, either deliberately or unconsciously, on themselves and others. We fool others about who and what we are, changing ourselves to suit what their expectations might be (or what we perceive them to be) to make them like us more, to fear us, or to otherwise manipulate them to get what we want; we fool ourselves for similar reasons.

At least when Penn and Teller are propagating fraud, it's entertaining. Some people may be entertaining in their personal frauds as well, but more often, they're just sad.