by Steve Spill
And then, on cue, in the middle of the first line, she stopped reading, the lights went down, the cameras stopped rolling, and the kids and moms were excused. Total time lapse was about five minutes.
The remaining people and equipment were rearranged and the reporters each had a brief on-camera chat with Star. And that was it. The entire ordeal, from start to finish, was over and done in under an hour. Had I been needed, I’m told they would have gotten a shot or two of me doing some tricks for the kids.
This pretend benefit, or whatever it was supposed to be, was in reality just a publicity stunt that used the cause as a hook to put the eyes of the nation on Star. That evening on television, here’s how the entertainment programs covered the event:
Anchor boldly announces: “Star champions overcoming childhood illiteracy worldwide at a benefit in Santa Monica, California. For more on this story here’s our on-location field reporter . . .”
Upbeat music played as we saw exterior/interior shots of the cute kid’s bookstore and close-ups of intrigued children and moms. Reporter: “I’m at a glorious family-friendly benefit here in this cute kid’s bookstore where world famous model/television host Star is taking time out of her busy schedule to raise awareness for a cause that’s close to her heart . . .”
Footage of Star reading aloud, before they cut to the reporter, who was dripping with TV host affection: “It’s all about the kids, isn’t it Star?”
Star pursed her lips while looking deeply into the camera lens and answered: “That’s right. It’s all about kids overcoming illiteracy because learning to read is critical to a child’s success.”
Reporter: “I couldn’t agree more Star, and I must say that when I watched you reading to those kids you were absolutely glowing.”
Star: “That’s partly because of my new skin care line coming to abc or xyz boutiques this spring. And the fine folks at def stores would think it’s a crime if I didn’t let all my fans know that this polka dot outfit I’m wearing, along with all Star styles, fashions, accessories—including my new signature shoes and sunglasses—are available right now at def stores worldwide.”
Cut to anchor: “Thanks for that on-location report. Be sure to watch Star’s hit show on the xyz network every Tuesday at 9:00 p.m. We’ll be back after this . . .”
I guess the lesson to be learned here is that it feels good helping children. I wished Star well, not only on the overcoming illiteracy project, but also in the sufficient attainment of future publicity—at least as much publicity as is necessary to hire me to appear at another family-friendly benefit.
BRUSHES WITH GREATNESS
I love being in the orbit of great personalities, and through Magicopolis I’ve met Sylvester Stallone, John Malkovich, Danny DeVito, Billy Bob Thornton, and many others. Starting on our opening night in 1998, I kept a list of accomplished recognized people who visited. When the list reached the one hundred mark, I stopped keeping track. It’s a great perk meeting famous people you admire and I used to ask many of them to sign their name on a wall in the theater.
Next to Meg Ryan’s signature, Arsenio Hall signed and wrote “Ooohh.” Under David Bowie’s name, Albert Brooks quipped, “I’m with David.” Kevin Sorbo, who at the time was playing Hercules on TV, signed his name very tiny, while Arianna Huffington’s signature is just plain huge. “Boo” is what Stephen King wrote above his autograph.
After each performance, I always shake hands or chat with those who care to, and some snap their photo with me. Around 2008, after the show I was chatting with comedian Chris Rock and someone on our staff took a picture. The photo of Chris and me was hung on the wall, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Before Chris, for some reason it never occurred to me to have a camera handy so I could get photos with some of the luminaries that cross our path.
Now I proudly hang dozens of celebrity photos on our wall, and post many of them on our website. It is effective marketing, plain and simple. I believe when potential patrons see the photos it adds a “wow” factor that pushes some who might not otherwise buy a ticket, to do so. In a sense it’s like those photos are vouching for Magicopolis, like a multi-million-dollar ad campaign.
I think they think, “If Jack Black thinks Magicopolis is cool, then it is cool.” Or “That magician is standing beside John C. Reilly. Reilly is talented so that magician must be talented,” or “I like Neil Patrick Harris, so I like Magic.”
The photos seem to make people know me in a secondhand fashion. They sense Sting and I are good friends, and that in turn makes me a friend of theirs. They’ve been listening to his music for years, they stress how much he means to them, and some even ask me to give Sting their regards.
The art and craft of magic does have its share of showbiz types who are big fans, and some, like Neil Patrick Harris, Steve Martin, Woody Allen, Arsenio Hall, and Jason Alexander, are actually skilled magicians themselves.
Most of my celebrity encounters are a mere exchange of the cliché phrase “love your work,” a quick hello, perhaps a famous smile and a handshake, or all of the above.
Though I’ve entertained celebrities from Jamie Lee Curtis to Meg Ryan, one of my most memorable stories is with Stephen King. To coincide with the release of his novel Bag of Bones, the monarch horror writer headlined a private event at Magicopolis for a select audience of book reviewers and retailers. He read aloud a story especially penned for the occasion, answered questions, and gave everyone a signed book. What’s not to like?
This was a goodwill-type gathering sponsored by King’s publisher and retailer Borders Books. King and his entourage of three were gathered in my dressing room. I was slightly acquainted with the Borders dude—he was a friend of a friend, and the guy who hooked up this deal—and the other two were publisher’s reps.
Introductions were made. In the background we heard the audience filing into the theater along with some audience-filing-into-the-theater-type music. As the five of us chatted, King lit a cigarette.
Indoor smoking has never been allowed at Magicopolis, but since this was STEPHEN KING, the guy who sold hundreds of millions of books, many of which had been made into blockbuster movies, perhaps the most successful author ever, out of respect and admiration, I didn’t say anything and neither did anyone else.
But I felt certain we were all thinking about it when the Borders guy asked playfully, “Hey Spill, why don’t you show us some magic?” I replied, “Of course, happy to honor your request.” Before responding I was already thinking about doing the vanishing cigarette trick.
Had I done that trick, I would have borrowed one of the men’s jackets. They were all wearing coats and ties, except for King who was in a tee shirt and jeans. The lit cigarette would have been ground into the fabric of the coat. Smoke would have curled upward and I’d have said, “Don’t worry—it’s a smoking jacket, it could become a blazer.” There would have been laughs, the cigarette would have vanished, the coat would have been returned unharmed, and everyone would have been amazed.
Could have, would have, didn’t. Instead, at the exact moment I had finished the sentence, “Of course, happy to honor your request,” there was a power outage—pitch-black darkness, music gone, and we heard an echoing collective sigh from the theater crowd.
Ten seconds later the power burst back on. Bright lights, background music, in the distance a cheer of relief from the audience. I instantly barked “ta da” at the same moment King screamed “wow,” and the entourage of three gave me a brisk sitting ovation. I smiled. Six seconds passed. King finished his cigarette and lit another.
Another one of my most memorable celeb interactions via Magicopolis was with the one and only Rob Reiner. The first Reiner I met at Magicopolis was Carl. I’m a big Dick Van Dyke Show fan, and Carl shared some hilarious anecdotes about being the Emmy Award-winning creator of that series. Carl’s son Rob is the first Reiner I saw in person, way back when I was part of a studio audience that witnessed the taping of an early All in the Family episode. That was Rob Reine
r the Emmy Award–winning actor. Both Reiners are friendly, funny, and enormously talented writer/director/actors.
The subject at hand is when Rob Reiner—the genius of an auteur behind some of the world’s best-loved films like Stand by Me, When Harry Met Sally, A Few Good Men, The Princess Bride, Misery, and This Is Spinal Tap—brought his wife and kids to our show at Magicopolis.
One of the tricks I love to perform starts when I ask people that are wearing a ring on one of their fingers to raise their hands. I borrow a few of the most unique or unusual-looking rings available, and magically cause the rings to link together, then unlink, and return them unharmed to their owners.
The plot is the same as the classic Chinese Linking Rings. In the traditional trick, solid metal rings appear to link and unlink, pass through each other, and form a chain. The big difference between the classic and what I do is that the version I perform uses borrowed rings.
Some watching think the trick with borrowed rings might be done with magnets or thread, or that the people who loaned the rings are secret assistants. To assure the audience none of those things are true, it is essential to have each of the owners identify themselves and their rings and verify their rings are indeed linked to the others. Those ring owners’ eyewitness testimonials are what convince the audience the illusion is real.
To get them to really emote I say things like, “Tell me Susan, do you see your ring there? And is it in fact linked onto the other rings? What do you think about that?”
At times spectators drop their jaws in awe and are speechless; it is great when the surprise delivers a big emotional impact like that, but it is not as dramatically satisfying to the audience as hearing them say out loud what they really think and feel.
Honest and credible remarks from independent audience members are what transform this trick into a miracle. As an intuitive director and performer, Rob perceived this instantly and when participating he improvised a lengthy dramatic testimonial. In fact, Rob gave an over-the-top virtuoso performance like none I’ve witnessed doing this trick either before or since.
Steve: “Rob, is that your ring linked on the chain?”
Rob: “Oh my God, yes! That definitely is my ring linked on the chain! That is fantastic! Steve! You have touched me in a very intimate way! That ring is a family heirloom, an antique, passed down to me through generations of Reiners! And now it’s really linked! That’s so unbelievable! I am getting goose bumps and breaking into a cold sweat! I’m so mind-boggled that I just peed my pants!”
It was uproariously hilarious. I laughed loud and hard. The audience went wild. Thank you, Rob.
And then there was Mort Sahl, the political comedian extraordinaire. He first impressed me over four decades ago, cracking jokes about current events on Hugh Hefner’s TV show, Playboy After Dark. Mort was the first to record a comedy album, first comedian on the cover of Time Magazine, and today’s wittiest and most irreverent politicos have followed in his footsteps.
Leading up to the 2004 presidential election Magicopolis hosted Entertaining Politics, a series of six Tuesday night political satire and commentary sessions. Nearly eighty years old at the time, Sahl kicked off the series on October 12, and his one-man concert of humor was arguably the best of the bunch. But it almost didn’t happen.
Mort very politely introduced me to his wife and was escorted to his dressing room. I was visiting with guests in the bar when Mort’s assistant sprinted in to ask where he could get a copy of The New York Times. I directed him to the Promenade Newsstand around the corner. It was late in the day and the newsstand was sold out, so the assistant returned with a copy of the Los Angeles Times instead. No good.
As with most people who are brilliant, funny, and demanding, Mr. Mort Sahl was in his own world, operating from his own agenda. Mort’s trademark had always been to appear on stage with that day’s edition of The New York Times. Not the Washington Post, USA Today, or the Los Angeles Times. More than a prop, The New York Times was a ritual, a superstition, a good luck charm, a reassuring habit, and Mort wouldn’t do the show without it.
It occurred to me that around the other corner and down the block, in the lobby of Lowes Hotel, there were always complimentary copies of all the national papers. My wife and I were/are members of the gym there, and Bozena was on the Stairmaster at that very moment. I gave her a call, but same as the newsstand, it was late in the day, and there was no New York Times.
But Bozena still came through. Residing outside the women’s sauna was a lone front page of The New York Times. The clever assistant neatly folded that single page over the aforementioned copy of the Los Angeles Times, creating the impression of a complete New York edition. Mort appeared onstage with what he thought was a complete copy of The New York Times dated October 12, 2004.
The newspaper was rolled up and held in Mr. Sahl’s fist. We in the audience couldn’t tell if it was The New York Times or The National Enquirer. My guests and I kept waiting for him to open the paper, or at least refer to it. He never did. A few minutes into the show, Mort tossed the newspaper aside, and that was that.
Josh Brolin, the rugged, naturally charming Oscar nominee and son of actor James Brolin popped in one afternoon. We had just finished doing the show for a bunch of kids on a school field trip when Bozena greeted him and his girlfriend. She gave a personal Magicopolis tour and quickly arranged for me to entertain them with a little on-the-spot, close-up sleight of hand performance. Turns out, Brolin is a big fan of magic who hung onto my every word and stared at my hands incessantly. He was the fan and I was the star as he asked question after question. “How did you get started?” “How long did it take to learn that trick you just did?” “Do you believe in real magic?” Sometimes movie people look up to purveyors of live performance skills. At the time I had just embarked on my journey as a writer and told him he could find in depth answers to all his questions right here in this book.
First, let me state unequivocally, that like most others on planet earth, I accord Bob Dylan the status of best songwriter ever, bar none, triple exclamation point!!! So when Dylan walked into Magicopolis, to me it was a very big deal.
But let me start at the beginning. Bob’s offspring, Jakob Dylan, an accomplished singer-songwriter in his own right, brought one of his sons to our show. The boy was apparently bitten by the magic bug and needed a fix. Not long after, Grandpa Bob made two visits to our magic shop with this particular grandson in tow, shopping for magic tricks.
To Bob’s credit, on each visit he was very careful not to spoil the child. Methinks he might have gone a tad overboard. Whenever Little Houdini—I don’t know the kid’s name so I’ve nicknamed him Little Houdini, LH for short—points out a trick he wants Grandpa to buy, it goes something like this . . .
LH: “I want the Color-Changing Hanky.”
Dylan: “How much is it?”
Me: “Seven dollars.”
Dylan: “Jeez LH, that’s very expensive. Are you gonna really practice with it? Are the scarves gonna be an asset to your being? Are these made from real silk? What method was used to stitch the hems?”
It was a tradition for TV host, producer, and cultural icon Dick Clark to bring his kids’ families from England and Arizona when they got together over the holidays every year at his place in nearby Malibu. He always acted like he was proud of me, beaming, glowing, when he’d attend the Magicopolis show. He’d look me in the eye and say nice things. Dick liked magic and magicians and always bought his grandkids tricks as gifts. Before he got sick he did a little magic himself with his Svengali Deck and Scotch & Soda coin trick.
Along with his two daughters and wife, Adam Sandler also attended our show. We hung during the intermission, and I appreciated him taking the time to visit. If I didn’t know better, by the way he seemed impressed with my tricks, I would have assumed he’d never witnessed a magic show before.
By the time the performance resumed, a gaggle of paparazzi had assembled in front of Magicopolis. Not sure how these ins
tantaneous papa-ratso things happen, but it does with very hot stars. They’ll stay outside, but they’re not shy about pressing their cameras right up against our lobby windows. One of the worst in memory was when at the peak of her Alias TV show fame, Jennifer Garner visited. Situations like that, and the Sandler one, necessitate undercover surreptitious back door exits.
When the show ended, simultaneous to the Sandlers’ secret back alley departure, another photo opportunity arose out front. As the crowd was filing out, a very excited Adam fan ran from the theater and screamed out loud for everyone to hear, “I got it, I got it! I got Adam Sandler’s Tootsie Pop! Adam ate this!” What she held tightly in her hand, high above her head, and waved profusely, belonged in the garbage. It was a tiny dab of chocolate on the end of a little white stick. Who knows, maybe she made a bundle selling that sucker as an authentic memento on eBay?
Everyone knows Sara Gilbert as a star of the Roseanne TV series and as host/creator of The Talk. Sara’s older sister, Melissa Gilbert, is also known from the Little House on the Prairie series and as an actor and director of TV movies. At a Magicopolis party/magic show thrown by Holly Robinson Peete, star of 21 Jump Street and Hangin’ with Mr. Cooper, and her husband, NFL quarterback Rodney Peete, host on The Best Damn Sports Show series, back in 2010, among the famous faces was a Gilbert. The Gilbert who I instantly recognized as Melissa Gilbert was, in fact, Sara Gilbert. Without knowing it, I’d confused Melissa and Sara Gilbert. After the fact, I was told, none of the guests was willing to point out my error because everyone found it so funny, for a reason I really don’t find that funny, even now. I guess I’m no industry insider.