Anything is Possible

by Hazel Flynn

  The years of slogging and sacrifice, the blood, sweat and tears, had all been worth it. This time there really would be no going back.

  Look out world, here I come.

  MY INSPIRATIONS

  NIKOLA TESLA

  When I think of Nikola Tesla I picture a flash of lightning. It is the perfect symbol of this genius inventor and engineer who serves as a major inspiration to me. Lightning fits not just because so many of his breakthroughs concerned electricity but also because it disappears without a trace and if it weren’t for the recent Tesla-branded electric car most of the world wouldn’t even recognise his name. It’s an unbelievable fate for such an extraordinary man.

  In the early days Tesla worked with Thomas Edison but they were opposites in pretty much every way and Tesla soon went out on his own. Among his many, many inventions, the most important was alternating-current technology which literally changed the world. It made electric power viable — lighting cities, powering factories, changing life as we know it. And yet Edison became ever more rich and famous while Tesla, to me by far the greater innovator, got ripped off left, right and centre, died in poverty and was reduced to a historical footnote.

  It’s a sad story and one that I think about a lot because it raises two big questions: what if your work is not recognised, no matter how good it is? And what if you don’t leave a lasting legacy? Those are questions that make me toss and turn at night. Tesla was eccentric by any measure (the plot of my favourite movie, The Prestige, uses his mystical strangeness very well, imagining what he might have been capable of in a really interesting way). A lot of what happened to him was due to the fact that he didn’t care about how other people viewed him and didn’t try to protect his own work. He just couldn’t understand people who were motivated by greed or self-interest. His driving force was the desire to create reliable worldwide communication systems and cheap power for people’s homes, not to profit from his ideas.

  I didn’t discover Tesla’s story until I was in my twenties but when I did I became fascinated by him. To me, he embodies invention, creation and being way ahead of your time, and his story raises deep questions about how to stay true to yourself and do good in the world while still making your mark.

  After AGT I was riding a huge wave of emotions. Many successful performers talk ABOUT SUFFERING FROM ‘IMPOSTOR SYNDROME’: THEY FEEL THEIR ACHIEVEMENTS ARE DUE TO LUCKY BREAKS AND EVERYTHING COULD BE TAKEN AWAY IF OTHERS DISCOVER THE REAL PERSON BEHIND THEIR PERSONA. I DON’T FEEL THAT WAY. I’VE WORKED HARD AND GIVEN UP A LOT TO ACHIEVE WHAT I HAVE. BUT THAT DOESN’T MEAN I’M COCKY, NOT NOW AND NOT BACK THEN. JUST THE OPPOSITE, IN FACT. POST-AGT I WAS INCREDIBLY APPRECIATIVE, THANKFUL AND REALISTIC. I WAS APPRECIATIVE OF EVERY BIT OF HELP I’D HAD ALONG THE WAY. FROM MY FAMILY FIRST AND FOREMOST, OF COURSE, AND FROM EVERYONE WHO SHARED THEIR KNOWLEDGE WITH ME OR WENT THE EXTRA MILE FOR ME. I WAS THANKFUL THAT THE AGT VIEWING PUBLIC AND THE JUDGES LOVED MY MAGIC. AND I WAS REALISTIC — WHAT THE SHOW HAD GIVEN ME WASN’T A GOLDEN TICKET, IT WAS A GOLD-PLATED OPPORTUNITY. I HAD THE EAR OF SOME POWERFUL PEOPLE IN A WAY I HADN’T BEFORE, NOW IT WAS UP TO ME TO MAKE THE MOST OF THAT.

  AGT finished on 2 August 2011. As well as preparing for my meeting with the Seven Network I had live shows to do, along with the sold-out dates of the original version of Distortions. Meanwhile I had restructured and expanded the show and was teaching Priscilla the new version. A promoter who saw me on AGT had called to book it for two nights in September at Melbourne’s 880-seater Athenaeum and we were scrambling to get t-shirts printed and apparatus ready in time. And I had potential managers to weigh up. I was flat-out every waking moment. Luckily Adam was keen to come back on-board full-time. He made a transition arrangement so as not to leave Dad and John in the lurch, but as soon as we could the two of us were working side by side again. Adam not only took care of bookings and sussed out managers and agencies, he also served as my onstage assistant for the corporate gigs.

  The Athenaeum marked my first time as a headliner at a city theatre (as opposed to a suburban venue) in my home town, which was very, very special for me, and I was overwhelmed when both nights sold out. The shows were an extraordinary experience from start to finish. If you’re someone who goes to see a lot of live performances — music, theatre, circus or whatever it might be — you’ll know that every now and then some kind of alchemy happens above and beyond a ‘really good’ or even ‘great’ show. On these rare occasions, performers and audience are in perfect sync; every movement, every note, every word seems right, and at the end of the performance the crowd rises to their feet for a standing ovation as if lifted by some kind of wave. That’s what the shows at the Athenaeum were like. From the moment I walked onstage I could feel it. Great dancers talk about being ‘on top of the beat, not in it’. Psychologists describe that state as being ‘in the flow’. Whatever you want to call it, I experienced it on that stage. The audience collectively embraced me and together we made, there’s no other word for it, magic.

  In October I went to Sydney to meet with the Network Seven decision-makers to pitch my own TV show, something I’d dreamt about since I saw the David Copperfield special at age thirteen. No Australian magician had ever had their own special but I knew beyond the shadow of a doubt it would work. Chris O’Mara and I sat down with Seven’s head of development and production, Brad Lyons. I described a special to Brad that would incorporate both a stage show featuring big illusions, mentalism and exciting escapes, and street magic. That mix was something that had never been done on TV as far as we knew, but AGT had proved that audiences understood what I did was outside the usual boundaries.

  We talked about how important it was to shoot the stage show in front of a live audience. First, it would make all the difference to the energy in the room and second, it would give us vital reaction shots to the tricks and stunts. But most importantly, without it the viewing audience at home might become suspicious that the only magic happening was the ‘magic’ of editing. There are certainly magicians around the world who rely on editing to make tricks work (you can tell because they never perform their acts live). I don’t operate that way and I never have. There was no better way to demonstrate that than by doing the whole thing in front of a real, live audience.

  Brad liked the sound of everything I described and gave me a handshake agreement to go ahead with a one-hour show. He brought on-board executive producer Grant Rule and Grant, in turn, appointed as director Rob Peile, a multi-talent who can also operate a camera, edit, write and produce. I got to choose the venue for the live performance. There was no question that it had to be Melbourne’s Regent Theatre, forever associated in my mind with both David Copperfield and my AGT audition. We set a filming date of 17 March 2012, five months away, and began intensive preparations.

  Early on I said to Grant and Rob, ‘Everything will be ready to go, all you’ll have to do is get your crew to point the cameras and shoot.’ They seemed sceptical, which puzzled me. Looking over the storyboards I’d had prepared they would ask, ‘Will this work?’ ‘What kind of a reaction do you expect to get here?’ ‘What’s the plan if this equipment isn’t ready in time?’ That’s when I realised they were used to working with people who had an idea of what they wanted to do and had maybe tested out bits and pieces of material but nothing more. I said, ‘There’s no question it’s going to work. This material is tried and tested, it’s been honed in front of audiences night after night.’ I saw the penny drop and our conversations moved to a different level. Rob and I talked about the various elements the show would need above and beyond the live performance — intros, outros and segues to give it a cohesive feel — and I went away to write the script.

  My relationship with Seven was a very good, productive one but it would have been a real education for anyone harbouring fantasies of champagne corks popping while someone chewing on a cigar says, ‘Sign here, kid, we’re gonna make you a star.’ The contracts weren’t completed until well into the process and what I received w
hen we reached our agreement was not a fat cheque but seed money to cover some of the costs. I would use the proceeds of the ticket sales for the Regent show to cover the rest, and would be paid by Seven some months later. They would only commit to airing the special when they saw the finished product.

  Ash Whelan

  While all this was going on I had, after much consideration, chosen a management agency to sign with. The agency in question presented a very convincing case and had some big-name clients; however, early into our new business relationship they told me that there was no way I would sell out the 2500-seater Regent and I should lower my expectations to avoid disappointment. They were wrong; the show sold out within days. Their attitude should have triggered warning bells but having waited so long for management I wanted to believe that they were experts. This time it was me who was wrong.

  The one thing Seven hadn’t signed off on was the big separate stunt I wanted to include in the special. It would be another underwater escape but far more spectacular than Water Trap. I knew exactly what it would look like, right down to the perfect atmospheric location in which to shoot it. But Grant wasn’t convinced we needed it. What I was proposing was expensive and added a whole extra level of complication. I’d be doing Water Trap live onstage, along with Crazy Cell — surely that was enough? I felt strongly that this extra escape, which I dubbed ‘Breathless’, would elevate the special into something truly world-class, so Grant agreed to keep the idea under consideration. Breathless would, however, take three months of preparation so I couldn’t wait for Grant to make up his mind. I had to just start work on it in the hope that the eventual decision would be a yes.

  The audience collectively embraced me and together we made — there’s no other word for it — magic.

  After the AGT finale Ben Winstanley had given Adam his details saying, ‘I don’t usually do this but if you ever need any help, give me a buzz.’ We took Ben up on that and he joined us to work on the special (he rapidly became a core member of the team and is now my head of staging). Several of the other excellent AGT crew, including Tiny and pyrotechnician Allan, also came to work on it. In the end for the Regent show we had a crew of fifteen of our guys plus almost seventy from the Seven Network, as well as two semi-trailers worth of gear.

  The show itself would be live, with no re-takes, but the day before we had a full run-through so the camera operators could plot their moves. Rob was extremely happy with the way everything looked. He filled Grant in and only then did we get the verdict that they were happy to shoot Breathless in a couple of weeks’ time.

  There were a few last-minute hitches at the Regent including a wheel breaking on the 300-kilogram apparatus for an illusion called ‘The Prestige’ just hours before the show, which sent us into a mad scramble to find a specialist welder who could fix it. But everything came together in the end.

  The experience of standing on the stage at the Regent in front of thousands of fans and celebrities and my big, extended family was so extraordinary that I had to distance myself from it while it was happening to get through the show without being overwhelmed. It was a big production, with a full complement of back-up dancers, spectacular pyro effects, breathtaking illusions, funny audience interactions and even a close-up magic section right in the middle of the auditorium, and it went off brilliantly. Like everyone involved, Grant and the other Seven executives who were there to see it were thrilled with the whole thing.

  After the show my family, my crew and the key people from Seven gathered in the green room and I was presented with a plaque commemorating this very special occasion. It meant everything to be able to share my success with those closest to me.

  We shot the street magic in the following days in and around Melbourne CBD. Street magic is challenging in a very different way to magic in a theatre, where you control the environment (mind you, good stage magicians with high-level conjuring and mentalism skills will usually do well at street magic, whereas the reverse is rarely true). We had all the necessary permits but in terms of set-up we were a guerrilla operation, as tight a team as possible. We needed two camera operators (one to focus on the trick, the other on the reaction to it) and a sound recordist, but other than that it was just me and Rob, with Adam and John as our point guys roaming around to find suitable participants, which meant watching for people with the kind of mobile faces and big reactions that a TV show like this needs to work. You just can’t beat a genuine reaction and we got some wonderful ones including, ‘Wow, I’m a reformed sceptic,’ and ‘I need a Scotch after seeing that!’.

  With the street magic material in the can (or rather on the hard-drive) we moved on to Breathless, which we were to shoot in a fantastic old disused train yard I’d found. The place had a strong, almost threatening atmosphere — perfect for the stunt I was going to perform.

  I had two distinct inspirations for the piece. One was the scene in Titanic where Leonardo DiCaprio’s character is handcuffed to a pipe and desperately tries to break free as the water level rises around him. The other was Houdini, specifically the idea of combining his Water Torture Cell (the inspiration for my Water Trap) with his rope-tie escape, in which he was bound to a wooden chair onstage and would break himself free. I combined these elements in a stunt which would feature me chained to a metal chair inside a large clear rectangular tank, trying to escape as water poured in at a rate of 1600 litres a minute, submerging the chair and me with it.

  Shev Wanigatunga

  We found ourselves having to solve dozens of technical problems in order to make the stunt work. We were forced, for instance, to dismantle the chair (inspired by a menacing Electric Chair design but made of aluminium to withstand the water) and fill it with lead to stop it floating. That was a simple problem, unlike the pumping of the water which proved to be a headache from start to finish. There were challenges with getting the flow rate we needed; challenges with dirt being flushed through from supposedly clean pipes (Adam and I had to spend a day scrubbing out the empty tank); more challenges when the replacement pipes turned out to be coated in protective grease (another day scrubbing the tank); challenges with the fact that the bubbles produced by the water pump obscured the camera’s view; and finally, on the very day of the stunt, problems with water that was murky because it had been sucked up from the bottom of a dam and not filtered. We were solving problems every day for weeks on end for that stunt.

  And then there was the injury that almost saw us having to scrap the whole thing despite all the work we’d put in. Practising the escape, I miscalculated as I was coming up under the grill. I hit it hard, slicing my head open and jarring my neck badly, giving myself whiplash. It hurt like hell and the cut was a bad one; I went to a hospital emergency department where seven stitches were needed to close it up. At my request, the doctor used black thread because the cut was right up at my hairline and that was the colour that would show the least (though if you’re looking for them the stitches are visible in the footage of the stunt). I was given strict instructions not to get the wound wet. Unfortunately I couldn’t promise that. The best I could do was to wear a swim-cap for the remaining rehearsals. I was very concerned that if the Seven executives found out what had happened they would insist on cancelling the stunt and we’d all worked too hard for that, so I kept quiet about it until filming was over.

  Finally after all the drama it was time to do the stunt in front of an invited audience — family, friends, fans and theatre and dance students. I needed all my mental strength to deal with the pain from my neck and the cold (being half-dressed in the chilly air was bad enough, but the water was frigid). Also, having the water rise around me, rather than me sinking into it, made the escape more difficult than Water Trap because even trying to take my last couple of breaths I was battling against the external pressure on my chest.

  Ash Whelan

  Ash Whelan

  With the time ticking past and me still working my way through locks and chains as the water rose and rose, some in the aud
ience couldn’t stand to watch and turned away. I know Mum also found it very hard to take, especially when the lock on my left ankle got stuck. Finally I freed myself and pushed up to fill my screaming lungs. Fortunately, the massive effort that had gone into Breathless was worth it when we watched the footage — it looked fantastic.

  As I’d done with my showreel all those years ago, I sat in the editing suite with Rob during the cutting of the TV special, only this time I was in the room as an equal collaborator. When the sound-mixing and the graphics were all finished Rob showed the finished program to the Seven hierarchy. They were very pleased and gave it a coveted prime-time slot. Rob also brought a DVD around to my parents’ house and the whole family gathered to watch and cheer at how excellently it had turned out.

  Priscilla was there too. She was now working the corporate gigs with us. Between those, the preparation for the TV special and the Distortions performances, we were spending a huge amount of time together. Even though we were both single again we kept things platonic. There was, however, a unique bond between us. We would spend the entire day working side by side then still want to hang out together afterwards. There was an undeniable spark but neither of us wanted to acknowledge it because, privately, we were each concerned about turning a great professional partnership into a personal relationship.