Anything is Possible

by Hazel Flynn

  ‘a quantum leap in the art of magic and illusions’

  Annus Mirabilis is a Latin phrase meaning ‘year of wonders’ and there’s no doubt 2013 was an Annus Mirabilis for me, despite ongoing management issues. Finally everything came together in the most extraordinary way. I was able to amaze and astound millions of people with magic and death-defying stunts, just as I’d been hoping to do since the age of twelve. It was, however, incredibly demanding and I needed to recharge. Priscilla and I headed to Thailand for a wonderfully relaxing holiday. After a couple of weeks of sun and swimming I was ready to go again, albeit at a more sustainable pace. I’d decided 2014 was going to be a year of consolidation.

  Criss flew me over to spend a week with him in Vegas. We got along really well. It felt great to have someone at the top of their game, one of the biggest magicians in the world, value what I was doing enough to treat me as an equal. We also had a lot of fun going out on the town but we also had a lot to talk about professionally. He showed me his behind-the-scenes operation where he was putting together a new show called ‘The Supernaturalists’. It was an ensemble production in which he would appear via video link and he wondered if I would like to host the show. It sounded like a lot of fun and I was keen, but with a big upcoming tour to work on and other offers coming in from around the world we weren’t able to make it happen. I did, however, do a lot of brainstorming and suggested concepts for the show and we’re still hoping to work together in the future.

  Shev Wanigatunga

  It was time to address my concerns regarding management, which we did by bringing it in-house, employing someone who understood my vision and scope and who could deal directly with tour co-ordination and other key parts of the business. It was also time for a permanent base. Up to this point whenever I needed a factory to work on a show Dad had been able to arrange temporary usage of one but now it was time to have a dedicated space of our own and in 2014 we created Magicland.

  From the outside it looks like any of the other factories around it in a light-industrial area on Melbourne’s outskirts. But inside it’s something very special indeed.

  Dad, John, Adam and I designed it from scratch to meet all our logistic needs and much more. It has a storage area where we house all our road cases and the other gear for shows. It has a rehearsal stage set-up measuring 15.5 by 11 metres (full theatre size) with curtains, full lighting rigs and sound boards.

  More unusually it has lots of things designed to spur creativity by letting us weave fun into every day. We have a fireman’s pole and a flying fox from the second storey, plus a rock-climbing wall. We have scooters to ride around inside, arcade games and a popcorn machine. The office has a boardroom table that gets a lot of serious, professional use but if you know where to push on the nearby bookshelf you’ll find it also has a secret door that opens to the passage leading to my private office. There is a museum area for pieces from my career, with the huge Perspex sphere from Dropped mounted above the menacing chair from Breathless and some of my straitjackets and handcuffs. And there is memorabilia throughout the building from the greats of magic to remind us of the past and inspire future endeavours.

  Magicland is buzzing with positive energy even though, to many people’s surprise, it is pretty much entirely black, inside and out. We have black ceilings, black walls, black carpet, black couches, black cupboards, even black toilet paper. But thanks to clever lighting, it never feels gloomy. Just the opposite: it has a very cool, secret Batman vibe that energises me every morning when I walk in.

  I had plenty to be happy about but there was one thing nagging away at me: my failure with Dropped. At the back of my mind I always had the hope that I would get to do it again and I was delighted when I saw an opening to do just that. The Seven Network’s Sunday Night program had decided to run a profile piece on me — they spent many months following me around, filming me at work and at play: in rehearsal for DWTS, onstage with the MMM tour, receiving the second Merlin Award and relaxing at home. You name it, they shot it. It was going to be a big segment and they wanted viewers to really get to know me. I was flattered but I thought we had the chance to do something really special, a stunt live on air — not as we’d done with Anchored during breakfast TV, but in prime-time. And there was no question about which stunt. It had to be the one that got away; my nemesis!

  I pitched the idea to Mark Llewellyn, the show’s executive producer. Mark understood the appeal but he also understood the risks. There’s a reason people don’t broadcast these kinds of stunts live. It’s very expensive and very risky. It was a big ask and it took a lot of convincing but finally Seven agreed. The profile would unfold as normal but instead of a traditional wrap-up they would cross to the dive-centre pool where I would re-enter the sphere and attempt the stunt again. Part of me couldn’t wait. The previous failure was a monkey on my back and this was the only way to get rid of it. But I was also very concerned about what might go wrong. If I failed for a second time, live on national television, what would that do to my reputation (not to mention my ego)? I was very nervous about getting injured again and even though I prepared very carefully and I trained at a sensible pace this time, it took a huge amount of mental control to get back in that Perspex trap and let myself be lowered to the depths. When the time came I was as scared as hell, although I tried not to show it. I was ecstatic it all went off perfectly and Seven were very happy because more than a million people tuned in. The triumph was all the sweeter because of what had come before.

  There were a lot of requests coming in for me to perform in Asia, and during 2014 I was able to take my act to eleven countries in the region, with highlights including playing the Singapore Grand Prix. I was also very happy to accept an invitation to make my first guest appearance on Asia’s Got Talent, which reaches more than 300 million people. I’ve played and toured many times in many Asian countries since then, including being the special guest at the launch of the major new cable channel RTL CBS Entertainment in various different countries in the region, and I always look forward to going back. It’s fascinating figuring out how to appeal to audiences who don’t necessarily share your language or culture. (To my absolute delight I was invited to be the special guest on the following year’s grand finale of Asia’s Got Talent. The producers could have asked anyone from any field, and in the past most people would have expected this coveted spot to go to a singer, maybe a K-pop star or an international chart-topper, just as our AGT had Justin Bieber. Instead they asked me, a wonderful signal that magic is finally getting the kind of recognition and acceptance it deserves.)

  Towards the end of 2014 we began preparing another national tour, which I named ‘Twisted Reality’. With all new escapes, illusions and close-up magic, it took months of planning. Kicking off in April 2015, we played thirteen sellout dates in mainland Australia. It was a real achievement for me when Live Nation announced that I was their biggest selling Australian live act that year in any genre — bigger than any singer or band. It felt good personally, for sure, but more than that it was a clear demonstration of the fact that people want to see magic onstage. We took the tour to New Zealand and Thailand where it was also a big hit.

  We’d found that bringing things in-house worked really well and we did just that for the second magic kit. By cutting out all the fat we were able to double the number of tricks and cut the price by almost half in a big thank you to all the fans. The icing on the cake was that it won the year’s Merlin Award for Best Magic Kit internationally.

  Pierre Baroni

  It’s important, though, when you’re having lots of success to remember where you came from and to realise how tenuous it can all be. Among the many trips I have now made to perform in Asia are two separate visits to Indonesia that gave me a couple of memorable reminders of those truths.

  The first began with Priscilla, Adam, the crew and me being picked up at Jakarta airport by the private security team we’d been told we needed. The guy in charge was ex-military and he certai
nly enjoyed wielding power. He took great pleasure in not only showing me his gun but insisting I fire it into the ceiling of our dressing room. Surreal as it was, we certainly felt like we were getting special treatment. During our stay there whenever we needed to go anywhere he would get us into large black SUVs with tinted windows then activate lights and sirens to clear a path — and just in case people in front weren’t quick enough getting out of the way he had a PA system rigged up so that his voice could be broadcast from speakers on the outside of the car as he yelled for them to get out of the way. When it was time for us to fly out he took us to the airport in a police convoy with full lights and sirens. What would normally have been a four-hour trip took one hour and he made sure we arrived with great ceremony. We then walked in to use the private lounge only to be told that as of two days earlier our airline no longer partnered with the lounge operators so, no, we couldn’t come in. We took ourselves off to the public area laughing at the bizarre and fickle nature of our showbiz life. It was a great reminder never to get too carried away with fame.

  ‘There are many kinds of magic, after all.’ — Erin Morgenstern, The Night Circus

  My second memorable Indonesian experience was a reminder that performers should never forget what it was that made people want to see them in the first place. I’d been hired to play a couple of weeks in Makassar at the world’s third-largest indoor theme park, an enormous place. We were shipping over a huge container full of gear and everything was planned down to the last detail, including making sure we had everything ready in plenty of time for the 45-day shipping schedule. Efficient as ever, Adam got it taken care of and we and the crew of seven arrived two days early to set up.

  We arrived, but our gear didn’t. It had reached Indonesia where it was languishing on the docks. Despite all sorts of high-level attempts to speed things up it became apparent we simply would not have any of our equipment for the opening performance, to which a whole load of local media had been invited. The obvious solution was to postpone the gig, but that wasn’t an option: we’d been hired to put on a show and while the venue organisers were sympathetic to our plight they were insistent that we entertain the audience somehow. I always carry packs of cards on me, so I had those. I racked my brain for other conjuring tricks I could perform with just what was on hand and went out in front of the huge assembled crowd and media and did a 45-minute show using just cards, string and rubber bands. Talk about keeping yourself honest as a performer. Fortunately it worked and people seemed to get over their initial bemusement and enjoy what they saw, but even more fortunately the gear arrived soon after the show. It’s not an experience I’m keen to repeat, but it was nice to prove I could still produce the goods in the most stripped-back circumstances!

  My life in magic has brought me so many wonderful things and becoming the recipient of the Australian Institute of Magic’s inaugural Levante Award is among the most meaningful for me. Levante was the stage name of Leslie George Cole, who founded the Australian Society of Magicians in 1907 and was named best magician in the world in 1939 by the International Brotherhood of Magicians.

  In making the presentation, AIM president Lee Cohen said my work represented ‘a quantum leap in the art of magic and illusions’ and called me an international ‘trailblazer for the craft’. I was immensely touched and honoured. As a kid starting out I dreamed incredibly big. I dreamed about having my own magic special on TV. I dreamed about performing for millions of people. I dreamed about becoming Australia’s first true international magic star. To many of the people I met, those dreams seemed crazy: if it could be done, they thought sceptically, why hadn’t someone done it before now? I didn’t know the answer to that question but I didn’t think it mattered. That was history; it was the future that interested me.

  But somehow in all those big pioneering dreams it didn’t occur to me that I might become a role model for the generations after me. The Levante Award left me in no doubt that that’s the incredible privilege I’ve been given. Kids coming up now don’t question whether the public will accept magicians, they know they will. They take for granted the fact that magic is just as cool and interesting as any other form of performing arts and they know that success as a magician is possible because they’ve seen what it looks like. I’ve been a part of making that happen and of all the many tricks I’ve performed, that’s the one I’m most proud of.

  Shev Wanigatunga

  MY INSPIRATIONS

  HARRY HOUDINI

  If I had to sum Houdini up in a single word it would be: hope. He came to America as a poor immigrant and went on to achieve at the highest level. He gave his audience the belief that if he could do seemingly impossible things they could overcome the obstacles in their own lives. He was a living metaphor for freedom, optimism and endless possibility.

  Why does the world remember Houdini and not Thurston, who was acknowledged as the greatest magician at the time? It’s because Houdini pioneered more things and had a bigger impact on the world. He was always evolving and developing in order to stay on the cutting edge and he created imagery that we remember and that sticks with us. He was a master at his own propaganda, hiring photographers and cinematographers to capture his every move and exerting such an intense level of control over his own image that it wouldn’t be matched for decades.

  The fact that Houdini was working in my chosen genre, magic, might seem to make his career almost a blueprint for mine, but he was performing in a very different time. It still blows my mind that when Houdini was doing an escape his assistants would pull a curtain across the stage and his audience would sit there for five minutes, ten minutes, even thirty minutes sometimes, watching the curtain. It was partly because there wasn’t an alternative — he didn’t have any competitors performing the escape without the curtain — but it was also because there was something so charismatic and compelling about him that people wanted to be in his presence and wanted to witness whatever he had to show them.

  I don’t fake any of my escapes because, first of all, it just wouldn’t cut it with modern audiences, but more importantly I want to be able to do superhuman things. On his deathbed Houdini reportedly said to his doctor, ‘Everything I ever did was fake.’ In other words, he doubted the worth of his own contribution to the world. Would he have been reassured by the fact that ninety years after his death his name is the best-known in all of magic? I’d like to think so. But I suspect I understand some of what he was feeling. The idea that after I’m gone people might think nothing more of me than that I did a few good party tricks is unbearable. The fear of never reaching my potential haunts me, and so does the fear of not being a genuine industry pioneer. It’s so important to me that I’m part of a continuum helping to continually progress magic — just like Houdini was.

  State Library of Victoria Bk.16/No.674

  Epilogue

  I want to convince people everywhere to have room in their hearts for magic. I sometimes feel as if I’m a soldier, pulling on my armour for the daily battle against my lifelong enemy: indifference. There are a few people I’ll never win over, I know that. They’re the ones who put so much effort into trying to figure out how an illusion works that they completely miss the joy of it. (I sometimes wonder if those people boycott the Jurassic Park movies on the grounds that dinosaurs no longer exist!) But I am completely certain that most human beings long to feel delighted and amazed . . . even if they need help to realise it.

  I draw inspiration from all kinds of places every day: a book I’m reading, a film I’ve watched, the steam rising from my coffee, the shape a cat makes leaping onto a chair — any one of them can spark a thought or an image that may feed into my creative process. Apart from my family there are several famous names I’ve discussed in this book who are among my all-time top inspirations, Houdini, Michael Jackson and Nikola Tesla among them. What they have in common (although it took me years to realise this) is they were all pioneers in their own fields, just as I aim to be a pioneer in mine. They tend to
be pretty complicated characters and not necessarily people you’d want to be trapped with on a desert island. In fact I’ll go so far as to say most of them are at least a bit bonkers. For me, that runs hand in hand with their brilliance. But that’s okay: I can be inspired by them without wanting to be like them!

  I’ve come a long, long way from the withdrawn, self-doubting kid I was when magic found me at age twelve. So many people helped me get here and I could never have done it without them: my family, my crews and the people who generously shared their specialist knowledge with me. Equally important are my wonderful fans, the Believers. There is no magic without someone to amaze, and I treasure each and every Believer. I feel deeply honoured by the connection we have. I know it’s not nice to boast, but I think I have the best fans in the world. In Magicland there are archive rooms where I keep props and memorabilia from past shows. I also keep every single piece of fan mail I get sent. Believers send me heartfelt letters and notes and the most amazing gifts, including artworks that have clearly taken weeks or even months to do. I display as much of the artwork as I can around Magicland and carefully archive the rest along with all the messages. I reply to each person who has taken the trouble to write to me. My view is that as a performer the moment you stop feeling gratitude that people want to see what you have to offer is the moment you should quit the stage forever.

  But as far as I’ve come, to me it feels like this is only the beginning. I was once asked what keeps me awake at night. I spoke from the heart when I said it was the fear that I won’t have the opportunity to show the world my full potential. Material things will never satisfy me. There isn’t a flash car in existence that could make me feel the way I do when I’ve planned and pulled off an amazing show or risked everything in a death-defying escape.