The sleight-of-hand trick dubbed "Sam the Bellhop" (popularized by Chicago magician Frank Everhart) is a tour de force turn requiring the magician to recount a story while simultaneously producing, from a randomly arranged deck, cards representing the characters and their various travels. Andrew Hinderaker's latest play likewise combines classic "close-up" magic with dramatic narrative, integrating the two so inextricably as to render negligible the question of which one determines the other's course of action. The show begins with our prestidigitator — austerely billed as "the magician" — introducing the suspension of disbelief necessary to arts involving deception (including theater, itself) through ingratiating patter, followed by some supple-fingered legerdemain. Soon, however, ghostly visions of a high-diving swimmer begin to manifest themselves. This apparition — billed as "the Diver" — is revealed to be The Magician's memory of his former lover, the brash young Olympic contender who boldly volunteered his phone number when marking a card for a restoration stunt, and whose disembodied spirit does not shrink from interrupting his ex-paramour's spiel to call the latter out on the hazards of his craft. Magicians rank just behind clowns and stand-up comedians as fodder for laughing-on-the-outside-crying-on-the-inside romantic tragedy, so it comes as no surprise that The Magician's choice of a career offering the illusion of control over his environment is connected to childhood abandonment by his father—coincidentally, also a magician. At The Diver's urging, The Magician pays a visit to his long-estranged sire, now plying his trade in a shabby Reno casino, only to depart disappointed when the reunion proves unsatisfying. Inevitably, The Magician's insecurity drives The Diver away, his departure awakening our hero to acceptance of the risks inherent in living and loving. At the play's conclusion, we witness him reprise his initial act, but with a little less swagger, a little more honesty and even a willingness to share the trick with a roomful of strangers like us. This world-premiere production is not without its flaws. Seating configurations in the Goodman's Owen obstructs the view from most of the floor, and while video-feed projects the table action onto a gigantic scrim, it tends to pull our attention away from the more visually interesting trio of Brett Schneider as the vulnerable flimflam artist, Sean Parris as his brash antagonist, and Francis Guinan as his dissipated dad. This in no way diminishes the contributions of director Halena Kays or the superlative tech team (notably magic designer Jim Steinmeyer and aerial consultant Sylvia Hernandez-DiStasi) in conjuring — well, magic, however you define it.
