Thinking Allowed

Learning From Fogel
by Jon Thompson

“Experience is a lousy teacher. It gives you the test before giving you the lesson.” I don’t know who said that first, but the truth of it is horribly apparent if, like me, you aspire to the title of mentalist.

When I first read Corinda’s classic “Thirteen Steps to Mentalism,” I was eager to get at the effects and techniques it contains. It’s like a gold mine, and I suspect that like many others, I vaguely thought about reading the worthy interviews at some point, and have even skimmed them numerous times in a half-interested way over the years. After all, this is a book primarily about the application of techniques, isn’t it?

Then a few weeks ago, I heard about a new book about Maurice Fogel being released. I suddenly realised much to my shame that I’d never actually sat down and properly read the Fogel interview in Corinda. I now realise it was something I should have done long before ever reading any of the effects, because it gives some important answers that experience only provides years after the exam, so to speak.

It takes the form of the transcript of a tape-recorded interview with Corinda, in which Fogel answers questions in exchange for tea. The style of English has changed somewhat in the forty-odd years since the recording was made. What I expected was that much of the insight and advice would be out-of-date too. Interestingly, looking around today’s modern online mentalist forums (something I’m sure Fogel could never have imagined), the advice he gives still answers the questions being
asked today. Here’s an example:

On the subject of mixing magic and mentalism, his ideas are surprisingly progressive, even permissive – but with definite boundaries. “In a purely mental act – definitely bad,” he bluntly states. Corinda then asks if the inverse is true (i.e. if performing a couple of mental effects is okay as a billed magician). He agrees.

What I believe he means by a “purely mental act” is one in which you’re billed not as a magician performing things which must by definition be tricks, but as a mentalist demonstrating some supposed ability. A great deal of time today is spent arguing online and in person about what that ability should be; whether to claim that it has some form of psychic or paranormal basis, or to put it all down to clever manipulation of the mind. Fogel offers a middle way.

“If my experience can help,” he offers, “I would suggest that you do not take on too strongly that you are genuine.” Rather than deny it, however, he offers the advice that standing there and asking the audience to make up their own mind “smells of apology”. Instead, he says to, “infer as much as you like, but don’t come out in the open!”

The basis for this, which is fairly plain from the interview, is that he felt it hurt his early career to be labelled as the real thing. Perhaps this was because it robbed him of the sections of the potential audience who didn’t believe in the paranormal and think performers are liars for insisting that they invoke it in their feats. Simply by leaving a
mystery, full of implication either way, he left only a debate in his wake, but no clear polarisation between believers who would go to see his shows, and possibly a much larger group of non-believers who wouldn’t attend. Instead of dividing and thereby reducing the potential audience, Fogel suggests uniting them under a banner of sincerity from the moment they meet you, either in a close-up setting, or you step out onto a stage.

Though the very strongest effects you can conceivably muster are essential, Fogel says that the most important thing fro a mentalist is to have a commanding personality. “Mentalism,” He says, “Naturally calls for that.” This begins with the very first time the audience sees you. He agrees when Corinda asks: “So it’s the way you walk and what you say are equally as important as the first trick you do?” Interestingly, you can see this in action today. By watching the opening of a modern master like Derren Brown, and it’s easy to see what he meant.

At the start of his televised stage show “Something Wicked This Way Comes”, Brown spends time talking to the audience about what he already knows about them by implication, their habits and embarrassing secrets. He includes himself, gets a good ice-breaking laugh, and only then goes about choosing his volunteers. There’s no sense of rushing to produce effects from the get go. He makes the coming performance feel interesting to be part of and not at all threatening.

Speaking of volunteer selection, this is another area in which Fogel has surprisingly modern advice. Supposing you ask for people to come up on stage or to help out in a parlour situation and no one comes up? Why might that be and how do you avoid it? Maybe people feel you’re out to “control” them, or that they’ll be getting too near something sinister. Fogel’s answer is to dispel the idea that bad things will with light
relief.

Interestingly, Brown’s method today is to introduce a cuddly toy. He jokes about it and imbues it with its own personality, then throws it out into the audience. What he doesn’t say is that whoever catches it must come up. He lets people throw it about until someone who positively wants to be part of the proceedings catches it. Watching the show back, though this is a clearly a permissive procedure (as opposed to demanding volunteers in an authoritarian tone), it’s clear that people are
grabbing for the toy as it flies towards them. Look closely, and it’s obvious that this also ensures that Brown only gets people on stage that are willing to be there and who want to “play the game”. There must be a million ways of implementing Fogel’s advice to achieve the same result, and yet the subject of difficult spectators still crops up repeatedly.

But it’s Fogel’s final piece of advice that will cement your performance in the minds of spectators. When things go wrong, instead of having an out for all eventualities, he says: “Be brave and do this. Say ‘I don’t know’. Admit it!”

The thinking behind this is something that only becomes apparent to those who have tried it. The odd miss makes mentalism feel somehow more organic and natural. “And if done properly you will get applause,” he adds. In a stage show, he says, this isn’t from sympathy, but an appreciation that you are being genuine and sincere, which is why he says you should be sincere from the moment the audience sets its eyes on you. Be likeable and they’ll like you come what may. In a close-up
setting it will certainly earn you admiration for trying something that was, by implication, clearly very difficult, regardless of whether failure was actually down to an unstuck boon or some other little disaster.

This idea of simply admitting that you don’t know is a powerful one. In a similar way, admitting you were wrong has its own power, too. It can, for instance, instantly stop a bitter argument or a fight by taking the wind out of your opponent’s sails. But it can also act to show others a shortcut to wisdom. Re-read the interview with Fogel in your copy of Corinda. Read it properly and study what he says. I didn’t for a long
time, and I was wrong. I had to learn the lessons it teaches the hard way. I admit it and I think I’m better for reading it now.

Jon Thompson